On two occasions in the last year, I sat, surrounded by my
children, through special church meetings that were focused on
emphasizing the importance of the family. I completely agree with the
importance of family. Anyone who knows me knows this. Yet, these were
not easy meetings to sit with my children through. I did not disagree
with the things being said: the importance of strengthening the family,
the need to make the home a refuge from the world. I understood that
pursuing these goals was going to call me down a strange path.
Both
times, as I sat there weighing the words against my plans to file for
divorce, the children on either side of me--one time, my daughters, the
other time, two of my sons, reached out to me. They held my hands.
They put their heads on my shoulders. They leaned on me. Clearly, they
love me and rely on me to make their world good and safe.
Better and safer.
They
did not know anything of my thoughts or plans, but, now that I'm
writing this, it occurs to me that perhaps they felt a dissonance
similar to mine.
In the moment when I had my arms
crossed in front of me--one hand grasped by my teenaged son and the
other hand being held by a younger boy, I was reminded of a recent work
activity during the annual summer picnic. We had played Red Rover.
Some
of us remembered this game from our childhoods. To those who had come
to my city as refugees from various parts of the world, in particular,
the game was completely new. Everyone participated, though, picking up
the simple rules. Some perceived ways to gain an advantage and started
strategizing.
What surprised me was how many times
in that line of thirty or so people the runner chose me as the weakest
link. Over and over again, a seemingly nonrandom number of times,
coworkers charged right for me, trying to break through the line by
breaking my grasp on a coworker with their bodies.
What surprised all of them was that no one--NO ONE--got through me.
But so many of them tried that I had to analyze it. Why me?
We
don't always get a chance to see ourselves as others see us. But
trying to do so reminded me of some truths. I am shorter than almost
all of the other players. I am older than many of them. I am female.
I realized with a start that, to them, I just looked like a little old lady!
What
they didn't calculate in their strategizing was that I go to the gym
practically every day. I weight lift. I am no pushover. I am
determined to make the world work for me, and I can usually do it.
I win games.
With
that many people hitting me, I was battered and bruised after the
picnic. I felt somewhat insulted. But, at least, I had shown who I
am. No one had succeeded in breaking my grip. No one had knocked me
down. No one had gotten past me.
And, knowing that was worth a bruise or two.
