Overheard in the grocery store

Then . . . 

now.

http://jasonfwright.com/column/you-can-judge-a-tattoo-by-the-sound-of-the-voice.html

Jason F. Wright’s column is thought-provoking. In his latest, he describes overhearing a father-daughter conversation in the next aisle at the grocery store. Intrigued, he finally pushes his cart around the corner to see who’s been talking. The outcome was the subject of his column.

I’ve experienced that, only I’ve been on the other side. I was shopping with my youngest son one day, and when he saw the latest Lego offering, he said, “Mother, that is absolutely maaaagnificent.” A curious shopper came around the corner and did a double-take when she saw the child who had uttered such big words. He was 2 ½ at the time. 

He's 28 and probably hasn't played with Legos for a while, though as an engineer, he could build some great structures. Today he flies to Bejing, where he'll represent his company at a conference and plans to climb the Great Wall. 


My heart is with him. Be safe, Jeff. Remember, we have a tub of Legos here. Any time. 
Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

No bullies allowed here

If you are one of the few people who follow this blog, you know that I write mostly about writing and books and my family and things that make me laugh.


This post is very personal.


Jason F. Wright’s recent column on bullying in church (http://jasonfwright.com/column/the-unspoken-secret-of-bullying-at-church.html) reminded me of two experiences. I guess you could call them the good, the bad and the ugly, except that there are only two. You can choose your own adjectives. 

how it felt

When I was thirteen and we moved into an affluent area (though we were a less-than-affluent family), I was astonished and completely unprepared to experience a form of bullying that was well-entrenched within the junior high and high school kids at church meetings.They would choose a target and simply ignore him or her - - - not for weeks, but for years. It was insidious and went unnoticed by the leaders, but for their targets, going to church was hell. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I finally broke down one night and asked my parents, "What is wrong with me?" My baffled parents assured me that nothing was wrong with me, but they were ill-equipped to handle the situation; there was no resolution. And there's something I forgot to mention: the bullies were girls. There were some very nice guys in that ward. Thank goodness. 

how it felt

Many years later, when my own teenagers were giving me grief, a visitor sat next to me in a meeting. I had arrived with a heavy heart and the lesson hit home. I do not weep easily, and I do not weep in public, but I simply could not contain the hot tears that slid down my cheeks during the lesson. The woman casually rested her hand on my shoulder and gently traced a small circle with one finger, over and over. 


The teens eventually grew up and I’ve forgotten the lesson, or why it was so painful to hear it. But I will never forget this compassionate stranger’s kind touch and its message:
“I don’t know what has broken your heart, but you are never alone.”