Growing up, I quickly learned not to go to dad with my problems. He would sit there, listen to my heavily embellished story about whatever wrong was done to me, sigh and say, “So what’s the plan?”
I would get so angry. I was the victim. It shouldn’t be my responsibility to fix. If my Xbox was broken, it should be fixed. If mom ate the tub of frosting I had bought to make cupcakes — a common occurrence — she should replace it. How dare he put it on me to fix!
Mom, on the other hand, would join in my lamentations. I could always count on her to accept an invitation to the pity party. We would whine, mope and complain together, usually on the way to get ice cream or Star Video, our town’s version of Blockbuster.
Now that I’m a bit older and wiser, depending on who’s asked, I find myself taking dad’s approach more and more often.
Saturday, I was registered to run the 300 Oaks 10K in Greenwood. Friday night before bed, I laid out my shoes, running shorts and shirt, a pair of socks, everything I’d need. I set my alarm for 4 a.m. to give myself plenty of time to make the 2-hour drive in time for an 8 a.m. start and went to bed.
When my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed, put my glasses on, and caught a sharp kick from an alarmed and confused puppy; my black lab, Alice, is not used to getting up at 4 a.m. It broke my glasses.
At 8 a.m. Saturday morning, I was not in Greenwood running a 10K with my friends. I was sitting in the kitchen waiting for J.B. Weld to set enough so I could put my glasses on.
Without glasses I’m pretty much useless. I can’t drive, read, watch TV or see that door frame materialize out of nowhere. I’ll admit, when I first heard that tinkle of my lens hitting the floor, I knew it was going to be the end of the world. There wasn’t a video game, book or television show that could fix the horrible injustice done to me by the evil, sadistic dog who’s head I’d rolled over on getting out of bed.
By the time my parents called to tell me mom finished her race – she was invited to run the Barkley Marathon this year – I’d already glued my lens back in and ordered a new pair of glasses online. They should get here Friday.
It’s easy for me to blow things out of proportion at first. Throwing a fit seems to be my instinct, but I’ve learned to stop myself after a few minutes and get to work fixing whatever mess I’ve found myself in.
Most of my problems aren’t nearly as big as I make them out to be. A little epoxy and a few hours of drying time isn’t the apocalyptic scenario I initially think it is.
With two lab-mix rescues, little things get broken all the time. They don’t mean to, but they’re a lot bigger than they think they are. Whenever I hear the crash of furniture and the scampering of paws into the next room, I know whatever it is I’ll get over it. I just want to be dramatic first.
Contact Thomas at thoward@newtoncountyappeal.com.
