The tall stand up. The short shoot up The thin curve up. The chubby slim down. The merry-go-round spins round and round at such a pace that everything blurs, especially changes taking place within me.
If you and I glance back at Mom's photo albums and turn to a page where a classmate in my fifth grade class picture smiles out at us, here's what we'll see: We'll see Susie's blue eyes, long dark hair, and sweet smile, flanked by two roly poly cheeks. We'll see Susie looking a heck of a lot like—me! And that was then.
By seventh grade, the chassis on this roly poly is downright sleek, except for two round mounds, stacked neatly between a slender neck and waist. And if Susie is missing a spark—well—she's really nice—and nary a boy is in sight, so this friendship feels—safe. Except for one thing. Susie can't stop mooning over Elvis. All she wants to do is play his 45's, close her eyes, sway back and forth, and sigh. As for me, I sit on the floor in her room, bored half to death, peering out at her from eyes, which belie a self protective wall that cuts me off from any sense of sensual awareness. And since my mind denies anything hinting of sexuality, I perceive my sweet friend as—well—a little off her rocker. In short, Susie has matured in an aspect of life that my defense system holds fearfully at bay.
So, the next time a new girl stands next to our teacher in front of the class, I invite Sally to join Susie and me at lunch. Being that I do not vie with my sister for Mom's attentions (why not?) I can hold my own with this trio. However, it's possible that three's a crowd where Susie's concerned, because her sweet smile turns upside down, and some how, over time, she fades off the stage into the wings—and the fact that I'm every bit as much twelve as the kids who'd left me behind, my spirit soars with nary a care, flying in formation with a bird, who chirps and laughs and prances around, very much like corny little me. Hooray! A bird of a feather, at last!
Needless to say, Susie, Sally and I take our PJ's to every party that receives our eager-to-please RSVP. But other than that Susie slip-slides away, and our trio dwindles into a duet.
So if you perceive Door Number Three as the end of the show, then perhaps your spirit has not yet thought to feather your nest with a high flying flock of your choosing. In short, I have no clue, as of yet, that, one day, as my perception of friendship matures, I'll embrace the role of adroit chooser rather than needy 'choosee'.
Oh yes—you may have noticed that I've yet to mention one flock in our class—the flock, which never fails to get shot down. If this flock flies way under the radar, then perhaps that's because ...
Broken wings and broken spirits are one and the same ...
Each time a bird of this feather is shot down, a dark spot in Annie's memory sparks, and her heart floods with compassion. Whenever taunts haunt the weak, Annie's spirit rebels; however, she can't rouse that slice of her voice, which had once single handedly sounded out loud in defense of the downtrodden at her old school.
If Annie's leadership skills are flying under the radar, do not assume her spirit to be dead as a duck. No matter how much she longs to stand up and turn the tides, instinct suggests that during confounding times, the only course of action that makes sense is to freeze in place until something signals readiness to carve out a new path. You see, often times, success remains out of range until perspective concerning when to fight, freeze or flee expands.
Instead of stamping her foot and shouting—STOP!—this ring master develops into an attentive observer of human nature. You see, with thoughts of bullies looming overhead, Annie's resistance to mean mindedness has not yet regained the inner strength to dislodge the lump of fear inside her throat. As Annie will not muster the courage to bump that lump until such time as she guides her ducklings to assert their needs, the silenced portion of Annie's voice will not feel free to assert her will. Though Annie's empathy for every deeply wounded bird is strong, she has no clue how to place her faith in the fact that, one day, the power of one may empower people, the world over, to stand up for themselves.
In short, one day, the assertive side of Annie's mind will resurrect, and her voice will work just fine. And if you'd like to know when she'll regain the inner strength to stop mob rule from hurling disparaging taunts at the weak—well that change will become apparent when Annie learns how to inoculate her ducklings against the virus of low self esteem.
As for now, it's a beautiful, warm, sunny Saturday, and while pedaling her brand new, blue, three speed racer past Joseph's house, Michael's house, Marilyn's house, Susie's house and their brand new school, Annie's spirit flies as high as a lark. Upon arriving at Sally's, she parks her bike and with kick stand in place, Annie rings the bell.
Next thing we know, dark pony tails are bobbing from side to side as a well matched pair of fun loving friends jump on their bikes. And jabbering away, they ride toward a playground, nearby. And as this pair of high flying spirits swing up to the sky and back down to the ground, a couple of really cute guys, sauntering by, spy two empty swings (or two swinging girls?) :-)
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