I'll probably breathe at the initial shock of whatever it is that this person thinks is so vastly important that I have to stop everything I'm doing (including sleeping in) to help them survive this newest and most disastrous peril. It must be that I have experienced something like this; therefore I MUST have a solution. Or, and probably more accurate, it could be because I'm the mom.
I'm only 50, so I can still say with a clear mind that I remember the 60's. I was there. I was a kid, but I do remember them. I remember the Vietnam Conflict, our president claiming on television that he wasn't a crook. I remember noodling, fishing with my hands in the river. I remember climbing trees before I could read. I remember walking for MILES away from my home at night, and riding my bike even further, and not being afraid that someone would kidnap or harm me in any way.
I remember when moms made our birthday cakes and we licked the bowls clean. Funny, I remember what I was wearing when I jumped off the cliff at Falls Creek Church Camp into shallow water, but I don't remember hitting my knees. I've seen pictures of them all bruised and battered but if it hurt I don't recall that. I've patched up more scrapes and cuts than I care to mention and there's NO WAY I could tell you about all the times I snuck into or out of someplace I wasn't supposed to be. Still, I have to pretend to be upset if one of my kids does something too similar to what I got away with...is that OK? For me to just pretend to be upset? Inside I'm sort of giggling about it. Does that make me a bad person?
I grew up somehow, even after drinking creek water with tadpoles in it. I did survive! I made it to 50 even though I bought more than a dozen Volkswagen Beetle Bugs, put a bit of work into them, drove them across the country to L.A., and sold them for FAR too much money so I could live off the profits and not have to actually work. Where did I ever get the idea? How did I ever pull that off? I grew up somewhere between the cheerleading, gymnastics, football and baseball games, the rodeos, stand-up comedian work, and all those times I begged McDonald's and Taco Bell to give me just one taco or burger so I could live another day. That was when a manager of a restaurant felt a bit sorry for a skinny dirty-faced kid with barn mud on her boots and straw sticking to her hair.
Hollywood was fun. After the horses, the dogs, the friends, and high school I worked my way to the limelight and then stayed absolutely clear of it. I worked behind the scenes writing, dancing, helping, driving, doing anything but acting, and made it in 11 films and a few sitcoms as an extra. I was perfectly OK with it too, just as long as I didn't have to look into the camera. I don't have ONE CLUE as to why its "eye" scared the hell out of me. I hated it; although there was this one guy that worked the lens in Hollywood that kept my attention - - I'd take 1983 back if I could. I'd do those Hollywood nights another go-round if I knew what I know now. Who wouldn't start over? I ran home you know. I ran! Got scared out of my wits; too naive and country for the real grit.
Since then I've lived again but it's not the same type of living. I worked, I married, I had kids, I went to school, divorced, fought for custody, gained weight, got hurt, got over it, bit the bullet, paid the bills, and found a way to say grace every day too. Grace was the most important part of my life then and it still is.
So I wake up now, I look at the clock and think to myself "Tomorrow all of what I do today will be yesterday. I better make it work", and somehow, probably by Grace; I do.
