I’ve never done a blog before, but the idea has appealed to me for a long time. And I’m not sure exactly why. I have read other blogs and been amused, informed, and sometimes unnerved by how honest people can be. It’s that last part that intrigues me. And I’m not talking about people who say crass or obscene things just to get a rise. To me, that’s not real honesty. But it’s people willing to bare their souls. I’ve never minded being entertaining or having opinions about things…..it’s baring my soul that is hard. I’m not sure I’ll succeed even in this blog, but I’m willing to give it a try.

A few weeks ago, I brought my kids home from karate practice and stopped to get some takeout. As I was leaving the drive-through, all traffic had stopped in front of me on the main road. The light was red ahead of the cars, so I had to wait. Directly in front of me was an SUV with a father and daughter–the girl looked to be about 12 or 13, long blond hair and a big jacket that seemed to swallow up her little frame. She was leaning on the window, staring, a familiar faraway look in her eyes.

I hate to admit doing it from time to time, but whenever I’m stopped at a stoplight, I’ll glance in my rearview mirror to see if any drama is happening in the car behind me. Sometimes there is. Mother and daughter arguing, wife angrily chewing out husband head-bowed, man and woman silent–each staring out their own windows, two girlfriends laughing and dancing to the radio, co-worker explaining–other co-worker nodding enthusiastically in agreement.

My eyes moved from the forlorn face of the girl to her father seated next to her. His arm rested on the door, and he was turned away from her. Nothing was said between the two of them the whole time I watched. But the odd thing was that at one point she turned and looked at me. And it wasn’t a glance. She looked at me. And kept looking. She cupped her chin in her hand and looked at me sadly. I politely looked away a couple times, giving her the chance to do the same. But her eyes wandered back. So we sat there…..looking at each other. And I was amazed that it didn’t feel uncomfortable. She looked sweetly sad–her eyes were telling me something but I wasn’t sure what. All I could do was look back and smile at her. Did she hear what I was saying? That it only seems to last forever? Someday she’ll be free? Her father might say some of the most horrible things to her that she’s ever heard, but he doesn’t have the final word?

Probably not.

Maybe she was just tired. Maybe too tired to look away. And maybe the point wasn’t that I give her a message, but rather that she give one to me. It is over. I am free. The woman teaches the girl, the girl teaches the woman. Nobody has the final word on who I am—except me.

Filed under: Life
by The Hipster