This one was to be the intro, perhaps.
I
started writing this quite some time ago- there are several drafts. I'm
revisiting them each.
There's some redundancy - forgive me. But life can be redundant,
really. The story of who we are and who we become can hinge on moments
that show up in all of our stories
*
They say stories should start at the beginning... the trick is knowing how far back to reach.
Should one begin in Genesis and work through the naming of all the animals or just cut to the scene where the hero first appears?
Who are the heroes; the villains? Are any of the characters conflicted?
Wait- what if they're all conflicted? I hadn't planned on writing another War and Peace...but, come to think of it, maybe that's the only rational expectation.
.
War. Peace. A whole lot of AND in between.
Once upon a time... the very first time we met, I believe, was in a bathroom stall...
You were three and your teacher had difficulty getting into the bathroom stalls with her crutches. She asked me - the teacher next door- to help you with some predicament or other that you'd found yourself in--unbuckle or buckle or clean up a mess, I really can't remember which, but the setting would remain constant throughout our years to come- the two of us awkward and slightly out of place, surrounded by predicaments and trying to make the best of it.
K3 and K4 had recess and lunch together (you always brought a Trix yogurt. ) Mrs. Stacey and I would chat during nap time (you never could get to sleep ) And so, we became acquainted, you and I.
I had not yet met your mom.
I had not yet met your dad.
I knew you first.
For a month or so, that was the way things were. I was teaching and you were a part of the student body. You were a cute little student in my friend's class who had a country twang when he talked. And I was filling the needed teacher positions temporarily before heading off to the college I was accepted at in north Georgia. I regarded the path I was on as a temporary gig before pursuing my goal of becoming a counselor.
Make your plans, but always write them in pencil!
Your teacher, Mrs. Stacey was...IS... a good friend to me. She had been my friend for years before this and acted as a confidant for all my little life dramas. We talked about anything and everything. And so it was, on the day I first met your dad, I knew why he was there and what the underlying concern was. I can't unpack it well- I want to remain neutral, diplomatic...yet truthful.
Nutshell: There was some question over your safety. Your dad had been called in to be made aware of the concern.
At this point, both of your parents were just your parents. I didn't know them or your home situation. I didn't know they were divorced or anything about your life outside of our interactions at school. I didn't need to. I had no reason to expect that to change.
I was a new student in Real Life 101 myself; knee-deep in my own set of entanglements, romantic and otherwise. I wasn't looking to add to the tangle.
Pencil... always use a pencil for those plans, I tell you.
It was lunchtime and we always went together - k3 & k4- across the parking lot to the cafeteria. I had my class lined up at the door and Ms. Stacey was getting her own ducklings in a row. Your dad had come for that meeting and was staying to have lunch with you. After lunch, Mrs. Stacey came up to me in the gym and whispered to me something your dad had said about me...
And so it had begun.
For the next week or so, every time I stopped by Mrs. Stacey's room after school, I found your dad too; occupying a tiny little k3 chair. They were chatting about friends they had in common and your progress in school, of course.
I guess the scheme was to spend inordinate amounts of time up there just to maybe say hello to me on occasion. Word got back to me from Mrs. Stacey that he was interested in a date maybe... but apparently he was shy.
You and I began to spend more time together while he took over my daily after school chat sessions with Mrs. Stacey. As they chatted on, you would join me making rounds, chaperoning the cheerleaders, laminating posters, running copies for the next day's lessons, etc. There was definitely a more direct route to dating, but we have gone on to enjoy the scenic route in many more areas of life. It's okay.
And so, it was on what had become a typical day, the ice was finally broken ... and by ice I mean a bottle of nail polish. Numbers were exchanged. A waiting game ensued. A date was planned for Halloween night.
Sometime within that week, I approached the pregnant lady sitting in Mrs. Stacey's classroom (your mom). I said " I just want to talk to you for a second. I have plans to go out with Tyler's dad but wanted to make sure it wasn't going to be an issue- with me being a teacher here...but... it's probably only going to be the one date" (ha. pencil I tell ya).
She told me in no uncertain terms what she had learned about your dad and I left with clearance to accept the date feeling that she had obviously moved on and that I was not going to be in the middle of a relationship that could be repaired nor would I be causing any unprofessional discomfort as an employee at your school.
And so, our destiny was poured out of a nail polish bottle, sunshine yellow in your little hands, beating out the rhythm of so many things to come.
The Why: Some of these details may seem unnecessary, but sometimes I wonder if- because the way things are situated on the timeline- you think I came along and disrupted your happy home. Took your dad away from your mom or something... I have no way of knowing what you think or have been told. I can't remember being 3 myself very clearly and so... the truth is, I've wondered what you think. I want you to see how very much a part of the beginning you are - and also, that I would never stand in your way or rob from you to fortify myself.
Some kinds of bridges can only be built by the people meant to meet in the middle of them. To that end, I stand back and keep the way clear, for him, for you, for anyone who needs me out of the way.