Everyone has a story

Don't they, though?

When you think about it, every person grew up in a distinct setting. Some people came from really great homes, and some didn't. Some people knew they'd go to college when they were ten, since their parents never really gave them the choice. Some people knew they'd never go to college when they were ten, since their parents were never able to provide that option.

Some people were born with mental disorders. Others walk through life with a sense of belonging. Some people have been really, really burned in relationships, while others have known little emotional pain throughout the course of their lives.

Some have been through many marriages, and some fear that they will die single. Some marry the girl next door, who has been their best friend since the second grade. And they even live happily ever after. Some don't even believe in "happily ever after".

I'm throwing out a lot of examples because I'm trying to really illustrate what seems to be such a simple idea: "Judging other people is wrong."

The other day I found out a lot about various coworkers. I realized that one of my coworkers, who I always viewed as a snotty bitch, actually got kicked out of her house by her own father, and was living in her car while she was a full-time student and balancing a part-time job. How much of a douche bag would I be to my coworkers that day because of my negative attitude? Probably a pretty big one. Hell, I got scammed out of 150 bucks the other day and was a walking attitude for 12 hours straight. My cross was lighter, and I bitched the whole way.

It's something everybody "learns" in kindergarten. "Learns". But it's something nobody can learn until they've lived with themselves long enough to know their flaws. To be able to recall one's own failures while still remembering the purity of his/her heart in those moments is a skill that everyone should have. Truth be told, we all came out of the womb innocent little creatures. Then the world took us all on our own journeys. And now we're here. Together. Interacting. Communicating. See potential for...just about anything? Homo sapiens are a quick-script, and that can get tricky.

I feel like I've been dealing with a lot of stuff lately. Could be that I'm just being my over-sensitive, over-analytical self, but I sincerely believe that I'm getting mistreated a lot lately. I've been getting the raw end of the deal in life, and I have gone without complaining about it. And, more importantly, without melting down. Though I've come to learn that there are two things that are always the worst possible choices: complaining, and worrying. Both of those activities, in the last 21 years, have become large parts of my day-to-day. As I consciously decide to keep quiet when I feel like complaining and ignore the worry when it comes, I'm becoming more comfortable, and more free.

Basically, I'm learning to see myself in every person. When other people make errors, I imagine how many times I've fucked up before, sometimes in the exact same way. And I've fucked up; trust me.

But I think that's what it takes to really stop judging people. I've got to understand that people are far from perfect. We're freaking animals with an extra pound of brain matter. Besides, to err is human after all.

So yeah - all I'm trying to say is, I'm learning to stop taking every single thing personally, and to starting forgiving myself and other people. And that's the learning type of learning - which is my comfort. Knowing that I'm learning and getting stronger, not just fucking up, makes me feel better when I feel like things are shitty. And little else anymore.

So that's why I wrote. :-)

You've got two options.

Tyler was a first-grader with one dad, one mom, two little sisters, one dog, and two cats.  He wanted a nerf gun.  More than anything.  Tyler begged his mother for a bigger allowance, but the fact of the matter was, his piggy-bank remained a few dollars too short.

So he stole some money out of his father’s wallet.  It was just sitting in there.  The white outline of the wrinkled, faded green twenty, corner flared out a centimeter from the end of the folded wallet.

His little hand reached to the kitchen tabletop and pulled down the thick chunk of leather that held all of his dad’s stuff.  School pictures of the kids, a driver’s license, some plastic swipe cards.  And one long, thin compartment with that worn-out twenty.  Tempting, and easy to grab.

“Mom?  Dad?”

A little louder the next time.  “Mom?  Dad?”

A third try for good measure.  “Anyone home?"  Nothing.  The coast was clear.

After a few glances right and left, his two little hands dug into the billfold and slipped out the twenty.  It was in his pocket as fast as one-foot pencil-arms could shove it.  He ran to his room and, breathing hard, jammed it into his dog-shaped piggy bank.

Dad’s got so many, what’s it matter anyway?

Half an hour later, his father, Scott, kicked off his grass-stained tennis shoes as he came into the kitchen after mowing the yard.  He poured a glass of kool-aid.  Purple – Tyler’s favorite.

He bent over to find his wallet on the ground, open, and short a twenty.

“Ty?”  Silence.

“Tyler?” he yelled through the house.  No answer again.

So Scott climbed up the stairs and stepped into Tyler’s room.  He looked at a lump under the bed covers, moving up and down with the rhythms of shaky, but controlled breathing.  “Ty, buddy?”

He realized what had happened when he saw the piggy bank sitting under the bed instead of on the dresser, where an oval devoid of dust marked its usual resting place.  It was below the inhaling and exhaling lump wrapped in a cocoon of race-car print bedding.

The dad tenderly pulled back the covers.  “Tyler, buddy, did you take my twenty dollar bill?”

Tyler’s sweaty body jerked to the other side of the bed as he tried to squirm away and run out of the room.

“I didn’t take it!  It wasn’t me!” he squealed.

But Scott’s swift and steady arm clutched Tyler's skinny ankle and yanked his son toward himself.  “Tyler.  I know what you have done.  It is not right to steal from daddy.”

The dad took Tyler’s belly and put it on his knee.  He was going to get a spanking.

“Don’t, daddy!  Don’t!  Let go of me!  Don’t!”

"Tyler, hold still.  You need to learn not to steal."

“Let me go!”

The father paused and realized how little he was accomplishing.

The boy was still crying.

The boy was still fighting.

He was still struggling to anchor the boy down with one arm so that he could spank with the other.  Nothing like how he envisioned his relationship with his son eight years ago when he was born.

He set Tyler down, helped him to his feet, and held him by the shoulders while squatting down so that they were face to face.

Tyler’s bowl-cut bangs were pasted to his forehead with sweat just above his eyes, which avoided his father’s gaze by looking down at the ground.

“Tyler, look at me.”  No response.

“Tyler, you look at me right now.”  Tyler’s body shook to try to free itself, but to no avail.

“Noooo!  Let me go!”

“Tyler, let me see your eyes.”  In a sort of surrender, Tyler’s big baby blues peeked up, as his look evolved into a contempt-filled stare.

The father’s eyes were focused in.

Seeing Tyler’s anger.

Seeing Tyler's stubbornness.

Seeing all the baggage that came with the simplicity of his son’s rebellion.

“Tyler, you have two options right now.  You choose.”

“You either take a big long spanking until my arm gets too tired to spank any longer,

or,

you let me snuggle with you for as long as I want, until I’m done.”

 

 

 

Ever feel like you've just got to be missing something?  A few weeks ago, I found my Father looking me right in the eyes, telling me I had two options.

Amen, brother.