This is for my mother and my father. Because you let me go into the world when I was ready and held my hand whenever I needed just a little more support.
You known when people trust
priests and pastors and reverends
they are priests and pastors and reverends?
Yea.. I hate it. It makes me nauseous
Last week, I met a pastor while out
He’d been introduced to me before the dance ever started, and so I’d gotten my
hopes up… he’d surely live up to the stellar introduction. Right?!
So he asked me to dance and
we danced. And he did what pastors do: he
asked generic get-to-know-you questions.
I answered: hometown, grad program, no boyfriend.
And in the same breath, I told him
I really didn’t like to be boxed in. Because that’s what had happened: from far away, in a top program, single but not really, right?
As he twirled me a few more times, I felt his grip get
just a little tighter. He turned to me and said:
“But children need
boxes. Too keep them
safe.” He twirled me a few more times, but then
I just couldn’t
anymore. I stopped on my heels and said.
We don’t need boxes.”
I was so mad. So mad at so many things, but especially the boxes. And so I started firing at him:
“Some parents need them so that they don’t have to
let go and trust
the world and their children’s judgement that
everything will be just fine.
But we… we need to be
let go when we’re ready to leave,
and we need
a helping hand and embracing arms back home so we can
and be caught when
the world fails us. Because it will.” He was surprised, started to laugh, and told me:
“I’m just teasing.”
No, Sir, you were not. You were so
serious about that. Because you’re afraid. Of what the world will do to them, your children. And to you. Because you’re so
But good that I’m not
kidding either, would never, about this subject.
Because I won’t ever believe in boxes. Never like them. Never ever fit.
And, most importantly, I won’t ever assume trust and truth because you’re a pastor or priest or reverend.
And man, so we