Wait, why is no one surprised to hear that? ;>
No, really, I wasn't. I questioned everything: I wanted an answer for everything.
I should respect my parents. Why? Just because they're my parents. Then why do I have to earn respect? Shouldn't I be respected just for being who I am, too?
I should do homework. Why? To learn something. But I already learned it during class. To get good grades. Why? To get into college. Why? To get a good job. Why? What job could I possibly get where the ability to do homework was needed?It's not hard to understand why one of my mom's bylines was "Because I said so!"
I insisted on trying to do things a different way every time--even when the task was mundane. (My mom still loves to use the example that I tried to do the dishes differently each night. Dishes? Really? How much variety do you need for doing the dishes? Just do them and get it over with--and then go do something fun!!)
I complained a lot, too. I distinctly remember telling my parents, with a fair amount of seriousness, that the only reason they'd had children was so that we could be unpaid household laborers for them.
Sigh.... Sorry, Mom and Dad.
Among a million other feelings I experienced on this trip, I had a few distinct moments where I appreciated each of my parents, and my sister, separately...
When we arrived on Sunday, we had 26 people and their luggage to get from the airport to the camp. One of our vehicles was a pickup truck, and someone made the smart move of deciding to load luggage into the back of it. I saw the first few bags go in, and I thought, that's not the most efficient way... My mother is an amazing organizer and packer. She can fit amazing things into unbelievable space. And while I've not mastered things the way she has, I'm pretty good. So I jumped in the back of the truck, reorganized what was already in there, and started calling out to folks to bring their bags over. We fit probably 24 suitcases in that truck, all secure for highway speeds. I thought about my mom, and I was grateful for her.
Monday morning, I volunteered to help with the breakfast clean up. Our task consisted of disassembling the assembly line where all the volunteers had made their own lunches. We needed to close up the loaves of bread, snap the lids onto the lunch meat & cheese, the peanut butter and jelly, the buckets of celery and baby carrots, then load everything onto carts, roll them back into the kitchen, and wipe off the tables. At one moment, I observed someone else wiping off the table, literally just gently dragging the rag across the table top...
Now, I'm all about doing a good job. And I am all about finding the right jobs for people. And I can be a take-charge kind of girl. So that's what I did. I immediately found another task for the young man to do, set him about it, then took his rag. I instantly knew why he hadn't been scrubbing the tables: he hadn't even wrung out the rag properly. In my head, I heard myself say, "You've got to be kidding me... Who doesn't know how to wipe off a table?!"
But my next thought was, "Thank you, Mom. Thank you for teaching me how to wring out a rag. Thank you for showing me how to really scrub a table to get the jelly off it. Thank you for teaching me to not just brush the crumbs onto the floor. Thanks for ensuring that I systematically clean the whole table so no spots are left untouched. Thanks for making me work fast and get the job done..."
Tuesday, I was painting trim work--door frames and floor molding. Some of the molding was just stacked outside--not cut yet--and I remembered doing things like that with my family. Painting ahead of time: very smart. But some molding had already been installed without being painted. So I also found myself painting trim work along the floor. I've done my share of painting in my life. And the neat thing is, my sister can paint trim work like nobody's business. She doesn't use painter's tape; she doesn't need it. She has such a steady hand and good technique. She can "cut" a room (hand paint trim lines floor and ceiling) faster than I can roll the paint on the walls. She's amazing. And she taught me how to do it, too. I'm not as good as her--and don't really want the practice it would take to get there!! But I can paint the trim in almost the same amount of time it takes other people to put up painter's tape... So thanks, Maryann, for your patience with me. Thanks for showing me how to paint. Thanks for being my teacher when you would come home from kindergarten and set up "school" in the backyard and teach me everything you'd learned that day. Thanks for being my teacher when you were learning French in the 7th grade and you taught me the alphabet and how to count. Thanks for being the one to tell me that Mom and Dad deserved my respect just for being my parents. Thanks for taking me to my first real hair stylist...
The Roof job Wednesday and Thursday held different challenges, different opportunities for me to realize I know how to do some things. Someone asked for a locking wrench: I knew what that would look like and was able to find one. Someone asked for a chalk line: I knew what that was, and was able to find one. Someone else was using a saw to rip a peice of plywood and offered me the chance to do it; I declined, realizing I already knew what "ripping" was, knew how to do that, had been given that opportunity growing up. I caught a whiff of sawdust and I was transported back across decades to sitting in my dad's workshop, and I was grateful for my dad. Thank you, Dad, for teaching me about miter saws and belt sanders and drill presses and sandpaper grit and socket sets and chuck keys and router bits and R-values and quarter-round and epoxy and circuit breakers... Thank you for "measure twice, cut once." Thanks for thinking out loud through the projects you worked on so I would learn how to think, too. Thanks for including me, for never letting me feel like I was in the way, for turning me into an excellent planner and helper...
God does not make mistakes. We are not here by accident. The family into which I was born was chosen for me for a reason, and while I may have--strike that, while I KNOW I have caused them grief at various points in my life, I also know that they have loved me unconditionally, supported me through my poor choices, and nurtured me into the (reasonably) responsible, intelligent, patient adult I am today. Their influence on me cannot be measured, must not be underestimated, and, as of today, will not go unappreciated:
Thanks, Mom and Dad and Maryann, for your work in shaping who I am. And thanks, God, for my family.
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