My Favorite Flower

Some of my most vivid memories are from when I was younger. I can't tell you why I remember them so well, in fact besides providing some laughs most of them hold zero significance to me. I remember a girl giving me one of her strawberry fruit snacks when I was in second grade during lunch. I, not knowing I was allergic to strawberries, immediately began vomiting as my throat began to swell shut. I was fine after about twenty minutes or so in the principal's office but to this day she still reminds me when I see her how traumatic of an experience it was for her.

I remember swim lessons at our family's first apartment complex when we moved to Illinois from Georgia. I was hellbent on being the best in sports and wasn't about to let the other little tykes show me up when it came to diving to the bottom of the deep end. Having suffered from childhood asthma, I quickly realized I had grossly underestimated the distance I could safely dive while holding my breath and completely blacked out underwater. As I came to outside the pool, my 8 year old self had just gotten mouth to mouth from the gorgeous red haired lifeguard who saved the day. Not the ideal situation to get your first kiss, but hey, don't rain on my parade. But one of my earliest memories that sticks out the most was the day I decided to completely shut down emotionally to others.

Time has been good to you, Wendy Peffercorn

My folks hit a rough spot in their marriage... although I have no problem sharing the story with close friends I will not go into further detail on the internet out of respect for both of them. But, like most children, I started to become extremely quiet and secluded as I had to face the harsh reality that life wasn't always rainbows and sunshine. It's funny how parents can do an extremely good job of not letting children know exactly how bad things in life can be. They don't always understand yelling, or what mommy/daddy losing their job means, or why one of them won't be living with you anymore.

I remember laying down on a long brown chair, a poster of Ella Fitzgerald hanging directly across from me. My short body barely took up room as I reclined, perhaps a sign I was too young to be in such a place. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to, it's all up to you" the counselor said as he sat behind his desk. Silence ensued. Just minutes ago I was sitting outside in the lobby as my sister exited the door, tears streaming down her face. I remember feeling as though I had failed her as a brother, like I should have gone in first so she could see me leave before she went in emotionally unscathed. Every session went like this. I knew my parents were looking out for me, hoping maybe a professional could tap into those emotional areas inside my heart that I had chosen to shut down. But every single session was silence, not a word left my lips. To this day I can't remember what the counselor looked like. I'd walk in with my head down and proceed to stare off into space until my time was up. Nine times out of ten he'd have to tap me on the shoulder to let me know it was time to go, I was too busy going off into my happy place to hear him say I could leave.

And although my parents resolved their differences, my heart had officially decided to lock itself behind close doors. Years have passed and I still find myself quiet around my parents, talking to them as though I'm still a scared child. Perhaps unavoidable pain I've inflicted on myself, perhaps a pain I decided was necessary in order to feel "normal".

Then a funny thing happened today... I found out someone died. Let me explain. As I was driving I got caught in traffic and was forced to travel at a snail's pace for about a mile. With the cool, fall breeze in the air I decided to drive with my windows down and the radio up. Something caught my eye and as I glanced out the passenger side window I noticed a funeral procession. Although my music wasn't blaring, I decided to turn it down out of respect for those mourning, and it turns out they were close enough to hear as the priest made his closing remarks. Afterwards, a pair of women, maybe a mother and daughter made their way over to the grave. Although I was in traffic and although her voice was soft, I made out "I just wish I could have..." followed by a loud honk, the fellow in the car behind me was in no mood to wait any longer.

If you lack a mountain or nearby Buddhist temple, your car may be your best solution for enlightenment

She wish she could have what? It bothered me the rest of the trip. The rest of the 20 minute drive was made in complete silence, my brain so flustered I hadn't even realized I never turned the radio back up. Did she want to tell him she loved him, she was sorry, given him one last kiss goodbye? WHAT THE FUCK WAS SHE WISHING FOR? Then it struck me... someone was wishing for something they knew they couldn't have while I had things I wasn't appreciating. 

I remember running through a field of daises with my sister one evening, the air cool though I'm not sure where we were at. We would pick them up in piles and blow their seeds away, watching as the breeze floated them into the sky. The reason I liked running through that particular field was because, no matter how many daises we picked, there would be hundreds of thousands in the same place the next time we went.

I've decided I'm going to try and enjoy the daises from now on. You don't always pick your moments, or your parents, where you were raised or who you fall in love with. And just like a daisy, those moments are going to go away before you know it. But so often we complain about the good times not lasting, forgetting that all moments don't last forever... to include the bad ones.

I have people who love and care for me and it's about time I start giving the same affection back. Because for all I know, I could lose everyone I care for tomorrow. For all I know, they could lose me tomorrow. I don't want people wishing things could have been different when there's time to make them different now. People change, I sure as hell know I'm not the same individual I was ten years ago, or five, or one. Keeping an open heart to those who have hurt or disappointed you in the past is no easy feat, in fact, it's down right scary. But, like Oscar Wilde said, "Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future". I won't let my past dictate my future, nor will I no longer let my judgement of others. I won't be that secluded kid anymore. It took some time, but I think I finally found that key that went missing years ago.

The head of a dandelion is called a "clock"... don't be afraid of change, your time is running out.