opportunity

BABY YOU'RE A FIREWORK

LASDI ©

Photo credit: PxHere

I have a scar. I have many scars, as I’m sure we all do, but there is one scar in particular that makes me think of freedom. It sounds silly, I’m sure, but it truly is a symbolic scar that gives me liberty every time I look at it.

As a little girl, I did not have much in the way of riches or possessions. I certainly do remember lots of liver and onions for dinner (which is scarring in and of itself), and plenty of hand-me-downs to wear, but certainly not “lots of” and “plenty of” much else. So when someone invited me to a barbecue, campfire, and fireworks display one July, I jumped at the chance.

It was a marvelous evening. I was a spindly being, very tiny in stature and weight. I was not used to the incredible smell of sausages and hamburgers cooking on a grill, nor was I used to eating them. The extreme delight of feeling ten pounds heavier was the first of many moments that would create a euphoria I had never experienced. We sat near a fire in those old, webbed aluminum folding chairs that were so popular in the 70s and watched fireworks that the host had purchased for the event.

I sat in awe of the sights, sounds, and smells of something I had actually never encountered before. Firework sprays against the dark sky of red, white, and blue. My eyes were burning from the smoke, and I felt alive. My eardrums were swollen, and I was enamored by it. My nose breathed in the horrible smoldering aroma of lighting-and-take-off, and I never wanted it to end.

I felt froggy. So I leapt. I became a wild banshee, dancing over the fire, and prancing around so close to the fireworks I could have rocketed into space. I was taking dares from my own conscience and didn’t care what the outcome could be.

The night carried on until it didn’t – and it was time to clean up and go home. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to go back to my old life of mere hours ago. So as the adults cleaned up the food, the grill, and the firework carcasses, I decided I would live my new-but-soon-back-to-reality life to its fullest. I was eight, after all, and I had now seen the world.

I saw the host cover up the fire with dirt, leaving a nice stage for my foolishness to persist. I was having a very mature conversation with the other seven- and eight-year-olds there that had obviously acquired the same sophistication that I had that night and decided to lie down in a mature way straight on my side with my head propped up on my hand. I wanted to give the allure that this was not my first rodeo, after all, and lying in such a leisurely position would not give away the fact that it, indeed, was. What better place to do so than on the fresh dirt round that was previously a fire with blazing flames?

I felt it. It’s like when you get stung by a hornet. You know it’s there, but there is a strange feeling of shock that doesn’t register the pain right away. It takes a few seconds, but YOU FEEL IT. And I felt it. My ankle felt as though I were a cow being branded. There was the knowledge of it, and then the pain registered. But I didn’t moo right away. I didn’t know what it was, but I had a feeling I needed to carry on as the new person I had become. I lie there, talking so casually for a few seconds after I felt the pain. I had a reputation to consider, after all!

I heard a sound I hadn’t heard before, much like the fireworks of the evening. Wait. What was that? A new variation of sparkler sound meeting the night air? A siren screaming off in the distance? Perhaps it was an unusual creature, baying at the frightening sounds from the explosions.

It was me. It was me howling so deeply and loudly that I didn’t recognize it was me at first. I jumped up from the ground and looked down at the ankle that was angry at me for being so reckless. The ankle that had been put on a hot, burning coal and that was drooling skin. The ankle that smelled like burning flesh and was actually still simmering with red flecks of fire.

Of course, people sprang into action. Ice from the cooler, ripped t-shits drenched in cold water being wrapped around the damage, and questions about the absurdity of laying down on a former fire pad.

Medical disclaimer: I grew up very poor. No money. No insurance. Not much of anything. Except liver and onions, of course. I was not taken to a doctor or to the hospital, though I should have been. The wound was great and would end up taking months to heal.

I couldn’t sleep that night from the pain. I wondered how I could have ruined everything by allowing myself to get burned. I wondered how I let my arrogance get the best of me. And it really hurt. On both counts.

The burn left an oval scar on the outside of my left ankle that exists to this day, though it seems to soften as I get older. Most scars do. But though the scars may fade, what caused them and the memory of how they occurred does not.

Every time I see fireworks, I think of the scar, and sometimes even find myself absent-mindedly reaching down to touch it. I think specifically of the fireworks that night that created a feeling in me that there was a bigger life outside of the only one I had known. Opportunities to experience things I never had before.

People say scars are “earned”. Until this particular time in my life I never quite understood that phrase, as a petulant child who made a bad choice and got what she so unfortunately deserved.

But I realize now that is not how it works. Sure, some scars come from bad decisions, or folly, or accidents. Some scars come from medical conditions or things that change our bodies. Some come from things that are not our own doing. They can sometimes not even be scars we can see with our eyes. But no matter the source, they have all, indeed, been earned – especially dealing with the hurt and better yet healing of each one of them.

I changed that night. I became a firework. Not because of the burn, but because I learned about possibilities. I learned about pain and learning to live with it. I learned things can hurt you, but how you deal with that leftover pain is what creates the future of who you are and choose to be. I learned I could shine and sparkle through anything. It FREED ME.

Whatever scars you have or wherever they are, don’t look at them with disdain. Look at them and know you’ve been through so much, and that whatever suffering they’ve caused, they were definitely earned. Know that no matter the leftover pain they leave behind, they can soften with time and healing. Know that how you deal with that pain is what creates the future of who you are and choose to be, and even the legacy you leave behind.

Don’t let the lasting image of what caused you pain keep you in bondage. Be bright, be shiny, be free.

BE A FIREWORK.

Prom Night, and So We Did

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

In past blog posts, I've described the wide range of friends we are blessed enough to have.  We don't discriminate when it comes to friendships......it is quite an eclectic variety; however, we are very particular about WHAT we do, and with WHOM.  

For example, there is a couple in particular - we'll call them Mark and Jenny Meirtschin......mostly because that's their name.  They are pretty accepting when it comes to the Garcia Crazy Antics.  Thank goodness.

When I had my 40th birthday party (a story for a future blog post!), it was a 70s theme.  Some of the costumes were amazing, but Mark and Jenny ROCKED it.  They didn't do the regular afro or go-go boots...they came as Prom King & Queen 1970!  The blue-ruffled tuxedo and the polyester dress were fabulous, and at the end of the night, they presented Adrian and I with the sashes they had they made for their costumes.  But that show of kindness would come back to haunt them.  

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

A few months back, we all decided we were long-overdue to get together. Adrian and I really wanted to bless Mark and Jenny and somehow let them know how much it meant to us, as we had taken those sashes and hung them in our closet where we could see them every day to remind us of that special time.  What does one do with leftover fake prom king and queen sashes??  Well, they take the people who gave them such gifts to prom, of course!

And so we did.

We sent an invitation, letting them know the dress-code, but didn't tell them why.  We really wanted this to be as authentic as possible, so we decked out Adrian's truck like a limo inside.  Adrian put up white Christmas lights, there was an ice bucket containing various drinks, and we hung a dark curtain between the front seat and the back seat.  It looked pretty legit.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

Adrian and I dressed for prom - mostly from our own prom era, which is scary - put on the sashes accompanied by the fake-but-beautiful corsage Jenny had also given me from that night, and then headed out to pick them up.  When we showed up at the door in our garb and sashes, welcoming them to Prom Night, I thought Jenny was going to drop.  We stood at her front door, laughing so hard and so long until tears were streaming down our faces before a word had even been spoken.  They weren't surprised though......she even said, "I somehow knew those sashes would surface again one day!!"  We had Dollar Store crowns and a fake-and-tacky corsage and boutonniere we had made for each of them, which they willingly put on, and well, it's not a prom unless you stand by the fireplace with your dates and pose in awkward and ridiculous poses...and so we did.

fireplaceprompose
These images are © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

These images are © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

Next, Adrian ran outside, put on his limo-cap and held up the Meirtschin / Garcia Prom sign (he played the dual-role of the limo driver, too) and opened the doors for them to enter.  

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

As we pulled up to our next prom destination - a cliché steak house, of course - they began to remove their crowns.  Oh, no they di'in't!  "It's prom night.  Those crowns stay on."  They looked at each other, remembered who they were dealing with, and obliged without (much) protest.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

In we walked, heads held high, 30-and-40-something-year-olds dressed for prom...and OWNING IT.  We delighted in prom food fare, splitting every dish, laughing and loving it until we were just about sick.  Next destination?  Dancing, of course!  And so we did.  

Luckily, we had done our homework ahead of time and we found a place within walking distance.  And we danced our prom night away.  (Side note on that:  Mark has got some of the best and smoothest dancing moves you've ever seen in your LIFE!).  We drove home, feet hurting, hearts warm and full, with a life-long lasting memory of a wonderful Prom Night.

And so we did.

Make the most of every single moment you're given, and take advantage of every opportunity.  NEVER think you're too cool or be so embarrassed that you miss out on the things that might be considered unusual......and never let a prom night pass you by - so that you, too, can have life-long lasting memories that will make your hearts feel warm and full.