My Family and Christmas

For Christmas, Mom and Dad compiled all of our home videos and created two DVDs.

I don’t know what it is about home videos

Maybe it is the intense detail of every noise

Like the wrapping paper while we opened presents on Christmas

Or the waves that crashed against a California beach

While we awaited Disneyland

Or the swish of our snow pants

As we climbed back up the white, cold hill, round, red disk in hand.

I don’t know if it is the emotions present in our parents’ voices

How they squeal when we smile

Or cheer when we crawl

And maybe that is where it all started,

Our innate need to please our parents

Whatever the case

All I know

Is that when Daddy cheered after I flipped that back-walkover (it took me 6 tries)

When Dylan showed me how I could brush my brand new Samantha Doll’s hair (even though he hated dolls)

And Joe read me picture book after picture book in between showing me how to tie my shoes

All I know, is that their smiles, cheers, and voices lead me to be who I am today

Maybe it’s the fact that I get to hear Grandma and Grandpa’s voices again

Grandma’s chuckle as Andy pushes around on his “Shoe” car

Grandpa’s laugh as Andy ignores every birthday present and obsesses over a cardboard box

My heart ached when I heard their voices

Maybe it was that.

Or maybe it was seeing my cousins, young and carefree

Seeing my siblings without heartbreak

Seeing myself without  complications

It was beautiful

And for a second, I felt a sort of serenity, only a 4-year-old feels

As I watched that tape of me in the pacific ocean

“She seems content there, building castles in the sand, and every once in awhile, she jumps over the waves”

And Daddy was right. I was content.

I looked so content, and it makes me feel like maybe I could remember how that felt.

Sweet little 4-year-old toes splashing in the water

A bright orange vest over my slim, bony shoulders

Minnie Mouse proudly stamped across my tiny swim suit

And all that hair, brown, long, and huge

Austin would say that not much has changed

What is most stunning, to me

Is each of our smiles.

Joey, as he giggles at Dylan’s babbling lingo

Dylan, as he blocks my 4 month old crawling path over and over

Me, as I help Andy learn how to play with every toy I feel he needs to understand through my perspective

And Andrew, his smile may just impact me the most, as I stare, intently into this video

Because his smile is so precious, as if produced by an angel, which he was at 14 months old.

He stole the show, with big, brown, deep, silent, but so abruptly loud, eyes

And as I watch

I can’t help but think about all of these voices

That shaped my heart, and my life

Daddy, always unbelievably proud, constantly pushing us to reach our highest potential

Mom, diligently encouraging

Joey, incredibly knowing and understanding

Dylan, demure, yet empowering

Andy, awkward, quirky, but inspiring

Grandparents, distant, but straightforward at the same time, giving me such concepts as,

Take care of your mother, you can always accomplish 2 more, of anything if you put your mind to it, a round of Uncle Wiggly will fix any boo boo, no matter how big, and so many, many more

I don’t know what it is about home videos

The sweet spirits that once existed within each one of us

Our parents’ undying, unwavering love and support of us

Whatever it is, it makes me cry

Not the sobbing kind of cry

The slow, steady, flowing cry

Where one tear follows another

Absentmindedly

Stupid, fabulous idea

Deciding to teach was both the best decision, and the worst decision I have ever made.

Watching young brilliant minds open to new concepts makes my heart flutter and my eyes shine with pride.

Watching young minds fold under pressure and resist privileges few are given, makes my heart ache, and my eyes well with tears.

Choosing to teach was the most ambitious, yet most infertile volition of my entire 23 years of life.

I giggle at their creativity

But I scowl at their stupidity

I cheer for the leaps they make and the successful execution of their most cherished targets

I denounce their self-destructive attitudes and ignorance towards the opportunities standing barefaced and indisputable in front of them.

Hives

Headaches

Sleepless nights

Anxiety

Panic attacks

Cold after cold, flu after flu

Throw whatever you want at me

I will not give up on them

I will not quit on them like they quit on themselves

No matter how many “I don’t want to’s”

“I can’t’s”

“I won’ts”

I hear

Try me

I will not let them stop

I will not let them sell themselves oh so entirely short

I won’t take no for an answer

Agreeing to illustrate the art of composition and reading to the young, the impressionable, the deranged, was a matchless selection

Engaging in dragging them through the monotonous task of writing one word after the other and deciphering the dullest of dull was a dense selection

Has my point been made? My assertion understood?

I’ll regret this adventure for as long as I live, but I’ll delight in it more.

I’ll gloat about my kids’ achievements until my voice becomes hoarse

I’ll praise their abilities, encourage their curiosity, and spark their imaginations using whatever methods possible

I’ll use any amount of insanity, and go to any extent of ludicrousness

And I won’t stop until every sweet, yet obnoxious, young life I encounter, gets a chance to be staggeringly phenomenal.

The decision to teach was the dumbest, premeditated torture I have ever agreed to and the purest, unrivaled fruition I have ever felt.