Turning Pages

I hate endings. Endings remind me of all the things I don't like: violence, limits, my own mortality. I'm worried I'm nearing the end of a chapter. It's a chapter I enjoyed and thought would last a lot longer. The problem is, I can't be who I'm not, and I can't be who they want me to be, and I can't even pretend anymore that I'm not pissed off, and really hurt.

This chapter brought me a lot of new friends, and some really tough challenges. It pushed me beyond the levels of endurrance I thought I had, and pushed me to work on some things beyond myself. I have seen some very intense moments of love, cruelty, and a wide range of the human stupidity that makes me laugh, and sometimes cry, while others look at me funny and confused.

I was, believe it or not, going to avoid the nuclear option. I was going to make my little protest in the hope that people would think twice. That my friends, well, at least the ones of them that I thought understood things, would "get it." They'd have that "Holy shit! I can't believe I said that; sorry dude!" moment, at which point I'd accept the apology, back down a little, and we'd move on. End of scene, but not end of chapter, eh?

Or not.

Sunday, I was counting. (Literally, I was counting). It's one of the things I volunteer to do, and one of the few math-related things I am really qualified for. Someone was dropping off a contribution, and felt the need to mention that they were sorry, but that it was well short of a tithe. I wasn't sure if they were trying to apologize, or trying to show how annoyed they were, but it left me incredibly uncomfortable. Not because I care what that person gives, or that I'll even remember it five minutes after tallying it in the accounting system. No, what bothered me was that someone felt like it had to be mentioned.

I was upset, but I did what some folks have told me is the proper thing when one wants to be supportive of a strong woman, and didn't pre-empt LulaBelle by trying to go fight this fight for her. She's upset about the way this was handled at a recent meeting, and, as much as I want to crush anything and everything that even mildly offends her, I kept a tight rein on the savage Assyrian Flint boy and, other than bitching here, kept my mouth shut. I shared my thoughts with her, to be sure, but I also was careful to give her time to respond, or not respond, to her peers. Eventually she did, expressing her concern for the impression that people would get from all this tithing and money talk. I didn't read her message, because she doesn't need me to do that. And I know her. She's a much more gentle person than me. She's slower to anger, faster to forgive, and more generous of spirit. If you manage to make her mad, you've probably really fucked up.

One response she got was fairly kind, expressing concern, but pointing out where the writer disagreed with her. She took that well. Even seemed to appreciate the thoughtfullness of it.

The other response was not helpful, and it came from someone I thought was a friend. This person suggested that if we sold the contents of some boxes they know we have in storage, we'd have more than enough money to tithe and to do various other things. The obvious implication was, "You have all this stuff, maybe if you unloaded it, you'd be able to meet X obligations." In doing so, the person also highlighted the fact that they did us a favor by helping get the boxes stored. It was a big favor, and I appreciate it more than the friend knows, but there's nothing like having someone throw something like that in your face.

What's funny is what's in the boxes.

There are some shirts from my first few rock concerts. There are some toys from when I was a kid. Some are gifts, like the Hot Wheels Ferraris Baboon gets me once in a while when he sees new ones. There are some pants that I saved because they're in great shape, but too small from me gaining a lot of weight one year. I saved them because I keep thinking, Someday I won't be so fat, and I'll be able to wear those and donate my "fat guy" pants to charity! There are a lot of books, collected over the course of my life. Many were gifts, and many others were from student days. I saved them because I hope, someday, to have a small library in my house where I can read and look at them on the shelves because being surrounded by books makes me feel good. Less like a mindless gorilla, more like a real person. There are some car magazines from when I could afford to buy them, and some bike magazines with stories about Lance Armstrong, my biggest hero. There's a box with every card LulaBelle has given me up till the point when I packed the box for storage.

When we were moving the boxes, my friend's child asked, "What's 'personal stuff' mean?" I had to laugh. "It means, things that aren't worth anything to anybody else but me. Stuff you keep because you like to be able to look at it because maybe it reminds you of something or someone, or maybe something you did you were proud of." If I sold everything in all those boxes and crates my friend referred to, I wouldn't have made back the cost of the boxes and crates. It's not worth anything to anyone but me.

I read a comic once, in which the hero sees a character kill one person the hero loves, but then risk their life to save another person the hero loves. Unable to thank them for saving a life, unable to forgive them for destroying one, the hero decides all he can do is go his way and let the perpetrator go theirs. Not enemies, but not friends. It's a sad ending. They might have been a good team.

Too many people have done good things for us for me to stay as angry as I was, or am. Too many people have gone out of their way to do good things for us, especially our friend that suggested we should sell some stuff. I'm also way too mad, and way too hurt, to pretend that I will forgive this anytime soon.

"Every time I go, I'm made to feel like a failure because I'm poor. Not even poor. Just not rich."

I remember saying that too. I said it over and over for years.

"No one who does an honest day's work should feel ashamed for being who they are," I said. "No one should feel like they have to apologize for only being able to give a little. They give what they can, that's enough."

That comic I mentioned... It was a limited series. Only four issues. It ended before I wanted it to, but that couldn't stop me from turning the page.