relativity

I have a memory of my father that I can't let go. in this memory, he is 31, I am eight, my brother six. it is valentine's day and I am crying.

the valentine my father gave me was actually quite perfect for me, the wannabe designer and maker of kleenex ballgowns: it contained paper dolls. my brother got something to do with racecars, which, for the matchbox-toting little boy that he was, was also perfect. and the fact that it came from dad, from someone we barely saw but adored from our imaginations, made it a true occasion. the imperfection came later, when we actually started playing with our paper productions; I with mine, my father and brother with his.

this memory is so brief, almost cloudy, that sequence and exact details become unimportant. all I know is that I cried and my mom took action in two ways: she protested to my father, and she came back to me to explain that, "sometimes dads and brothers don't understand the stuff that girls like to play with, so they like to hang out together." I'm almost positive I cried quietly, or at least pouted, through her attempt to be the interested adult in the kerrie-plus-valentine equation.

there are a lot of ways I could take this post. there are a lot of familial details, social history, and psychological theory that could apply. but for now, I've decided on this: interpersonal relationships all about finding, creating, and holding interest... even if it takes decades.

keep reading.

as any childhood outcast can attest, the difference between being misunderstood and disliked is often so small that the conceptualization of such an adult feeling is out of the outcast's emotional range, not to mention above their heads. in fact, many adolescents and adults have difficulties understanding that the two are far from mutually exclusive. both can produce similar feelings in both the outcast and those doing the casting, but both do not necessarily start from the same place nor do they beget the other. the more they understand this, whether naturally or through years of learning and therapy, the easier the outcast finds it to engage others in a socially productive manner. the outcast can sense their point of misunderstanding with another individual, and, if they care to, find a way to repair the social dissonance.

I think I'm right in stating that the hurt behind such a set of ideas is lessened by higher self-esteem and higher self-motivation. I think I'm also right in saying that the individuals who are most misunderstood but who have the highest self-esteem will push themselves to engage others until they've either won them over or they've turned them off entirely. something in them just allows for this adaptability, this persistance, this creativity in communication, and this obliviousness to the thought that playing well with others shouldn't be that hard.

simply put, some of the world's strangest people have the ability to garner positive interest and affection from almost anyone else in the room. and for a flash of a moment this weekend, I walked away from the hurt eight-year-old mentality into the shoes of that persistant but well-meaning outcast... and found a new approach to relating to my dad.

on saturday, in the interest of possibly slowly improving my throwing arm for my non-competitive adult softball league, I asked my brother if he wanted to play catch. I thought how easy. scott used to play catch with me when I was little, and I'm pretty sure he won't make fun of me if I throw like a girl. I was rejected, but only because scott had other sporting events to attend. almost instantly, however, I realized that this rejection also impacted the other social function my brother was to serve that day: the buffer between me and my dad, step-mom, and grandmother.

what could have been more painful than necessary was suddenly an opportunity for familial growth. as stated in a previous post, I rarely attend family functions, so I tend to rely on scott to update me and hold my hand for the first part of actual interaction. a year ago, without my brother, I would have been lost. but between all of the strange events of the last few months, something just clicked, and I became the confident kid I sometimes am: I knew that I could eliminate that awkward feeling of forced conversation if I asked my dad to play catch.

I honestly don't ever remember playing catch with my dad and without my brother, step-siblings, or cousins. but with my memaw watching from the small deck, dad and I threw and caught and laughed and tripped all over the uneven backyard along a blue michigan highway. we talked about everything from bugs to phd programs. and the short catch-related anecdote about my grandfather (and the accompanying re-enactment by my dad) is something I will hold onto for the rest of my life.

in the end, my dad is a happy-go-lucky and giving man, a little slow at times, but always serious when dispensing advice about life and always quick with that deep chuckle of his. he is a different person than the one I knew in 1989, for more reasons than I can write. but beyond the recognition of the changed man, I am proud of the change I noticed in me, and am grateful for the growth that 19 years of ardent study and awkward social interactions have produced. I may still revert to the past mannerisms of a hurt kid, but at least I know I can do differently. that, along with the thought of making new memories that I can't let go, is what makes the this post so glorious.