My parents recently sent me a box of my old things from their garage. I dreaded having to sort through it, I'm a bit of a pack rat and had no idea what the box contained. After a week of staring at the big ugly box in my living room I decided enough was enough. I grabbed a glass of wine for encouragement and peeled off the dusty packing tape. Out poured years' worth of treasured possessions. Among the college photo albums, birthday cards and souvenirs from Disneyland, I found my old journals. I couldn't help myself from rereading every thin, lined sheet of paper. My journals are like a time capsule of various periods of my life. Between the song lyrics and names of guys surrounded by pink hearts, there is one name mentioned over and over: Sophia. I met her in the Student Union of my college when we were both eighteen, but we weren’t really close at first. Then one day out of the blue, she gave me a Dum-Dum lollipop. It was so goofy and generous, I had to laugh. This simple act cemented it: We were friends. Through family struggles, guy drama, marathon shopping trips, broken hearts, stolen silverware, menial jobs and school stress, we were always there for each other. It was an amazing time in my life.
Over time though, the journal entries containing Sophia's name turned bitter. Several misunderstandings gave way to harsh feelings. We became more and more distant, until there was nothing there anymore. Our combined immaturity and passive-aggression brought about the end of three years of great friendship. Eventually we just stopped talking. Our once-solid friendship ended unceremoniously and for no reason.
At first I was angry and therefore could put aside the hurt I felt, but it never went away. As the years slipped by, I thought of her often and felt an ache of regret and embarrassment. I missed being her friend and yet I was too scared to take the first step. Then I received a Facebook message.
She wrote me a short, polite message asking how I was doing, what was new and the usual smalltalk. It was as sweet and unexpected as the dum-dum lollipop all those years ago. I admit I had my reservations about speaking with her again. Was she still bitter about everything that happened? Would she be the type to hold a grudge? I would totally understand if she was. I took a lot of the blame for what happened: my selfishness and lazy behavior was part of the reason our friendship became dysfunctional. But I figured I didn't have anything to lose so I wrote and equally short and polite response. I let myself be cautiously optimistic about repairing our friendship.
Eventually, the messages became longer and filled with more emotion. We hashed out everything that happened and realized we both just had some growing up to do. It hurt me to relive the past, especially when I realized she got married and graduated college in the time we weren't speaking. I felt horrible that I missed sharing those moments with her. We apologized repeatedly, and then she gave me an incredible gift: She proclaimed that it was time to let go of everything that happened and start fresh. I was flooded with relief. I had never felt more confident that someone I really cared about had made their way back into my life. The complete acceptance and forgiveness I felt from and for Sophia was incredible. We met a week later for dinner and ended up talking for hours.
Sophia taught me what it is to truly forgive another person. She continues to teach me things, and I'm constantly reminded how lucky I am to have her in my life. She is one of the most gracious and thoughtful people I’ve ever met. She’s determined, knows how to have fun and genuinely loves her friends.
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5.05.2011
4.07.2011
How Windshield Wiper Blades Changed The Way I Think About Love.
Being an expressive, heart-on-my-sleeve person since birth, I simply do not understand tough love. I demand coddling. You tread gently around me, or I will cut you. Kidding! I'll probably just cry and write a poem. But in any case, I am a sensitive creature.
Therefore, how ridiculous is it that I would be my father's daughter. My dad has two settings: Neutral and angry. Its an on and off switch. Not to say he doesn't love me, he says he loves me and has provided for me as a father should. He just doesn't understand me or I him. He would make what he called the "practical" choice where I was a more emotional decision maker.
The year I was seventeen, I thought he needed some help picking out my mother's birthday gift. I suggested he get her a diamond necklace. I found a beautiful one at Macy's I knew she'd love. He gave me a blank stare and went to Kragen Auto Parts instead. What did Mom unwrap on her birthday? New windshield wiper blades and a gift certificate for an oil change. I was less than impressed. Dad's reason for getting the gift? He wants Mom to be safe, so her car must be kept in good condition. I rolled my eyes and thought I'd never be caught dead married to a man like that.
Dad also did not sugarcoat. When I wanted to try out for my high school's dance team? All Dad had to say was, "Go try out, I can't stop you. But you got thick legs. Those girls who dance at football games? Skinny legs. Just keep that in mind. They might only pick girls who got skinny legs." When I signed up for a charity relay race with my friends? Dad was again the first one to speak up: "You haven't trained. You'll just drag the team down. Maybe you can help them collect money or something, but girl, you are not a runner." Dear old dad.
But the moment between Dad and I that was the most significant wasn't about dancing or running. I was twenty years old, and my first real boyfriend and I had just broken up after three years together. I was crushed. I took two days off work to cry and listen to The Smiths. My mother brought me tea and told me I was beautiful. My father said nothing, at first.
After several months I still hadn't healed but had became an expert about faking it. In front of my parents I portrayed myself as strong, confident and totally over the loser. My close friends knew I was still drunk-dialing him and having meaningless one night stands in a desperate attempt to fill the hole in my heart.
One Sunday over lunch with my family, my aunt asked how my love life was. Momentarily I considered smiling and cheerfully confirming everything was good, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I surrendered. I was exhausted and hungover and sick of lying. So I told my parents and aunt and uncle that I was still really sad about the breakup and I didn't think I'd ever meet another guy to make me feel the way he did. I didn't go into further detail but by this time everyone knew I was in despair. I choked back tears and took a sip of water.
My Dad spoke first: "Why would you get so bent out of shape over a guy who obviously doesn't want anything to do with you?" Before anyone could say another word, I got up from the table and went to my room.
Dad and I didn't talk about his harsh observation ever again. My mom made a kind of half-assed "you know how your father is" kind of apology and we basically left it at that. I didn't think about it again until five or six years later when I again found myself on the bad side of a breakup. And oddly enough, my father's words gave me some comfort. It was like I could hear him saying that this guy obviously isn't it for me, so its time to move on.
This lesson wasn't delivered to me in the most graceful fashion, it had to come slowly. Like anything really worth learning it was challenging and a little painful at first. But finally, I understood and appreciated my father. Tough love is still love and as demonstrated by his relationship with my mother, sometimes his practicality is the most romantic thing a man has to offer.
Therefore, how ridiculous is it that I would be my father's daughter. My dad has two settings: Neutral and angry. Its an on and off switch. Not to say he doesn't love me, he says he loves me and has provided for me as a father should. He just doesn't understand me or I him. He would make what he called the "practical" choice where I was a more emotional decision maker.
The year I was seventeen, I thought he needed some help picking out my mother's birthday gift. I suggested he get her a diamond necklace. I found a beautiful one at Macy's I knew she'd love. He gave me a blank stare and went to Kragen Auto Parts instead. What did Mom unwrap on her birthday? New windshield wiper blades and a gift certificate for an oil change. I was less than impressed. Dad's reason for getting the gift? He wants Mom to be safe, so her car must be kept in good condition. I rolled my eyes and thought I'd never be caught dead married to a man like that.
Dad also did not sugarcoat. When I wanted to try out for my high school's dance team? All Dad had to say was, "Go try out, I can't stop you. But you got thick legs. Those girls who dance at football games? Skinny legs. Just keep that in mind. They might only pick girls who got skinny legs." When I signed up for a charity relay race with my friends? Dad was again the first one to speak up: "You haven't trained. You'll just drag the team down. Maybe you can help them collect money or something, but girl, you are not a runner." Dear old dad.
But the moment between Dad and I that was the most significant wasn't about dancing or running. I was twenty years old, and my first real boyfriend and I had just broken up after three years together. I was crushed. I took two days off work to cry and listen to The Smiths. My mother brought me tea and told me I was beautiful. My father said nothing, at first.
After several months I still hadn't healed but had became an expert about faking it. In front of my parents I portrayed myself as strong, confident and totally over the loser. My close friends knew I was still drunk-dialing him and having meaningless one night stands in a desperate attempt to fill the hole in my heart.
One Sunday over lunch with my family, my aunt asked how my love life was. Momentarily I considered smiling and cheerfully confirming everything was good, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I surrendered. I was exhausted and hungover and sick of lying. So I told my parents and aunt and uncle that I was still really sad about the breakup and I didn't think I'd ever meet another guy to make me feel the way he did. I didn't go into further detail but by this time everyone knew I was in despair. I choked back tears and took a sip of water.
My Dad spoke first: "Why would you get so bent out of shape over a guy who obviously doesn't want anything to do with you?" Before anyone could say another word, I got up from the table and went to my room.
Dad and I didn't talk about his harsh observation ever again. My mom made a kind of half-assed "you know how your father is" kind of apology and we basically left it at that. I didn't think about it again until five or six years later when I again found myself on the bad side of a breakup. And oddly enough, my father's words gave me some comfort. It was like I could hear him saying that this guy obviously isn't it for me, so its time to move on.
This lesson wasn't delivered to me in the most graceful fashion, it had to come slowly. Like anything really worth learning it was challenging and a little painful at first. But finally, I understood and appreciated my father. Tough love is still love and as demonstrated by his relationship with my mother, sometimes his practicality is the most romantic thing a man has to offer.
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