I am a glass all empty person, at least in my innermost heart. I come by it naturally, having been raised by pessimistic parents. I mean that in the best way. My father was born during prohibition. Antigovernment sentiment was at an all time high. Finally, 3/4 of the states voted to repeal the ban on alcohol, just in time for the country to tumble into The Great Depression. So, yeah, that all bred understandable negativity. Momma was a true boomer, a product of the WWII highly successful government campaign era. Let’s get them afraid of their own shadows. Bombs, we got ‘em scared. Rations, we got ‘em hungry. Young men dying in wars, we got ‘em wringing their hands in despair. Every generation has their trap, I guess. We 80s kids all watched The Day After for extra science credit. It’s no wonder I grew up fearful and wary, with a side of good work ethic and ample seasoning of resourcefulness. Depressed yet? Fear not, we aren’t here to bemoan my negative mindset. Quite the opposite, we’re here to analyze why my glass is actually overflowing. An amazing life is possible, but only when we understand that things are seldom as bad as they seem.
My grandson, Ezra, is in kindergarten. Five is a complex age, as it turns out. On one hand, you’re doing big boy things like going to school and having your first girlfriend. Side note: we don’t think the girl is in the loop on the fact that she’s his girlfriend. We are fairly certain they’ve never spoken. The boy is a sucker for a good ponytail. On the other hand, being five means realizing
things that terrify you. Your parents won’t always be at your side. Zippers are devices made from metal nightmares. Excavators are insanely cool, until you get too close to one. And, don’t forget the bugs. The bugs want to kill us.
Job had his plagues. We, here in Texas, have our crane flies. You know the ones. Those bugs that begin swarming us the moment the temps rise. They look like a cross between daddy-longlegs spiders and mosquitos. A walk around the block will have you completely covered in them. If you are like me, a concert vocalist during walking workouts, you may have to spit a few of them out as you go. Ezra is deeply concerned about these particular bugs. Though we’ve explained to him, time and time again, that they are harmless, you can find him shrieking and flailing on most warm afternoons. In contrast, his 8-year-old sister is fascinated by all insects and can rattle off details like a career entomologist. “Are they spiders?” Ezra asks. “Please tell me they’re not spiders that bite, like the long leg daddies.” His sister responds, “Well, actually, daddy-longlegs are really pholcid spiders. They produce venom, but their fangs are too small to bite.” She is the one I call to retrieve tiny garden lizards from inside my home, the same one who wants to be a venomous snake milker when she grows up. None of these attempts can soothe a spideraverse boy’s soul, however. So, we decided to try different logic. We gave these harmless crane flies a cute name. We now call them Buddy Longlegs, and everyone knows buddies don’t bite.
God gave us a rose garden. I know it doesn’t seem like it some days. Bad things happen and all we can focus on are the thorns. They cut, rip, grab, tear, and scrape our hearts up as we trudge through this place we call home that really isn’t our home at all. We are trying to see beauty, trying to take up space, in a temporal place, when our citizenship lies somewhere else. It is scary. It can be sad. Things die here in this world: dreams, hopes, pets, and people. But, just maybe, we can reframe things to put them in context. One day I will leave this foreign land and journey back home. Until that time, I choose to ignore the thorns and focus on the roses. One thing is for sure. There are no buddy longlegs in heaven. Lift up your overflowing glasses with me on that one.
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