Today, I was blessed to be with my friend of almost three decades, and her sister whom she graciously has shared with me, my friend for nearly as long. These two gals are pure excellence; I could never repay them for their love, concern, and endless other precious gifts they’ve given me, including more friends.
So, I would like to share this column about the sister I met first. Almost 20 years ago, this was the first of several columns she inspired.
One of my best friends taught me how to light up. She wasn’t talking tobacco; she was talking Tinkerbell. She wasn’t intending to give a life lesson or be profound. It just happened. As with many things she’s taught me, it came in ordinary conversation, stayed with me, and changed many things for me and my children.
I am, as many of you know, pretty much a dork. I’m not ashamed to admit that, even at my age, I cry over that commercial where the kids calls his mom from Europe to show her the view via his cell phone. I still cry over silly movies and even cartoons, if they carry the right weight. That’s me.
So, Tinkerbell is a character I relate to. Whenever I see “Peter Pan,” I still clap to help the audience save her. My inner child is screaming to help save the fairies. So, I do. It’s funny, then, that I needed help to light up for myself.
Being reliable and responsible were fortes I prided myself on. I was a reachable, active parent and a sensible, diligent disciplinarian as well as a doting, warm mom. I figured my kids knew I thought they were the greatest things that ever came down the pike.
I had always been that parent crying at their school concert as they played their clarinets or sang with the women’s ensemble. I could never contain my emotions when they were on the soccer field or in a swim race. I truly thought I just naturally emoted all the things I was feeling and that was more than they needed (or, in some cases, wanted), but I learned it wasn’t.
I always listen carefully to my brilliant and eloquent friend, because she’s always dropping little pearls of wisdom and profundity, without realizing it. If I miss them, she won’t remember them.
“Do you light up?” she said to me the day I asked about children and our relationships with them “or, are you always the mother when they come into the room?” She reminded me that sometimes we’re so busy instructing them, that we forget to just enjoy them.
That rang a bell. I have long known that having children is one of the greatest opportunities for joy in our lives, and our wee one’s sweet, unwavering love for us and desire to be admired by us, is inherent in them. It’s a burden to be that influential to anyone, but that’s the way it is. We say, “Oh, honey, wear your hair up. It’s so much prettier.” They hear, “Your hair doesn’t look nice down.”
My fairy-maker helped me give myself permission to feel what they truly meant to me and to display it without cognizant and consistent parenting. I learned to “light up” when they came into the room. It was liberating, profound and a win-win move.
A bit awkward at first, as I displayed my feelings they became deeper and more real for me, and my children felt the love in a greater way as my energy flowed from me to them. Whether a long, soft hug or just the warm glow of my Tinkerbell light, it was felt and absorbed.
Lots of things changed for all of us. Suddenly, my kids started relating to me as more of a mom and less of a mother. Suddenly, our relationship wasn’t only about reliable, responsible care and parenting. Suddenly, there was a fairy in the house. Her light fell upon all of us.
I don’t know why, coming from the childhood I came from, I wasn’t lighting up on my own, but when a pearl comes your way and it helps complete the strand, you don’t ask questions. I was fortunate to find my personal fairy-maker who helped me give display my inner light. We all have that light and the power to set ourselves aglow. So go ahead, light up.
Just clap your hands if you believe, and Tinkerbell will shine.
See ya – gotta fly now.
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