It all makes sense now.
I used to love the cartoon Family Circle, especially the strips where the little boy would have trouble finding his way home and would wander all over the neighborhood. Sometimes it would take him half a day to take the trash out because of all the interesting things he found along the way, the distractions that stopped him, or the places he decided to travel. I traced every stop with my finger, traveling with him on his journey.
His poor mother. I never considered her. Now, I do.
I always thought of myself as the wanderer. I, too, was intrigued by so many obstacles. I became distracted, at times. It’s part of being a child, right?
As an adult, I wonder what happened next in the penned world of Family Circle. These are the parts of the family’s life that weren’t inked for us. Did this young child get into trouble? Was his mother worried about him when it took forever to complete a difficult task? Did she become angry or did she just encourage his adventurous spirit?
You see, I face this situation today on the other side of the comic strip. I now see my own boys wandering around, taking the longest paths possible, to complete a simple task.
Sometimes, I want to scold them for taking so long. But, do I? Other times, I want to laugh at them. And, on occasion, I want to go with them. It’s one of those parenthood dilemmas.
On Sunday after we left church, the boys were walking toward the car. I was near enough to make sure no traffic or strangers would bother them, so I let them wander just a bit. Heath began to veer into a nearby cemetery.
I cautioned him not to walk on graves ... everyone has been instructed to respect a graveyard, right? It may be all of the talk of the Halloween and the never-ending episodes of Scooby Doo that are encouraging him to venture into such territory.
I have never been one to deal well with scary situations. As a child I used to play in a cemetery with some friends in Gilmer County. Until ... that day my sister, four years my elder, jumped up from behind a grave and frightened me beyond repair. I ran out of that graveyard, forgetting that we had to duck under barbed wire to get into the spooky location.
As you can imagine, I didn’t duck. My face hit the barbed wire. It stuck in my lip. The force plunged me onto my back, hitting a rock and knocking the breath out of me.
Unfortunately, that meant a new tetanus shot for me.
But, for a moment, I think it scared my sister. She probably thought I was dead while I laid there, eyes closed, lifeless. She’ll never admit it, though.
I don’t find myself wandering in graveyards anymore, unless I am there to leave flowers or to find an ancestor. I’m not a regular graveyard prowler. I don’t believe in ghosts, but I don’t want to give my imagination the chance to wander as my feet once did. I can’t even watch scary movies and then sleep well at night. I never have been able to do so. “The Lost Boys,” which is rather calm compared to today’s standards, gave me nightmares for two weeks. It took me about two months to get over “Flowers In the Attic.” Honestly, that movie still bothers me and I watched it about 18 years ago.
Even though I know it is fake, my mind won’t rest at the times that I can’t control it – in sleep.
My children helped me figure out the paradox of Family Circle. I’ll wait to see if, in time, they help me understand the overactive, spooktacular side of my imagination. Until then, I’ll stick with Scooby Doo instead of "Saw."
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
When You Least Expect It
When you least expect it, someone comes to your assistance. Even the worst moments can become better when an unexpected person does just the right thing at the right time.
I thought about his as I read a story about a third-grade classroom. From time to time I must share news I find on the Internet. No validity for its presence exists. What I do know, though, is that it causes one to stop and think. And for me, it was the right lesson at the right time.
A nine-year-old boy was sitting at his desk. His feet and the front of his pants were wet. It was an accident. He didn’t even realize it until it was too late.
What is he going to do? If he stands up, no one will ever forget this moment. He
isn’t in preschool anymore. This cannot be an okay thing to do. The boys will pick on him forever; the girls will never speak to him again.
This moment in third grade could haunt him all throughout his school-age years, maybe even beyond.
He sits quietly, wishing his heart would stop. He puts his head down and prays. It is an emergency. He needs help from above.
He suspects the teacher knows. She is headed in his direction. How can this go well?
Just then, Susie, a classmate of his, stand up and gets the fishbowl. It is full of water. She walks near the young boy and spills it down the front of him. She claims she tripped.
The boys acts upset, but is thanking Susie and God the entire time.
He has become the subject of sympathy, not ridicule. The teacher helps him clean up and allows him to change into gym shorts while his pants dry.
No one knows of his situation. An accident made it all better.
But, was it really an accident?
While the boy isn’t ridiculed, Susie is. Her classmates call her a clumsy. They ask why she even bothered the fish bowl.
She laughs it off. After all, being clumsy isn’t so bad.
As the day nears an end, the boy walks over to Susie. He whispers to ask her if she spilled the water on purpose. She whispers back that she wet her pants once too. She knew the ridicule.
No one else saw it. Only Susie. She didn’t use this opportunity to make a mockery of someone else. Instead, she helped them. She knew what was like to be in a similar situation.
May we see the opportunities around us when we least expect it. And, hopefully, we have the nerve to do good — just as Susie did.
I thought about his as I read a story about a third-grade classroom. From time to time I must share news I find on the Internet. No validity for its presence exists. What I do know, though, is that it causes one to stop and think. And for me, it was the right lesson at the right time.
A nine-year-old boy was sitting at his desk. His feet and the front of his pants were wet. It was an accident. He didn’t even realize it until it was too late.
What is he going to do? If he stands up, no one will ever forget this moment. He
isn’t in preschool anymore. This cannot be an okay thing to do. The boys will pick on him forever; the girls will never speak to him again.
This moment in third grade could haunt him all throughout his school-age years, maybe even beyond.
He sits quietly, wishing his heart would stop. He puts his head down and prays. It is an emergency. He needs help from above.
He suspects the teacher knows. She is headed in his direction. How can this go well?
Just then, Susie, a classmate of his, stand up and gets the fishbowl. It is full of water. She walks near the young boy and spills it down the front of him. She claims she tripped.
The boys acts upset, but is thanking Susie and God the entire time.
He has become the subject of sympathy, not ridicule. The teacher helps him clean up and allows him to change into gym shorts while his pants dry.
No one knows of his situation. An accident made it all better.
But, was it really an accident?
While the boy isn’t ridiculed, Susie is. Her classmates call her a clumsy. They ask why she even bothered the fish bowl.
She laughs it off. After all, being clumsy isn’t so bad.
As the day nears an end, the boy walks over to Susie. He whispers to ask her if she spilled the water on purpose. She whispers back that she wet her pants once too. She knew the ridicule.
No one else saw it. Only Susie. She didn’t use this opportunity to make a mockery of someone else. Instead, she helped them. She knew what was like to be in a similar situation.
May we see the opportunities around us when we least expect it. And, hopefully, we have the nerve to do good — just as Susie did.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Kilts, Khaki and Kazaam!
A few months ago, someone sent me one of those word challenges. Fill in this list with words that start with K. No problem, right?
But then the task became more perplexing.
First, a four-letter word. I chose kite.
Some of my favorite movie memories are from Mary Poppins and I can certainly remember the last scene of the movie when the family — now functioning in more unison — fun off to fly kites in the park while she is left to wipe a tear and fly away on her umbrella. I think I cried.
A vehicle. At the moment, I chose Kawasaki. Technically, that is an ATV. In later consideration, I might choose Kia. Kawasaki has little meaning for me. I prefer Suzuki in the ATV world, at the advice of my puddle jumper riding partner.
For a city, I chose Keyser. That is a city with its own distinct smell (from the pulp or paper factory). For me, it is a place where I have spent countless hours listening to lectures as I pursue my doctorate degree.
As an occupation, kickboxer. My dad was a Chuck Norris fan, and I still watch “Walker, Texas Ranger” reruns.
Something you wear: kilt. Hey, it’s all I could think of. Picture it ¬— Jeff and Mike waltzing the countryside of Scotland with bagpipes in their kilts.
Food: kale or ketchup. Yes, ketchup should be a food because this condiment is eaten more than kale ever will be. I remember the smell of that leafy green vegetable when my mother would fix it and never seemed to enticing to my olfactory senses.
In a bathroom, I have a knob for a door. I probably have a few knick knacks in there as well. However, the knob is much more important.
Something you shout: “Kazaam!” That would probably be my response to my kilt-wearing friends.
Animal: kangaroo. A cartoon movie that my boys love to watch is “Kangaroo Jack.” They especially love the part where Jack the kangaroo is fighting in the heavy weight competition and a rapping lyrical piece keeps resonating throughout it “I’m goin’ knock you out ... momma said knock you out.” They love to shout it to one another and pretend to box.
A reason for being late: knocked out. Wait, me late? Doesn’t even make sense!
Body part: knee. For some reason, it took me several minutes of thought and a mental body tour to actually remember something that starts with a “k.”
For a color, khaki.
Word to describe yourself: I started with “keynote” and then laughed at my choice. Sure, we all aspire to that point and my life certainly does seem like a story worth telling at times, but probably not to that engaging or motivating of a situation. Instead, I’ll choose “keen,” at least I strive for it. I also like “kempt” because I prefer my house remain that way. Of course, my boys are six and four — doesn’t always happen!
But then the task became more perplexing.
First, a four-letter word. I chose kite.
Some of my favorite movie memories are from Mary Poppins and I can certainly remember the last scene of the movie when the family — now functioning in more unison — fun off to fly kites in the park while she is left to wipe a tear and fly away on her umbrella. I think I cried.
A vehicle. At the moment, I chose Kawasaki. Technically, that is an ATV. In later consideration, I might choose Kia. Kawasaki has little meaning for me. I prefer Suzuki in the ATV world, at the advice of my puddle jumper riding partner.
For a city, I chose Keyser. That is a city with its own distinct smell (from the pulp or paper factory). For me, it is a place where I have spent countless hours listening to lectures as I pursue my doctorate degree.
As an occupation, kickboxer. My dad was a Chuck Norris fan, and I still watch “Walker, Texas Ranger” reruns.
Something you wear: kilt. Hey, it’s all I could think of. Picture it ¬— Jeff and Mike waltzing the countryside of Scotland with bagpipes in their kilts.
Food: kale or ketchup. Yes, ketchup should be a food because this condiment is eaten more than kale ever will be. I remember the smell of that leafy green vegetable when my mother would fix it and never seemed to enticing to my olfactory senses.
In a bathroom, I have a knob for a door. I probably have a few knick knacks in there as well. However, the knob is much more important.
Something you shout: “Kazaam!” That would probably be my response to my kilt-wearing friends.
Animal: kangaroo. A cartoon movie that my boys love to watch is “Kangaroo Jack.” They especially love the part where Jack the kangaroo is fighting in the heavy weight competition and a rapping lyrical piece keeps resonating throughout it “I’m goin’ knock you out ... momma said knock you out.” They love to shout it to one another and pretend to box.
A reason for being late: knocked out. Wait, me late? Doesn’t even make sense!
Body part: knee. For some reason, it took me several minutes of thought and a mental body tour to actually remember something that starts with a “k.”
For a color, khaki.
Word to describe yourself: I started with “keynote” and then laughed at my choice. Sure, we all aspire to that point and my life certainly does seem like a story worth telling at times, but probably not to that engaging or motivating of a situation. Instead, I’ll choose “keen,” at least I strive for it. I also like “kempt” because I prefer my house remain that way. Of course, my boys are six and four — doesn’t always happen!
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