Saturday, January 10, 2009

The Glad Game - Part II

I don't know how to write this without sounding all smug. So I'll say right up front please forgive me and "Toot! Toot!" as in tooting my own horn! There was an article in today's newspaper about the baby shower. It was also a lot about me! My picture is on the front page of the neighborhood section. I think it's true what the say about the camera adding pounds. I don't think I'm really that fat. My hair dresser is going to comment on my need for a trim and Dad might ask when I'm going to get a new pair of shoes, but all that's beside the point. The article was a really nice write-up about what will hopefully become a really big event to help really little ones in need.

When I got out of bed, Sweetie told me about the article. And he told me I'd already gotten a congratulatory phone call. I wondered, before my head swelled to gigantic proportions, who gets up and reads the paper before 8am on a Sat. morning. Then I read the article and felt all tingly! I hope that's pride for a job well done, not conceited-look-at-me tingly. I believe there is a fine line that divides the two.

Then my sister read the article and I got another phone call. Then to top it all off, and the whole point of this post, Dad got up and made his way to the kitchen.
I tried to stay in the present moment, but my inner child took me back to the time when I was in the 6th grade and was chosen to address the graduation exercises. I was 12. What could I have said that had any great importance? I was picked to speak for my elelmentary school accomplishments, not my oratory prowess. I felt proud.

But what I remember most about that day, was not the good feeling, but how I felt when my Dad made what I can now call a smart ass comment about the ceremony being "all about Mary. "It didn't come across to me then, or now, as a compliment. It hurt my feelings. I stuffed the pride into that place where I keep momentary pleasures that shouldn't see the light of day.

I've learned that this is just Dad's way. Doesn't make it right, or good, but it is what it is. In his own words, "I only tease the ones I love." As if that makes any sense to an adult, or the highly sensitive and extra needy little girl.

So I waited as Dad looked first at my picture, then read the article. I held my armored shield in front of me to deflect any of Dad's "loving" barbs. Everything was quiet. I may have held my breath. Then it happened....something to be glad about.

"I'm proud of you, Mary." He said it. And he said it like he meant it. I think Little Mary Carolyn would have done a double back flip if Big Mary didn't have all those extra camera pounds. Pollyanna Mary, stopped in her tracks and relished the moment.

In the big scheme of life it's truly the little things that matter most. I doubt Dad even has a clue, but I think a long time festering sore on my heart began to heal this morning. God, please don't let me forget this.

To my faithful commenters: Girls, save your pea shooters for another time. Today GG deserves a pat on the back. Maybe an old dog can learn new tricks.

Smiling,
Merry ME

4 comments:

Sorrow said...

Just me
doing a
"whoo_hoo!"
dance...

Anonymous said...

...loving you is so easy. Not for all that you do, for who you are. Your honesty in expressing yourself, your truth in the beauty you see, the humor you create in the middle of a stress filled moment. What the world needs now - is a few more poly anna's just like you. luv-ya j
PS: just in case, I have a stock pile of dried out peas. -:)

terri said...

throwin' my peas in the air and
clappin'!
isn't it amazing how we need our
parents to be proud of us?
that never ceases to astound me.

glad you got the moment, mary.
you deserved it.

Anonymous said...

I'm so happy Terri wrote about you in her newsletter. I've been gobbling up your posts like a hungry lil kid, and smiling and nodding along in recognition. I love the way you write, and I'll be happily reading more as the day goes on. Light and laughter to you - Deb Booth
http://www.differentlightstudio.com