I remember my brother saying once, about a boy I was madly in love with at the time, “He would be a great guy, if he wasn’t dating my sister.”
Brothers. They are quite a story.
Of course, my story about brothers is from the perspective of a sister. People talk so much about a girl’s relationship with her father and how important it is in her future relationships. I have no doubt that is true. But, in retrospect, I also know a girl’s relationship with her brothers can have just as powerful an influence on her relationships with men, too.
My brothers and I played cars in the den. We set up our own garages around the room – under the piano bench, under the skirts of chairs and sofas, beneath chests and coffee tables. We acted out scenes and stories with Corvettes and Firebirds and Lamborghinis in the lead roles.
My brothers and I played G. I. Joe. Well, they played G. I. Joe and I played Barbie and, at times, their two worlds mingled.
I remember playing spy. We’d load ourselves down with canteens and flashlights and assorted supplies before we crawled through air ducts (under and between furniture) and snuck into darkened offices to rifle through imaginary filing cabinets.
Riding together in the backseat on long road trips, we giggled till I nearly wet my pants, making up personalized license plates with potty puns. Mama and Daddy would fuss from the frontseat for us to quiet down. It’s not safe. We were distracting the driver. We’d bite our lips and whisper for a minute or two before our laughter roared all over again.
My brothers taught me to play and laugh. They taught me to appreciate boys for what they are.
I still learn from – and about – my brothers today. Brothers, be they old or young – want to fix things. They want to advise and counsel. It’s their way of protecting.
Brothers send friends to look out for you on dates. Brothers walk behind you and your friends to and from school. Brothers silently watch you do stupid things and, years later, tell you it hurt them – even though you thought they didn’t care.
Brothers look upon sisters like a big mess of tears and ribbons and puffy hearts and nonsense. But, that big mess is theirs for keeps.
I hope that brothers also look upon sisters as a soft heart that cares for them. The first girl that ever loved them and thought of them as their own. A girl that knows them to be a strong, capable man that carries inside him the heart of a baby boy. The boy who cried at the sight of his mama crying and when his beloved pet lizard died. Boys that suffered heartbreaks at the hands of girls like me.
Boys that hug their sister and make it feel like home.
Boys and girls are so different. But, on the inside – in the quiet little memories and spaces between their souls – brothers and sisters are really very much the same.
Today’s Girl Talk Thursday topic is heartbreaks. Such a touchy topic…
As you may have gathered from previous posts, I’ve had my share of boyfriends. Which is not to say that this is a point of pride for me…
I can remember riding in the car with my mother on the way to the mall; I was in high school. My heart was freshly wounded by Some Dumb Guy. A sappy love song came on the radio and began rubbing salt in my wound. I was trying to be brave and keep my mind off the hurt and lonely feeling that comes with breakups, but this blasted song was knocking me down brick by brick. I remember softly, reluctantly asking my mother, “Can you please change the station?” She respectfully agreed, and silently honored my request. I wonder what it was like to be My Mama in that moment. Was she thinking, “I hate seeing her like this?” or “Such a drama queen…”. (Probably some of both.)
I did not choose my boys wisely, to say the least. I’ve alluded to my own issues with self-esteem here before. Here’s the bottom line: I didn’t like myself very much, so I liked just about anyone who liked me. The truth hurts, but doesn’t make it any less true.
As you can imagine, with little to no standards for Qualifying Candidates, I got burned quite a bit. Looking back, it seems like most guys dumped me when they had another waiting in the wings. (Perhaps they were smarter than I give them credit for…) That fact, of course, made it so much harder to accept. The jealousy. The betrayal.
And then, there was one guy that really was a jerk. In his defense, he had no good role models. His parents had split when he was young, young, young. His mother lived on other side of the country and he didn’t know her AT ALL until his father, who spent a lifetime freely sharing his own twisted version of love with his sons, died. So, along came the boy. He liked me. So, I considered and (of course) agreed to a date. All was hunky-dory for a while. I, in keeping with my own traditions, began allowing my entire life to revolve around Dumb Guy of the Moment.
A smart enough person learns to see this as a source of control and power…and get used to it. Often, they decide to keep things moving along the path of their choice, regardless of your thoughts. Bottom line, I got hurt. It hurt before it was over. It hurt because I let it. I was too stupid to see that I was worth more than that. I didn’t have the courage or perspective to realize I would be happier and better off without him. I was scared and didn’t want to be alone.
Then, one day, it clicked. I was done. It was over. I had had enough. I shed my fair share of tears and wallowed in my sorrow with a few supportive friends, and then, as quickly as a baby falls asleep in their pureed peas, I flushed it. Like a faucet, I turned it off.
A few days later, I met my husband. He was supposed to be a rebound. I just wanted a distraction to help me launch myself down a new road. Turns out that road was a interstate with no end in sight. Funny how things work out.
All of this “woe is me, innocent victim” talk is not, of course to say that I didn’t do my fair share of burning, as well. I never maliciously intended to hurt, but misunderstandings happen and people change. Girls are stupid in high school, as are boys. And, hindsight is 20-20. As it turns out, some girls – some “friends” – have ulterior motives behind their “advice”.
“I feel so conflicted…I ‘love’ (because, when you’re young you think it’s love) So-And-So, but I kind of like Other Dude, too. I don’t know what to do…”
“Oh, you should go for it…you and So-And-So are growing apart. Follow your heart. Go for Other Dude. Here, why don’t I help you write the break-up note…”
A few days later, guess who’s comforting So-And-So? Oh, look! Now they’re a couple! As for me and Other Dude? Yeah. That one will live in infamy forever among my family as the one to whom I said, “This isn’t going to last long.” I don’t know if I said that to him, or just to my family. But, it’s true. I said it to someone.
As an adult, I’ve decided that heartbreaks come as a result of personal expectations. (Wish I could claim credit for this profound statement, but a co-worker taught me this.) We all have expectations for the people in our lives. We have expectations for who and what boyfriends/husbands/lovers/friends/family members are and how they should behave. These expectations, though, are rarely, if ever, explicitly discussed, they are often vastly different from one person to the next. We get hurt when people don’t meet our unspoken expectations.
I expected boys would care about my feelings.
I expected they might “love” me forever - because, to me, love is forever.
I expected that they would be honorable and do the right thing.
I expected they would tell me the truth.
I expected that my girlfriends had my best interest in mind.
I expected they were being honorable, too.
I expected that, should someone truly care about me, they would fight for me. They would come to me and say, “I don’t want to lose you.”
I expected wrong.
Even today, I live with heartbreak from time to time. Who doesn’t? My husband breaks my heart. My children break my heart. My friends break my heart. My family breaks my heart. That’s life.
What I’m learning is that I must adjust my expectations. The only person I can truly EXPECT anything from, is myself, because that is the only person I can – or want to - control. I must expect more from myself than I do from others. I’ve learned that, while I continue to open my heart to the loving people around me – who, like me, are just doing the best they can everyday, I need to give myself the unconditional love that I cannot always expect from others.
And that, my friends, is harder than it seems.
I don’t like that this has been such a depressing post. So, to share a “feel good” with you…check out this video. You’ll like it, I promise!
"Sometimes, a writer finds buried treasures in places they remember. As you think about the geography of a place from your past, memories will surface as you think about the place where they occurred..."
This was the gist of a lesson I recently taught my students. Then, I drove off to my old stomping grounds for a long weekend, and I felt that lesson come alive in my mind.
Sometimes, you don't even have to visit a building or any specific location for this to happen. I learned this weekend that, in some cases, just driving down the road will be enough to stir the pot. As I drove alone on a few brief errands this weekend, I was overcome with memories.
I remembered driving down the road with one of my BFFs in a red Mustang, singing along with Celine & Meatloaf at the top of our lungs as the wind ripped through the car. (Don't laugh. That song was at the top of the charts then.)
I remembered driving on the interstate for the first time with Boyfriend K. I was terrified that the car in the lane next to me was moving in on my space. He laughed at me and my paranoia, and I laughed back. Terrified, still.
I remembered riding, stunned, with Boyfriend S after the "Meet the Parents Date". I was stunned because his mother had whipped out flossers after dinner and flossed her teeth RIGHT THERE AT THE TABLE. (I'm not sure if this redeems her at all, but she was polite enough to offer me a flosser, too...."Gee...thanks...I think I'm good, though.")
I remembered wondering what road we were on as I rode home in the back of someone's parent's station wagon from the Nelson concert, my ears still ringing. (Ahem, they were cool too, thank you very much.)
I remembered getting a ride home after school from Really Nice Guy Friend everyday, only later to discover he liked me all the while and I was too stupid and too wrapped up in my Loves Gone Bad to realize it. Hind sight is 20-20.
I remembered the day I spent with Short-Term Romance Boy as he got a tattoo on his ankle, somewhere on the other side of town. I have no idea when or where this was, but it was a sight that scared me out of a tattoo...for life!
I remembered riding in Boyfriend D's brand new Jeep one cool Florida night, feeling too grown up for my years.
I remembered cruisin' in a convertible the summer I retook Chemistry (yeah...Chemistry and I went together like oil and water...) with my Wannabe Model Friend. She looked in the rearview mirror more than she looked at the road. (Checkin' out her pouty look.) Then, we'd drive through Taco Bell for bean burritos and Dr. Pepper.
I remembered walking, after a movie, down the main drag in town while it was closed for construction. Laughing my head off at Guy Friend B's jokes. Who knew Raffi's "Baby Beluga" could be so funny?
I remembered the odd ritual of touching a screw in a girl friend's "bucket" of a car and hollering out "SCREW!!!" everytime we crossed a railroad track, as though her car would fall apart without our help.
I remembered "pushing" my "For Real" Model Friend's car - from the inside - everytime we went up a hill. "Go, go, go!" We were never sure if it could make it to the top.
I remembered walking with a Middle School Friend to the 7-11 outside her neighborhood and spending a few dollars on that crazy powder candy you dip a candy stick into and then lick off the stick. Afterwards, we dried fresh flowers in the microwave and rolled each other's hair.
I remember walking home in the rain after school. I remember cutting through the field, taking the short cut to Freshman BFF's house and having Dr. Pepper and bologna sandwiches. And laughing.
I remember the little sink hole on a corner around a few corners from my house. It totally freaked me out, so I walked a wide circle around it.
I remember standing outside my house after a great first date, with butterflies in my stomach. My face hurt from smiling so much. I don't remember where we went or what we did, but it was great.
I remember walking home from a friend's house when the street lamps came on, after a really silly afternoon of prank calling everyone we knew...and didn't know.
I remember riding downtown to a summer theater camp with a girl I barely knew, singing Richard Marx in the car. (Yes, he was cool then, too.)
I remember being so impressed when One Or Two Dates Boy had a CELL PHONE. (oooooh......) Sure, it was his mom's...but WOW! I also remember being stupid enough to believe his nonsense blabber about how it "worked on a grid system...blah blah blah...and if you move when you're on the phone it will lose the signal..." What??? No wonder boys got me in trouble so much.
Those moments truly are miles away from my present. Today, I find myself cruisin' the streets on the way to and from school and the dance studio, jamming to Hannah Montana with my NEW BFFs...Little Princess and Big Girl. My latest boy, FireDaddy, has a seat indefinitely reserved in my cool, white Pacifica. Sometimes, I still kiss the clock and make a wish when I glance down from the road at exactly 11:11. I still love to car dance on Target and Publix runs. And, everyday, when I look back in my rearview mirror, I smile at what I remember AND at what I see smiling back at me.
I was "tagged" in a Facebook note-meme this week called "Finish the Sentence". One sentence was particularly interesting.
I'll always.... and I completed it with ...be a daydreamer.
This is not to say that I am a "faraway" girl (i.e. can't focus on something smack dab in front of me because I'm hyper-focused on the clouds out the window or the hangnail on my thumb or something equally obscure). But, I am still the girl who looks in the mirror and wonders what I'm going to be when I grow up. I am still the same girl who imagines one day gracing the stage with my presence once again. I am still the same girl who believes in true love and fairy tales and dreams come true. I am still the same girl who dreams. That sounds so sweet, doesn't it?
I will never grow up in other ways, too, though.
For instance, I will NEVER quit having girly crushes on handsome men. ...And something tells me I'm not alone in this.
I found myself tonight, as I was in a dreadfully boring inservice working late with some coworkers, talking about stars on whom we have had/currently have crushes. It started innocently enough. Someone had tickets to a concert coming up, this led to discussing othermusicians coming to town, and before I know it - my latest "musical crush" was revealed - Jack Johnson.
I know he's not the ABSOLUTELY MOST handsome man in the world -- but OH. MY. GOSH. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE his music and LOVE, LOVE, LOVE his voice. And, from what I make out (Hee! Hee! I said "make out" about Jack Johnson!) he is definitely cute. AND, he used to be a professional surfer! THAT'S HOT!!!
(Um, HELLO? I used to have pictures of Kelly Slater snipped from Teen magazine pinned to my bedroom wall. Don't get me started about surfers...)
After all, isn't that what a crush is? A silly infatuation for someone based on fluff? Often times, overrated fluff, at that...
Another crush of mine, as mentioned before in my photo mosaic meme, John Cusack. I have "loved" him since Say Anything. Come stand outside my window holding a ridiculously large (I mean, really? Where were iPods then?), antiquated, Peter-Gabriel-cassette-tape-playing boom box ANYDAY, baby. Why? What is it about him?
I don't know. He's cute.
I could go on and say other, more mature, reasons. He's a talented actor. If you have seen Grace is Gone you would never argue against this point. He's intelligent. Have you seen him speak? He and I are politically like-minded. War, Inc.Yadda yadda yadda...He's cute. All that other stuff is icing on the cake. I also realized, while writing this, I like his voice, too. Perhaps there's something about a man's voice that makes him more attractive to me.
I could go on to name at least half a dozen other adorable men on whom I have crushes. And, yes, Fire Daddy is well aware of them. And, if, for some reason, he isn't, it's not because I have been hiding them from him. I mean, I know he LOVES Alyssa Milano and a few other "hot chicks". But that's not the point.
The point is...I guess I'll never really be too old for crushes and sitting around with girlfriends, giggling and making googly eyes as we drool over "boys" from afar.
