By: Marlene Oxender
What if? What if we had a book in our hands, and the author is life itself? The title of the book is Me.
This imaginary book already exists in our head. But what if our story was typed onto the pages of a real book, and what if that book included only the things we’re okay with reliving? We’d read only the good things. Nothing negative allowed.
I’d say sign me up, and I’d move the book to the top of my to-be-read pile of books.
It’d be the most interesting book we’d ever read. The cover page would be captivating and the introductory page not intimidating at all. It would use the best words to make us think we’d lived the best life ever.
We’d read every joke we’d ever heard. We’d relive every hello. And every hug. We’d be reminded of friends who’d been in our life for a short while. We’d read about the fun moments.
If we came upon a paragraph that mentions a storm we’d lived through, we’d think the author had messed up. That storm isn’t supposed to be mentioned in our book. But then we’d see how something positive happened because of the storm.
I was recently going through my small purse notebook and removing the pages I no longer needed. On one of the papers were the words “revenge of the squirt guns.” It was my handwriting, and I knew I’d written the words down so I wouldn’t forget them. But who’d said those words?
Farther down the page I read “cheers to the boys.” I had to think for a while before it came to me. I’d heard those words at a summer lake party where my nephews were speaking about who was going to win.
There I was with another gift in my hand. The gift of words from children at play. Words I’d heard but had already forgotten.
Although my nephews had spoken of revenge “of” the squirt guns, it really would be revenge “with” a squirt gun. When a squirt gun is in the hands of a child at a lake party, someone is going to get wet. After all, that’s the reason squirt guns exist. They were made for revenge. They were made to make us laugh.
We’ve likely been in a few squirt gun fights as children, and our new book will cover the details of the encounters we’d survived. We’ll read who was on offense and who was on defense. We’ll know who got wet. We’ll know who ran the fastest and who laughed the loudest.
We’ll let our friends read our book, and we’ll read theirs. Everyone’s book would be interesting. But the kicker: If there’s no mention of the bad times, the reader won’t learn of the catalysts that brought us to where we are today. They’ll think we’ve led a cushy life.
Isn’t that how life is? We see others and think they have it all. Then we speak with them and learn more. We hear of the problems they’ve encountered and hardships they’ve lived through. Hardships meant to take us on a spiritual path many don’t know exists.
When we think of things we’re grateful for, it’s easy to remember the good times. It rarely occurs to us that rough patches made any sense at all.
When my younger brother Stevie, who had Down syndrome, was nearing the end of his life, one of my friends asked me if I had thanked him for joining me here on earth. For being my little brother. For all the laughs and magnificent times, he’d gladly shared with me – and with everyone in his life.
I didn’t give my friend an answer because I was too busy wiping the tears that were sliding down my face. I didn’t want to do what he suggested. I just wanted to continue living my days with Stevie’s physical presence. I didn’t like the thought of the fun times being over.
Although we’d like to experience a lifetime of nothing but joyful moments, we know life doesn’t work that way. We’re here to learn and grow. Through problems and heartaches. There’ll be times we think we need a fire hose to put out the flames, and all we have in our hand is a squirt gun.
Maybe that’s life’s way of reminding us of the power within. We may feel ill-equipped, yet we have what we need. Sometimes we’re on offense. Sometimes we’re on defense.
Children have a way of pulling us into their world. A world of laughter. A world where we can win. A world where we know it’s okay when a squirt gun gives us all it’s got – for we’re writing our story in a way that will make us think we’d lived the best life ever.
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Marlene Oxender is a writer, speaker, and author. She writes about growing up in the small town of Edgerton, her ten siblings, the memorabilia in her parents’ estate, and her late younger brother, Stevie Kimpel, who was born with Down syndrome. Her three published books, Picket Fences, Stevie, and “Grandma, You Already Am Old!” are available on Amazon. Marlene can be reached at mpoxender@gmail.com
Source: The Village Reporter
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