Days of My Life

Aww, man. I actually wrote this over a week ago, but since I haven’t posted much recently and don’t feel like posting now, here’s something from the draft box. It’s no longer relevant in fact, but maybe you can relate.

Are you familiar with the Robert Frost poem about two roads diverging in a wood and the speaker taking the one less traveled and that making all the difference? If you’ve never read it, look it up. That’s how I’m feeling right now.

You know how in retrospect you can look back and say I’m glad I made that choice or I would’ve ended up _________? Well, when you’re in a position to make choices that can change your destiny you very rarely know it. Maybe it’s the one time you dare to do something different, drive a different way home, answer an unknown call, choose the red dress instead of the blue one. Whatever “it” is, it changes your life and you never know why because it happens so suddenly it takes you by storm. Maybe it’s connecting with someone who will become an integral part of your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Whatever the choice is, there is a certain amount of freedom in taking the road less traveled, and indeed, it does make all the difference.

It’s almost time to turn the page on yet another year. I just love this time of year. Don’t you? I get to sit back and reflect on the wins and losses of life and hopefully add up more wins than losses. This year I’m fortunate. The wins win.

Since this is the end of ‘05, I’ll take a page from the book of Will and count my blessings in fives.

Five years ago: I was playing real life Monopoly, piercing my belly button, dying my hair shades of blond and brown, teaching high school and college, and messing with two “fly guy” brothers better known as Frick and Frack. Let’s just say I was in the middle of an early life crisis, and I did not truly love myself.

Five months ago: I re-entered the work force part-time after a two year hiatus during full time graduate study. I was busting my tail to maintain residences in two different states without full-time income. I was preparing to help my cousin launch his company’s first line of products at TD Jakes’ MegaFest. I began feeling something missing inside and prepared to re-evaluate my purpose in life and prepare for a world of unlimited and wonderful possibilities that I knew had to be just around the bend.

Five weeks ago: I was swamped with school work and grading papers. I was planning my first Thanksgiving away from home, and I am thankful that I had wonderful friends to spend it with.

Five days ago: My friend figured out how to download the pictures from my cousin’s digital camera and I successfully forwarded them to another friend. I was also smiling as I read another blogger’s post about “Nights Like This,” glad to be able to read the work of such a gifted writer. I was also scurrying around trying to gather my things for an early a.m. flight the next morning (which I sooo missed).

Five minutes ago: I breathed a sigh of relief as I emailed my final paper for the semester, bringing me to the end of my next to last semester of graduate school. Thank God!!

Five years ago, I couldn’t have imagined my life without a self-deceptive no strings attached friendship with benefits. I had a post-break-up relationship-phobia. I also couldn’t have imagined that my inner beauty would exceed my carefully coiffed and orchestrated outer beauty of my mid-twenties to shock even myself at the potential we hold within ourselves when we are open to love. Not just the unselfish love of others but the love of self.

Five months ago, I couldn’t have imagined that God would allow me to maintain both residences and not break a sweat because I learned to trust in Him. I would’ve never guessed that my cousin’s business would have enjoyed the success that it has in such a relatively short amount of time. I couldn’t have imagined that I would reach out to someone with whom I could share the most intimate details of what had become a lifelong secret that few others could understand.

Five weeks ago, I couldn’t have imagined that my Christmas and New Year’s would be filled with more family members and love than I know what to do with, or in some instances even care for.

Five days ago, I couldn’t have imagined that I would be seeing my dad in the winter of his years and still looking at him through my childhood eyes as my all powerful Superman. I wouldn’t have imagined that my always confident mother would ever admit an insecurity about the beauty of her own physical features which are nothing but regal to me.

Five minutes ago, I did not know that I would write so much or feel so deeply the enormity of the gratefulness and love that I am feeling right now. I could not have imagined that I’d just be grateful for you being here, now, able to read this post.

Be blessed.

NLC

If Oprah can have a list of her favorite things, why can’t I? Here are the Top 10 Things I Can’t Do Without.

10. Fresh, ripe Georgia peaches.

9. Colors, esp. purple and various shades of blue.

8. Water!! Give me an ocean, a lake, a river, a tub. Beaches are always good. Pisces in me.

7. A full moon in a clear sky.

6. Jamaica. Jamaica. Jamaica.

5. My puppy dog, Grandma.

4. Poetry and music, or poetry read to music.

3. Black music: funk, soul, jazz, gospel, r&b, Marley (he’s his own genre), hip-hop…

2. Every interactive Elmo toy and the new dancing Tigger toy!!!

1. The Bible, of coursre.

What things top your list?

I’ve been on a brief hiatus. Sorry about that. But occasionally I teach a little something. Consequently, I have to grade papers, and that’s all I’ve done this week. So, I have to tell you all about them. My students are, uhm, well, let me just tell you about them. I teach about 4o 18-19 year-olds how to write, and our text takes its topics from African and African American history. Here is a bit of what’s entertained me for the past week.

Student 1 in a final essay: (And I paraphrase, not too loosely) Young people today have too much other stuff to think about than Black history. People need to realize that things have changed and racism doesn’t exist anymore. People are equal now.
Let’s just call that the Carlton Banks Complex. And this is the same student who admitted to being racially profiled in his brand new luxury vehicle from his parents. Hmmmm.

Student 2: This character has turned in sub par work all semester with 20 point font, no type of subject-verb agreement, poor spelling,–get the point? Oh yeah, and he overslept for most of the classes in the semester. So, on the last day that I would accept papers, he gives me a rewrite and two essays I’ve never seen before. The rewrite is one we’d worked on together almost two months before. The other two began on line one in 12 font with cover sheets attached. Looked like they might not waste my reading time. Upon further inspection, they did not have his last name numbering each page as MLA Style requires, but that’s a small matter, right? Get this. The cover sheets were in his usual 20 font and they.were.stapled.UPSIDE.DOWN!!! That still wasn’t good enough because the last two essays were written using words that I know he can’t even pronounce!! What the *bleep*?!!! Can you say p.l.a.g.i.a.r.i.s.m? And what grade do you think he got? Mmmhmmm….Or my name ain’t what it is.

Oh yeah, did you know the Ancient African Americans created the pyramids? Sure did.

Oh, trust, there are more examples of the lunacy that has passed my eyes, but for fear of either boring or outraging you, I stop.

Now, you think about it. Do you really want the children to be your future? I think I’ll take a page from the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill and decide deep in my heart to decide my own destiny…

Just my thoughts…
NLC

After a brief hibernation, I’m back and today’s topic– self destruction. Well, not really, but I’m having childhood flashbacks of the “Self Destruction” video. Disclaimer: This is going to be long. I’m really discussing that favorite childhood toy, Big Wheels!! Remember that one? Everyone on my street wanted to be friends with the kids who had the Big Wheels. Couldn’t wait to run to their houses and fight for “turns” to ride the Big Wheel until someone yelled, “Time’s up!! It’s my chance!” And of course, there was the fight that ensued when someone wouldn’t get up and the offended party began a trivial pursuit of the culprit after the words, “Get up! You’ve been on it longer than anybody else!” Then, the owner always stepped in with the power play of “Nobody’s riding it if you’re gonna fight. *whispering* Come on, _______, let’s go on ______ St. and ride by ourselves.” Those were the days, but my how things change.

Almost two years ago now, I got the chance to have my very own set of Big Wheels, but to my dismay, no one asked to play with me or ride on my Big Wheels. Maybe because I’m a full grown woman and must have looked crazy navigating my wheels. That had to be it. Because there’s no way you can convince me that no one wanted to play with my Big Wheels because there were four wheels instead of the customary three. And there’s no way you can convince me it’s because my Big Wheels were made of chrome instead of the colorful plastic of my youth. Unh-unh. That couldn’t have been it. Maybe it was because my Big Wheels had another name that made people turn away when they looked at me as though they were ashamed or look at me too long. Maybe it’s because my Big Wheels were also called a wheelchair. One of the best experiences of my life has been the opportunity to gain a different perspective and live my life in my own wheels.

I got my wheels due to a freak accident that broke my foot, or at least the doctors thought it was broken at the time. Typically, a broken bone doesn’t take more than 6-8 weeks to heal. Sometimes therapy is necessary after a cast comes off for strength, but the healing process is relatively quick, especially with younger people. That didn’t happen for me. I could not stand, and I could not walk. I was in just as much pain as before the cast was set. I was referred to therapy, and after a few weeks of therapy and a second opinion by an orthopedic specialist, my doctor threw up his hands and discharged me. He couldn’t explain it and said there was nothing else he could do.

By the time the cast came off, I rarely used the crutches due to underarm nerve pain and remained house bound. When I visited the doctors, I used the hospital wheelchairs for transport. I remained in therapy for almost 9 months. The physician who oversaw my therapy did not give up. Though, after months, I still showed no improvement. One website likened the pain of what I was eventually diagnosed with as being worse than that of cancer, so you can imagine that my doctors tried any number of pain meds. In addition to the constant pain, I had excrutiating muscle spasms, loss of feeling, numbness, and sometimes my foot felt like ice on the outside while my body told me it was burning up. Through it all, my doctor did not want me to get a wheelchair but to keep trying to put weight on my foot with the help of my crutches. Now, let’s.be.for.REAL! Can you imagine trying to go everywhere you have to go in the course of a day on crutches alone? They just aren’t intended for long term use. I admired his zeal to see me improve, but I had to trade in the sticks for a shiny chair. I craved the independence that I knew my wheels would bring, and it was after I got them that I got my diagnosis: incurable neurological damage that only could be treated (has a name but that’s irrelevant).

So few people who were close to me even knew what I was going through, and how in the world could I tell them that? Most of my friends spoke to me almost every week by phone, and I never told them. They never asked because it has never been unusual for me not to be around due to my schedule. I knew I’d have to face everyone eventually in my new wheels, and that was hard. It was hard because my vanity had already been assaulted by tremendous weight gain, but my wheels just brought extra attention that I did not want. I do not doubt that my friends would not have cared one bit, other than being concerned, about my wheels. But it was the public that I had to deal with.

The young lady whom I now only refer to as my sister took care of me, and we went all over the place with my wheels. Each place we went, I would be greeted with stares or looks of pity. When transacting business, clerks and others always addressed my sister and never me. I loved it when my sister would say, “You can tell/ask her, she’s sitting right there.” One older lady broke down and cried at the mere sight of consistently seeing me use my crutches in a place that we both frequented every week. My youth and my wheels were too much of a contradiction for her, and though she may have thought her tears a comfort, it wasn’t much of a comfort to have to comfort her while I was the one wheeling. I can’t explain the frustration of wheeling up a ramp only to find that the handicap doors don’t work because well-abled people have broken them through unnecessary overuse. And I can’t forget about my favorite, having to journey across a long parking lot because someone who can actually walk (usu. someone transporting someone else with front door drop off) has taken a reserved spot that I desperately needed. Then there are those who have no handicap hanger or tag and just take the spots as their just due. And can I ever forget about the icey days when salt or gravel was too much of a bother for some store or establishment?

Kicker: Let me tell you. Men just aren’t attracted to girls riding Big Wheels after childhood. The whole time I was using crutches or my wheelchair, one guy approached me. That was a significant decline for me, one that “punked” my own attitude of having sometimes judged people based on what was on the outside. I got a serious reality check when I went from flyy girl to roller girl. I learned so much about me and other people. My wheels dropped the “b” from my “-itchy.” And it needed to go.

Concerning my illness, my spirits were always high, but dealing with people who don’t understand the disabled can be tough. I admit that I was once one of those, but the lessons I’ve learned have made me free. I hope they make you think about how you deal with the disabled. Many of you don’t know it, but you deal with the disabled every day because a feeble mind is far worse than a feeble body. But let me ask you about the physical disabilities. How do you look (or do you) at the disabled? Would you ever date someone who’s disabled? Would you stay with them if they ended up that way after you met them without a disability? Don’t worry about WWJD? What Would YOU Do? Too pensive to reply? I know how you feel?

(I use past tense because I walk everyday now, and I use no crutches or a cane. I thank Jesus for it. How did that happen? I like to think it’s because I learned exactly what God intended, but that’s a story for another post.)

As always, especially after this long post that I hope you got to the end of,
Just my thoughts
NLC