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Friday, June 11, 2010

Crayola Bombs and Silly Squabbles


I marvel at and admire my blogger friends who write about their daily life, good, bad, or ugly. The emotions seem to flow from their fingertips to the encouragement or empathy of the reader. I, on the other hand, sit with fingers poised on my keyboard, staring at the computer screen like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Maybe, it is because while I was growing up there was always a "shh", we don't want ______ to hear. Mother never spoke to anyone about the abuse she suffered at the hands of my father. Nor did I. Drunk or sober, physical or emotional, family  feuds stayed confined within the walls of privacy. 

The end result for me was growing up imprisoned in shame. If I cried it was shameful, so it was done in private. If I was hurting it was a disgrace, so I hid my feelings. If I reached out to someone it was a stigma, so I kept to myself. I carried guilt, disgust, low self esteem, and self-degradation. I grew up embarrassed, angry and debased. 

Today, I had to ask myself. How can I expect to help others to walk through the hard times if I am not willing to openly share mine. So, I am turning over yet another leaf toward emotional health. I am throwing it to the wind to land where it will. 

My adult children are squabbling. And I am feeling hurt and angry about it. Not because they are squabbling. That is commonplace in almost every family. But because it is past the expiration date and needs to be discarded.

I think most squabbles are petty and immature. I think life is too short, and relationships too valuable to be upset about earrings, nose rings, tongue rings, toe rings, tattoos, time, money, the honey, beauty, bad hair days, broken nails, big butts or no guts. I think opinions should be stated but not forced. I think it's okay to sweetly tease friends and loved ones, but not to continue to grind someone down simply because there is an issue with their choices. I think those who have already lost a loved one should consider the cost of a clash. I think the question should be asked. Is this really worth wrangling about?
  
Robert Fulghum said, "Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one...".

A Crayola bomb could blow away the goth coating on this squabble scene and like a black crayon scratch picture reveal a rainbow of colors. The bygone bickering could be hung with a memory magnet on life's storyboard and added to all those caustic turned comedy tales. Where the fruit is no longer wearing the loom, you can buy an adult costume for a hippopotamus, trees chip cheap china, It's Rubbermaid not Tupperware contain laughter, maybe a guy named Ray can fix it for ya, and afghans cover a multitude of sins. 

When the fallout clears and crayola confetti covers the ground we can still color our family with the kind of love that doesn't give up, doesn't keep score, doesn't quit, and keeps going to the end. So, in this case, let someone cast the first crayon!

1 comment:

Thanks for taking a walk with me. Please feel free to leave your footprints.

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