In addition to
That Mighty Mouse lunge
Which knocked the wind
Out of that gang
Here's the impassioned warning
That, eyes ablaze, flashed out of my self-respecting mouth:
SToP IT! SToP IT! SToP IT!
LeaVe Her aloNe!
You're having Fun, hurting Her!
What's Wrong with you Guys!
Get Out of Here!
AND Don't you DARE come BACK!
Once my raging spell had been broken by the return of defensiveness, what did I miss?
I missed the fact that that gang of bikers had been transformed—by THE POWER OF ONE—back into a gaggle of lanky kids riding bikes, cruising down the street, wary of kicking up any excitement—at least whenever they'd approached the territory, marked out as ANNIE's street! And thus doth THE POWER OF ONE sound a wake up call to bullying ways that put down the lonely, the meek, the downtrodded, in short, anyone who seems 'different' in some way that makes the majority consider another—THE OTHER—an outsider, who doesn't fit in.
Well—this is one Lucy Ricardo who's not having any of that, anymore!
Except when exceptions arise—and I'll miss the fact that I'll remain an easy target for others to put down. And that will prove especially true when I can't identify those times when jealousy looks to even the playing field by subtly putting me down. You see, I'll have no clue that all I'll care about, for quite some time, is being accepted by the group of my choice. Oy—the unconscious games people play at friendship's expense. Oy—the unconscious games we play with ourselves! So sad. So often.
Do the lessons ever stop coming? I think not.
We just don't hear very well when opportunity to know thyself knocks.
So, did those guys—who'd proved as vulnerable as two, lonely girls playing catch in the street—stand up, dust themselves off, ride off, and devil up to put down human vulnerability—waiting to take a fall—somewhere on the next block? Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that due to THE POWER OF ONE, rising up, instinctively, in defense of the underdog, that biker gang never hassled anyone on ANNIE's STREET. And as to the moral of this story—well—just as tis human to err and human to stuff and human to wear blinders and stuff fingers into ears—tis human for instinct to rage in defense of freeing wrongly caged self respect.
Please take note, that though tis my staunch belief to communicate calmly, rationally, and compassionately, personal experience hath taught me to accept the fact that at times:
Life demands we leap over rules.
As this demonstration of rage provides us with an exception to one of my Golden Rules, and as no one got hurt, Barbara and I were better off than either of us had been before my self respect had been resurrected, loud and clear, on a summer's day, which proved quite sunny after storm clouds had been swept away as fast as a tornado swirls down upon an unsuspecting town and within a blink of an eye, that tornado is gone—but everything it's touched has changed in some dramatic way. When the tornado spins out from within, the change is intangible, but instinctively there.
As to what's up for tomorrow ... eighth grade lies directly ahead. And as I'd continued to harbor a defensive loneliness with my peers, I'll have no clue as to how to resurrect the tattered state of my social life, which continues to lay in ruins ...
No comments:
Post a Comment