Red Rover, Red Rover

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.