The Glow Up

I was with a group of friends recently. We were chatting about life’s challenges. There was a discussion about someone near and dear to us who is going through times tougher than you would wish on your worst enemy. That’s a perplexing saying, yes? I do my darndest to not have enemies, to see situations from another’s point of view when possible or plausible. But, I guess it does illustrate a point. We did a little verbal dance within our circle. This person is going through this. This person is going through this other thing. We stopped mentioning names. It became more of a prayer activity. I’ve always felt like group prayer can get tricky. Amazing, yes. But, as humans, we are a curious bunch. We love crossing the line into gossip, you know, for the sake of the good. But, back to the altruistic moment. Someone said something that went a little like this, “People are broken, aren’t they. We are broken, aren’t we?” I hadn’t spoken for a long while, but suddenly, I felt emboldened with a tiny seed of motivation that began to take root. I thought of something that only someone who’s been around the hurting block could harvest from the recesses of the gut. I belted it out fast and purposefully. “We’re like glow sticks. We don’t work until you break us.” Everyone paused. “Oh, great,” I thought. “Look what you did, dummy. Now they know. You’re weird, what with your rambling thoughts and those odd nuggets of useless trivia you store up in your soul that fix nothing but bubble out at the worst moments.” But, the pause ended as quickly as it had started. A few people reached for their phones. “Say that again,” one friend demanded. “I want to write that down.” Sheepishly, I confessed that I was 78% sure it was either something I’d seen on Pinterest or read in Oprah’s magazine. We ended our get together and someone joked that they were going to embroider that saying onto tea towels or a pillowcase or some other such nonsense. As I drove home that day, I started thinking about many things: people in need, people in turmoil, people at the end of their respective ropes, and glow sticks. I thought long and hard about glow sticks.

A few months ago, back when I was in Houston on Grandma duty, there was an incident. Now, mind you, I would never allow or encourage my grandchildren to withhold information from their parents, nor make a game out of keeping secrets. This granny follows the rules. If the parents say no screens, we don’t do screens. If the parents say no sugar, we don’t do sugar. I speak only for myself. Papaw does what papaw does. Still, rules are just that and I understand how important it is to present a united front. I want my grandchildren to see my allegiance and trust toward their parents. I want their parents to see the same. Now, back to the story. It was a good night that happened to have occurred after a very not so good night. Thursday had been so difficult. No one wanted to follow the rules. No one wanted to share. There were no manners. There was resistance to everything from food to cleanliness to bedtime. But, Friday, someone stole those awful children and replaced them with pleasant little aliens who played nicely with each other and used words like ma’am and please. I was elated. Why, a reward was in order. We popped popcorn. We had a dance off. We took turns throwing grapes in each other’s mouths. We stayed up late. My 5-year-old grandson was the first one to bail on us due to sleepy eyes and epic yawns. My 7-year-old granddaughter had a grand idea. I should sleep with her. She’d gotten perfect conduct all week at school, after all. We should get one piece of Valentine’s candy each. Sounded like a good compromise to me. That’s where everything went south.

Two sets of feet tiptoed to the pantry. Two right hands began to rifle through 3-day old candy, both secretly hop-ing there would be just one more Mr. Goodbar miniature left. That’s when my granddaughter saw it, that trinket that was gifted to all the students in class. Someone had brought glow sticks to the school party. She absolutely shrieked. “Didi, we HAVE to do the glow stick tonight! Let’s eat our candy in my room, pop the glow stick, and have a party!” And, just like that, Didi the grandma, Chynna the granddaughter, Cheeto the cat, and Daisy the lab mix had an epic rager of a party. Everything was suddenly hilarious. Thank you, sugar. Daisy’s top lip was stuck on her tooth. We laughed for an eternity. Chynna popped her glow stick. It was beautiful. “Chynna,” I whisper yelled, “the end! You didn’t pop the end! You need to try breaking it one more time near the end.” She tried, but 1/3 of that glow stick still wasn’t glowing. “Try harder, Chynna. Really bend it at the end.” Suddenly, I noticed more glowing, but not at the end of the glow stick. The end of Chynna’s nose was glowing. Her pillow was glowing. Daisy’s ear tips were glowing. The blanket on her bed was spotted with hundreds of tiny glowing orbs. “Didi, it’s all over you,” her bottom lip quivered. “Didi, is it poison? Did I hurt you?” “No, baby girl. You didn’t hurt me.” It took half of the night to wash sheets, walls, a grandmother, a granddaughter, and a dog. We talked, in 2nd grade terms, about happy accidents, things going wrong when that was never the intent, and how even grandmothers can give bad advice. That’s the thing about glow sticks. Sure, they don’t work until you break them, but it’s the fragility and unpredictability of the break that’ll get you, sort of like life.