I scolded my daughter today. I hate when I have to do it. It wasn't the garden variety type of calling a kid down, I had to assert myself as the household authority. It probably is cliché at this point, but being a single mama means being “good cop and bad cop”, and probably in the same conversation. Her disrespect was immense; I could not ignore the treatment I received from my 5-year-old. The punishment will stick, but I did come back later to explain my great disappointment.
Yesterday, I made my way through a parking lot. I saw this kid about to cross in front of me. Of course, I slowed to a stop, to let him pass. His fingers flew across his phone as he casually sauntered across the way, never once looking up. Then he received a call, and he stopped in the middle of parking lot traffic to take the call. I didn't even get an index finger or a “hold on” movement. Forget a customary wave. I got Nothing. He stopped and pivoted on one leg, pressed “answer”, and spoke. But not to me, the driver waiting to continue on her überproductive day - he spoke to his caller. I waited. I counted. I counted how many seconds had turned to minutes as I wait for him to realize what he was doing. He never did. I was alone and pissed; the expletives that I spit were shameful!
Just two days ago, a car cut me off so badly in traffic, I slammed on my brakes as my car skidded across the intersection because an oncoming vehicle decided a “no light signal” on a left turn actually meant “go.” I had a green light, and I also had several choice words for them, (definitely not the same I uttered to my kid and not the words I had for cellphone dude, but you get the drift). I mean, why would they do that? Why would they risk their lives to take a quick left turn?
This morning, after the 5-year-old meltdown, I had time to think. Sure, in my mind I wasn't wrong in any of these instances. But was I right? Was I right to scold, or yell, or curse? In society's eyes, I was in the “right-of-way,” but spiritually was I justified?
I sit at my desk, pondering. Right or wrong is relative. Justified or not is a societal construct. Our bodies govern our system of correctness. What I did know is if those were my last words living in this body I currently occupy, I'd be regretful. I'd rue the last utterances from my mouth which were negative and mean. I'd be sorry that I could not think of anything less caustic to say in those times. I was sure that I was not the offender, but what does saying you're in the right matter if they're the last breaths you take?
I've often prided myself on being the happy one. The one who let stuff slide, because it wasn't important enough to revisit. But today, I saw another me. I felt I was a woman who lacked patience and understanding. I felt jaded and a bit overrun. I realized I was a woman who wasn't young any longer, a woman who had children, a woman who was getting older. I also saw a woman who had led a pretty decent life, and who still felt the need for atonement.
I am a woman, a human who doesn't want her last words coming out hurtful, or impatient, or less than loving. I know we don't know the time or day of our certain departure from this plane, and I certainly know that every moment of our lives won't be spent in pure bliss and harmony. It’s about the effort; it's about the attempt to understand others’ viewpoints. It's about the realization that we are not here alone. If I could pinky-swear myself, I'd promise to TRY to experience the rest of my days in the most harmony I could. I want the rest of my life to be as positive as possible. I hope my last words offer comfort and peace to someone else. I want to live it loving.
