deeper things...receiving love

I am undone by the kind and supportive words, cards, and gestures of love I have been receiving. Undone. I really want to pull away from it and say, no, really, I am fine, I am well, and everything is going great. Because, in fact, I am fine, I am well, and everything is going great. What have I done here? Let’s see…I’ve laid on a table with a warm blanket that gently moved me through this cylindrical machine; I’ve had a little poke like a bee sting in my neck, and a few medical conversations that were slightly over my head. Wait a minute…what’s all this fuss I have stirred up…have I played the sympathy/pity card here a little too melodramatically? Let’s everyone take a step back and reconsider for a moment. I may really need this love and support sometime down the road…listen…I’m just mulling things over in my head, being the introspective introvert I am, but instead of mulling this over in my head, (which is my M.O.) I’ve mulled it over here, and made a big show of inviting you all to this party (which is certainly not my typical M.O.). I am undone. I feel like I’ve told a whopper tale and now I’ve got to come up with the goods to justify all this attention…

OK…look….when I was in Kindergarten…I raised my hand during a sing-a-long to go to the bathroom…the teacher ignored me…the sing-a-long kept going…my raised hand turned to frantic waving…she still ignored me…the singing continued…oh, why didn’t I just get up and walk out of that room down the hall to the boys room? But this wasn’t yet the 60’s, and if you read on, you’ll have a clue as to why I had authority issues. Finally, when I could stand it (er…hold it) no longer…I peed my pants…and then Mrs. Bacon seemed to notice me and promptly sent me to the nurses office. The nurse had an extra pair of boys pants, slightly used, and way too long (I wonder…what boy before me lost them, and what was his sad tale?) but, horror of horrors, she only had a pair of girlie underwear for me to change into. Now, why couldn’t she just have sent me home that day sans underwear? No, she sent me off to go home at the end of the day with pink girlie underpants. My father, an attorney, repeated that story to every known acquaintance I ever had, every known acquaintance he ever had, all the judges he tried cases before, the entire bar association of the Great State of New York, and anyone else who cared to listen to the tale of my total and complete humiliation…told it again and again, until I was about 24...I swear that’s the truth. And he didn’t just tell the story…he told it as “the story of his sissy son.”

Picture the scene…it’s 10 years later; dad takes the family out for Sunday lunch at the local eatery, the Wantagh Diner. In walks my dad’s colleague and Lions Club cohort Myron…

MYRON, beaming proudly… “Hey Lowell, did you hear my son Pete was named starting quarterback of the Wantagh Warriors varsity team?”

LOWELL, smirking… “That’s great Myron; have I ever told you the story about my sissy son?”

Now, that’s something to feel bad about. Really…I don’t think I made eye contact with anyone from about age 5 until sometime during my fourth year of graduate school. Sister Joan…if you are reading this…will you verify the facts of this sad., but true, case? (Sister Ann, you were too young to remember)

I will accept sympathy as duly warranted and duly earned in this regard. I paid dearly for that tragic lack of bladder control back in 1956. What momentary sadistic impulse overcame the otherwise kindly, matronly Mrs. Bacon that day? And what was that nurse thinking? And, my father…where do I even begin????

(In case there are any amateur Sigmund Freuds reading …know this…it’s been nothing but Hanes, BVDs and Fruit of the Loom MENS briefs since that one miserable day. No bedwetting, no fire starting, no cruelty to animals.)

Here’s the thing though…a light bulb lit up in my head yesterday. With all this love I’ve been receiving…how can I hold any anger? There’s just no room left in my heart for anything else but love. Now I get it…another message travels from the head to the heart. This tumor seems to have opened up that passageway. All this love, all this love, so difficult to receive, and me, wanting to say to you…back up…save this for later…I’ll need it then.

Mrs. Bacon, I forgive you…school nurse, I forgive you.

…and Dad…oh, Dad……………..I forgive you…rest in peace, Dad.


(DISCLAIMOR: the author, while standing by the veracity of the essential facts of the above, wishes to acknowledge that certain literary liberties were taken with a bit of hyperbole…for instance…my father did not tell this story to every Judge he appeared before, and, truth be told, the author was making lots of eye contact as early as the end of his Kindergarten year with a certain young girl named Veronica, his first (OK…second…well, maybe third) real crush. And Myron's son Pete...kicked off the team before the first game for drinking beer on school grounds during 4th period geometry.

“God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us …We love because He first loved us.” 1John 4:16,17,19.