Yesterday morning I walked with my friend. It's been a busy summer, so I've had fewer opportunities to catch up while perambulating through town, down by the old mill where artists create and the falls that have seen tragedy and salmon runs, past the pond next to the American Legion, and down the hill to the local gas station where they sell dollar coffee. The dog came with us and had an ecstatic time. That's the beautiful thing about dogs: simple pleasures, people, smells ~ it all makes them ecstatic.
We pondered and fulminated and cried. We met another mom on her morning walk. Serendipitously, this mom has a daughter in my son's class. They were on the same rec soccer team last fall, and the little girl remembers my son fondly. The mom is a special ed teacher in another district, and, when I expressed my nervousness about the upcoming school year, she said her daughter would be a good friend to C. She also expressed confidence in C's new teacher and new classroom aide. Hallelujah! What a relief. I couldn't stop the tears.
The second, unexpected event of the walk was running into my parents at the gas station. They were fueling up their fancy Subaru, which, despite being ostensibly purchased several years ago to keep their grandchildren safe on fun adventures, has only transported my children a handful of times. The dog tried to greet to my father, which didn't go over well, and my parents awkwardly said hello before we made a quick exit. Picture Ian Miller's parents in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," but worse. Worse because it wasn't staid awkwardness, it was awkwardness humming with anger. At me, at each other, at the world - who knows? And who cares? I do. I was completely undone. And do you know what my friend said, my friend who has never once gossiped or spoken an ill word about anyone in her life, even people I know she finds trying? "That was SO AWKWARD!" Of course, I've never doubted that she believes me when I talk about the tension or the gaslighting or the disconnect. But to have someone I love, someone who knows me well, witness my parents being my parents in real time, the microaggressions that destroy, even for 10 seconds, and have my sentiments echoed and affirmed? Monumental. Healing.
I was transported back in time to when I was a 15 year old girl, afraid of my parents' silent wrath. I couldn't stop crying. I am embarrassed to admit this, but I was afraid of receiving a dressing-down later via email because I failed to control my dog or because of some other inane mistake I unwittingly made. And then, through processing it all with my friend and my dog and the quiet morning, I became 41-year-old me again. I was still sad, but I felt lighter. Things are starting to make more sense. I'm starting to make more sense, when viewed through the lens of all my experiences. How I love, how I am a friend, how I am a parent. Strength and insecurity. Brave but afraid.
Later that day, our family went to the beach with another dear friend and his daughter. The tide was going out and the surf was whipped up so we had huge waves to ride. I felt like a kid again, but a happy child, carefree and floating like a cork in the waves. I wanted to do cartwheels down the entire length of the beach. I felt more comfortable and confident in my physical body. I felt grounded and calm even during the mass exodus over the footbridge to escape the impending thunderstorm, even while C was spiraling from fatigue. Even last night, when he softly tapped his head with a rock -- what a horrible juxtaposition of words -- I remained strong. We all slept peacefully last night.
The Eagle of his Nest
No easier divest—
And gain the Sky
Than mayest Thou—
Except Thyself may be
Thine Enemy—
Captivity is Consciousness—
So's Liberty.
Emily Dickinson, No Rack can torture me
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