july honesty

I remember waiting in an airport. I think it was Salt Lake City. With my dad and both of my sisters. We were bored, waiting for our flight to Riverside, California, where we would be, most assuredly (although none of us probably understood the seriousness of the situation back then), saying goodbye to our mom's mom, known to me as "Grumma". I had just turned nine and couldn't sit still for a moment. I asked my dad if I could look at all the books in a nearby store to pass the time and he agreed; the store was only feet from where we were waiting at our gate.

I can't give you a play-by-play of the event, but I can tell you that I got as grounded as you can get in an airport...and that's saying a lot, let me tell you. There was a book that explained how to play poker. In the middle of it, there was an insert with scratch-off playing cards. You didn't know what the cards were until you scratched them off. I happened to have or find a coin and began scratching the grey off. Dad called me back to him - our flight was now boarding. Placing the book on its shelf, I ran back to where my family was hurriedly gathering our baggage.

The cashier from the store came out of nowhere. She (or he...it might have been either, I don't remember) asked Dad to come back to the store with her/him. Confused and a bit frustrated by the interruption in boarding, he followed the cashier and asked me to come with him. The cashier showed Dad the book I had held just moments before and turned to the insert, where grey dust was caught in between the pages. The cashier was mad; Dad had to buy the book; I felt somewhat guilty, but mostly frightened.

The book was green, with playing cards on the front of it and the title included the word "Poker". I remember the cover of the book - I memorized it as it flew from my dad's large and intimidating hand into the silver trashcan just outside the bookstore.

I also remember shopping at Mervyns with my mom. Top floor, little girls' section. I was 7, maybe 8. I was with my mom and we were looking for black jeans. Now, these weren't just any black jeans. I was looking for the black jeans. The ones that looked exactly like my mother's black jeans. I didn't just want black jeans. I needed black jeans.

I stayed at home with my mom until I went to Kindergarten. Just her and me. We got close during those years and I did everything I could to emulate my mom, including wearing black jeans. She listened to country music back then. So did I. That was all she ever listened to. She didn't care for contemporary Christian music, no rock, no oldies, no pop. So did I. Just country. She loved everything Western (and still does, except her "nothing but country music" has lessened). So did I.

Apparently, little girls didn't wear black jeans back then. I felt sad and mad and that's when my mom had a great idea - to go to the little boys' section. At first, I thought that might be weird. Wearing boys' pants? How awkward would that look? Not so bad, if I do say so myself. Although I had to get used to the backwards zipper and more material near the top, I couldn't be happier. So was Mom - a happy child is a happy mother, I guess. We bought them right away.

I remember getting rid of those, by then, old jeans. I remember feeling somewhat guilty for doing so. Somehow, in my naive little mind, I thought that maybe I was also getting rid of wanting to be like my mom. Or maybe that was just my mind in later years, remembering the way the rough black jeans felt between my fingers and the awkward backwards zipper as I put them in the "donate" pile.

I often find myself wishing to go back in time. To experience certain situations and feelings once again. Or maybe twice or three times more. I want to think that I'd respond to these experiences in better ways. But I can't help but also wonder if those little moments of learning have made me who I am today. Would I then change my reactions if I could? I'm not sure.

Fast forward a few more years and you'll find me in my junior year of high school. I'm dating the class clown and I feel wonderful. Then, I wake up one morning and poof! It's gone. He's gone. "We" are gone. What I thought I knew and understood is now being chucked out a 3rd story window. The sky was dreary that day. Cloudy, cold. March. Almost April. I took off in the car I borrowed from my parents to get back and forth to school everyday, headed to a listening ear and a big hug from my sister at her apartment. I didn't understand a thing and I found myself driving down the freeway - 65 miles per hour - tears clouding my vision. I nearly swerved off the road and began to think that life was over as I knew it.

In a sense, I was right. I was still me. Life would keep going. But I had learned. I had taken another step in growing up. I now understood more about what it meant to be human. Hearts get broken. People hurt. Tears fall all over the world and there's nothing anyone can do to stop them.

I finally got to a point where I could forgive him. It took a lot of time. A lot. I still didn't fully understand why he did it, but I came face-to-face with the fact that I probably never would. I remember driving home from running errands with my mom. Summertime. The sun was out - a stunningly beautiful day from where I sat in the passenger seat. I remember saying, "It's ok. I'll be ok." I felt peace wash over me. I could finally move on.

I think there are times in our lives when our actions don't make sense to us. Instead of seeing ourselves as human, we see ourselves as, quite honestly, someone who should have known better - and that doesn't sit well with us. If you're anything like me, we analyze and critique - attempt to find reasons behind this or explanations behind that. If it doesn't make sense, then the analysis must deepen, it must mean something.

Why is it so easy to feel guilty about the things we did or didn't do in the past? About the things we said or didn't say? When will we figure out that we're human?? We do stupid things and we learn from them. We go through phases and then we leave them. We love...and we lose. Human.

That green book - that terrible foe, but teacher of many lessons - may never leave my brain. The realization of moving out of one phase into another greatly saddens and excites me. And the moment when love walks out on you without an explanation hurts like nothing else, but also makes way for something even better.

Moments that teach you, that move you, that make you challenge who you are and perhaps even who God is, are worth remembering...even if it hurts.