A lesson learned...through his eyes

My 6-year-old keeps a photo of me in a frame on his shelf above his bed.  It's a ceramic frame he and his friends painted, decorated, and put their names on for his 5th birthday party at one of those paint-your-own-pottery places.  The photo of me is from 1994, my senior year of high school.

Tonight at bedtime, we were doing our nightly routine of "Day Talk" (where we tell each other, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute, about our days) and Alex said something about how he loves that photo.  I asked him if he even knew who it was and he said, without hesitation, "It's you, Mommy".

Now, I look at that photo and I don't see me.  I see a 17-year-old version of who I used to be.  I see a young, thin, pretty girl, with the whole world in front of her.  She had adventures to go on, wild animals to tame, and dreams to conquer.  A far cry from the frumpy, old, haggard version of me before him.

But here was my sweet, innocent, 6-year-old saying, without skipping a beat, "It's you, Mommy!"

I jokingly responded, "How do you know that's me?!?"

"Because I see your same eyes."

"The same smile"

"The same hair"

"The same teeth"

"The same..."

He looked at this picture of me from 20+ years ago and he saw me just as he sees me now.  He didn't see the absence of wrinkles then vs. today's dull, lack luster skin.  Instead he looks past my greying hair and the no-longer-straight and certainly no-longer sparkling white teeth I once sported in my youth.  It didn't even phase him that the girl in that picture is easily 100 lbs lighter.  That she saw hope and promise in a world she has since become skeptical of.  He simply saw ME.  He saw his Mom.  He sees the same person NOW that I was back then.  And in that moment...so did I.  Now to practice holding on to that...

Give me a 'C'!

Ok, it's time to get back on the horse, as they say.  Vacation is over and I have a schedule to keep and a fan base to remain loyal to (HA!)  :)  Seriously, though...this Thinkbox Thursday question has been sitting in draft form for weeks now as I had intended to post it while I was on vacation.  However, with no internet service in the 1000 Islands to assist me with that, it sat unfinished until tonight.  So, without further ado.  (Whatever that means...)

Were you ever in a drama or speech class, on a sports team, or in a club?

I tried the drama thing and failed miserably.  I was never cut out for a speech class of any sort.  The very thought of all those EYES gazing upon me while I delivered a lecture of any length makes my skin crawl even now.  I was part of a few clubs, S.A.D.D. and I'm sure others that have slipped my mind.  But sports.  Now there's an activity I really sank my teeth into in high school.  No, I wasn't a softball player.  I never had a penchant for volleyball or tennis.  I'm simply not built for basketball.  Nope, I threw myself into a sport of another sort.  

I realize this is a highly debated topic but I was, in fact, on a sports team.  I, not surprisingly to most (and already known to the majority of you reading this anyway) was a CHEERLEADER.  Now I now some may scoff at the use of the words CHEERLEADING and SPORT in the same sentence but I am not backing down on this one.  Obviously this must be less of an issue today than it was back in MY day.  Afterall, have you SEEN cheerleaders today?!?  With the level of athleticism they exhibit and the degree of difficulty involved in the stunts and routines they perform, it's obvious to me they're working their butts off!!  

But yes, back in the day, I was a Football, Basketball, and Soccer (yes, SOCCER) cheerleader.  Different seasons, of course, but from Freshman year through my Senior year in high school I cheered for all seasons and enjoyed every single minute of it.  I don't care what people say, really.  Even when I was a cheerleader (before the massive expectations, dangerous three-story-high flying and flipping in the air, and triple-back-flip-head-spinning hand springs), we worked hard.  We had to be in shape, we exercised, and practiced, and perfected our "game" (also known as skills, cheers, jumps, timing, acrobatics, stunts, etc.).  We were out there in the wind, rain, snow, and bitter temperatures cheering on our players, entertaining the spectators, and freezing our little behinds off in those little skirts and tops!  That alone deserves respect, recognition, and credit!  I really think cheering helped me grow in confidence and helped to prove (at least to ME) that I was good at something.  I mean I wasn't the best, I was a mediocre cheerleader at best (as I am with most everything) but I'm ok with that.  I never really strove to be the best.  That was too much spotlight for me.  I honestly didn't mind blending in.  I just liked having the camaraderie.  I liked the feeling of being a part of a community, and hey, the title was cool, too.  Plus, it was a lot of fun!  I made some fantastic friends and a whole heck of a lot of memories along the way.   It taught me responsibility and hard work and dedication.  I was accountable to a TEAM and it certainly kept me busy (Read: out of trouble!)!  I am proud of my days as a cheerleader.

Here's some tangible proof of my BHS pride:  

Lucky (?) for you guys I haven't gotten my scanner up and running or you'd have an eyeful of flashback cheering photos to pile through!  Count your blessings!  He, he!

The Unlikely Messenger

Ok, so I'm falling into a cheesy trend of scheduling out my days of the week with fun little tasks to fulfill. The problem is that I frequent so many blogs and other people have such cute ideas that I feel compelled to participate!!! So here's my latest, with my own spin.

Introducing: Flashback Fridays.

I think it would be fun to post old pictures or tell old stories as a flashback to a different time. Some have called it Way Back Whensdays but I have Wednesdays taken, so Fridays it is.

However, since this will require me to plug in and "warm up" my scanner, I will start this week with a story of days gone by.

August, 1994

It was a hot, sticky summer. Mosquitos filled the humid air, just waiting to perch and feast upon their prey. The days stretched out ahead of me, one right after another...

Ha! Just kidding. Seriously though - August of 1994 was (obviously for those of you who were there) the summer after I graduated from high school. I was about to venture out on my own for the first time. My bags were packed and I had plans to move into my first apartment just in time to settle in before the Fall semester started at GCC. It was bittersweet. An odd cross between elation at my impending freedom and sheer terror at my approaching independence.

My sister, Sarah, was 13 at the time. We had shared a room together since the day she was born so it was going to be strange for her to have her own taste of freedom, too, I'm sure. No one to yell at her for being sloppy, no toe tapping or music playing to keep her up at night, and no one hogging 3/4 of the closet.

As I was getting ready for the big move out on my own, she brought me her beloved black bear, (creatively) named Blackie, and told me she wanted me to bring him with me when I left. She was afraid I'd be lonely and thought he could keep me company. How sweet is that?!? But wait. I knew how important Blackie was to her so I refused to accept him until she insisted that she'd be ok without him and that I needed him more than she did. This "simple", unselfish, and immensely sacrificial gesture was huge to me! I mean, Blackie was Sarah's lovey, her comfort item, her best friend! He had worn spots where she loved on him for years, matted fur where she had held him tight to ease her fears and calm her nerves. How could she bear (ha!) to part with him?!? I'm sure she must have sensed my trepidation and in that moment, rather than give in to her sadness and fear about my leaving, she stood up to give me strength. And through this unlikely, stuffed, 2-foot-tall, fuzzy messenger of love and support, she showed a selflessness and maturity well beyond her thirteen years.

What Sarah probably doesn't realize is that I spent many rough nights holding Blackie tight as he eased MY fears and calmed MY nerves. I pulled him close when my tiny little apartment seemed big and scary and I missed the familiar sounds of home and my family. I sat him nearby as stress got high because assignments were due or big tests were looming. I talked to him when no one else was around to hear how my day had been. Blackie was a Godsend in those first few months and years of college. He was like a little, black, furry guardian angel sent to watch over me!

Even 15 years later, Sarah's timely gift has continued to stick with me. I think because it demonstrates a prime example of unconditional love. It shows a degree of support and care and a level of understanding that you don't find very often. My sister was willing to give up the one thing that meant the world to her to give me comfort, strength and companionship in my huge new leap into the big, scary world. She recognized that and made the ultimate sacrifice (to a 13-year-old!) to show her love and support. For that I will always be grateful. And for always I will do my best to repay the favor in your time of need. I love you, "big" lil' sis!!