It's never too early too learn

     When I was 5 years old, I lived across the street from the elementary school that I attended.  You'd think that kind of close proximity would've spelled murder for me, because theoretically, it'd be easier for my teachers to arrange conferences with my parents regarding my behavior.  Luckily, that happened far less than I gave them reason to.  Anyway, when I was in kindergarten, one of my best friends, if not THE best friend I had at the time, was a little blonde girl named Anna.  We used to enjoy talking to each other at recess time, and since she lived only a few houses down from me, I visited her a few times at her home after the school day was over.  My mother and stepfather used to tease me, saying that Anna was my girlfriend.  I really didn't like hearing that, for what 5 year old boy wants to have a girlfriend?  Of course, it's always possible that this was just the first step in what would become my openness to interracial dating.  And I'm most certain that it was the first example for me of a pure friendship, one that was innocent, purely based on mutual regard and mutual enjoyment of each other's company.  The kind that are still very much possible to have as one gets older, yet seemingly get harder to find.  And it was on one of the these occasions while I was playing with Anna in her living room, that I looked up to see her father standing there.  He was always there during the day time, and looking back on it now, I wonder if he worked at night, or if he wasn't working at all at that particular time.

     Anyhow, on this particular occasion, when I happened to look up and find him staring at me, he jut had this look of utter contempt on his face.  I couldn't understand why, because I had done nothing wrong, and I felt that Anna and I were playing quietly, but what I did know was that it made me feel very uncomfortable.  And unfortunately, that would be the last time that I would get to visit Anna at her home.  She told me the next day at school that her Dad said that I wasn't allowed to go over there anymore.  I didn't know why, and its possible Anna didn't either.  I thought that kind of sucked, but I still got to talk to Anna at school, although it seemed a little less frequent. 

     Later on in life, I was able to look back on that incident at Anna's house with a little more perspective.  As I continued through life, I would come to recognize that same look that her father had on his face, on the faces of others.  There was always the possibility that her father just didn't like the thought of his daughter having a boy around the house.  After all, what father is ever ready for his daughter to take an interest in boys, at any age much less the age of 5?  But no, it was more than that.  I firmly believe that it was my skin tone.  Sure, I'm a little on the lighter side for a Chicano, but I'm still Latino nontheless, and for some people, regardless of race or creed, differences are intolerable.  It was unfortunate that I had to have my first taste of the  racist brand of narrowmindedness at such a young age, but it was bound to happen.  I didn't see Anna over that next summer, or even during the next school year, and I missed my friend very much.  Then one day in the second grade, I was walking back to my classroom during recess, and I heard someone call my name.  It was Anna, and she was sitting on the concrete walkway outside of her classroom, with her back against the wall. I was both excited and surprised to see my friend whom I had missed so much.

     She looked very sad, and I asked her where she'd been, because I hadn't seen her around.  She said that her family had moved to a different house.  It was weird, because it seemed that we both wanted to talk to eache other, and I wanted to comfort my friend because she was sad, but things seemed different between us.  They had changed somehow, as if there was a barrier between us other than time lost.  I remembered how in kindergarten there were a couple of times that I had tried to comfort her while she was crying.  She had said at those times that she was crying because her Dad was meant to her.  I wanted to comfort her now as well, but it felt as if there was an unbridgeable gap between us.  It was an uncomfortable moment for both of us, and being young, and not knowing what else to say, I said goodbye and continued to walk to class.

   For a long time, on the rare occasions when I'd be reminded of that incident, I wondered if I was less of a friend than I should've been.  As if there were more that I could've done, but hadn't.  And I felt bad about that.  But eventually, I came to the realization that there could've been several possibilities, including personal problems on her part, (most likely having to do with her home life) that might've caused the distance between us.  And if that was the case, I had no control over that.  While we can contribute to the happiness of others, and they can contribute to ours, we are not responsible for anyone else's happiness, nor are they responsible for ours.  And as we go through life, we are all bound to pick up a little baggage.  Now some people may be quick to protest, "No, not me!" But I think my statement about baggage is fair and accurate.  Baggage doesn't always have to have a negative connotation or impact, although it often does.  Sometimes baggage is just something that we have as a result of having lived and experiencing life.  Sometimes in can be the result of mistakes, and sometimes in can be the result of negative experiences, but often, it's simply the result of living.  The difference is in how much of it is negative vs. how much of it is just the result of experience?  And how much do we have, and how heavy is it to carry?  If it weighs us down, and impedes us from being able to move forward on our path, or if we end up dumping it on other people because it's too much for us to handle, then it becomes problem. 

   And perhaps that experience with Anna was also my first lesson that things change, that people sometimes drift apart for whatever reason, and that we need to be prepared to move on in life.  Again, a hard lesson at an early age, but a necessary one.  People, and sets of situations that we encounter in life's journey, are like a single puzzle piece in a thousand peice puzzle.  Some pieces are bigger than others, but all are necessary for us to complete the final picture.  Where we sometimes get into trouble is when we try to force a peice into a place that it doesn't belong, in an effort to quickly complete the puzzle.  When that happens, not only do we risk distorting the final picture, but breaking that particular puzzle piece in the process.  It's every piece in its own place and its own time.

     And so I've also learned to appreciate, reflect on, and treasure the good memories from every situation and relationship, and I've learned that those are things that time can never destroy or tarnish.  And that like money in the bank, they can collect interest over time.  When we're feeling a little shipwrecked in life, lost at sea, suitcases of good memories are the kind of baggage that can make great floatation devices, keeping our head above water, rather than weighing us down, causing us to sink. Sometimes, it's all in how we look at things. 

"Men are disturbed, not by things that happen, but by their opinion of the things that happen." - Epictetus