My progeny has surpassed me like a rocket to an Edsel, and I am proud, so very proud, because it is, as it should be. Yet, I find me self very shocked at my full response, but to be honest, I shouldn’t. It is more complex then I could have imagined, opening up the old baggage that I try to keep buried, deep inside the recesses of my being.
I would not bring this up, but I have been reminded of late, that the only way to truly tell the story of my becoming, is to communicate all of the things that I feel. Good, bad, and more importantly the ugly. My story is meaningless without these elements, because it has no real soul.
I would be just another preacher, giving his empty spiel.
As I said, I am proud of her. She has taken whatever tidbits of life and wisdom out of me and turned them into gold. What more could a father/mentor ask for?
Secondly, I am ashamed.
I am ashamed that I find myself jealous of her.
I am ashamed that I am jealous of her success.
I am ashamed that I am Jealous of her humility about her success.
I am ashamed at my hubris.
Hubris after all is one of my god given gifts!
I go about my day and I see the common sights on my route to work: The drunken man who camps out across the street from my house. He greets me every morning with a toast of his plastic bottle of cheap liquor and mumbles some incoherent sentence and laughs. I think of him with disdain. I know that is a forbidden feeling in the God community, but it’s true. Why does he get to just lie around and drink bad vodka all day? Why can’t I do that? It would sure get rid of my baggage.
Then I see my other homeless regular. A woman, no more then sixty years old, camped out in an alcove off of Market street. When I pass by, she is always half naked trying to either get dressed or relive herself is some discreet manner, but is essentially unable to. She surrounds herself with her cart and her cat and her impenetrable wall of denial. I drive by and take note, thinking to myself that I should be thankful that I am not either of the two and I become more ashamed.
It’s easy to say to myself:
Thank god, I am not homeless!
Thank god, I am not addicted!
But the truth is I am both. I am homeless, because my soul still walks the earth trying to find its place in creation. To find a home. And I am so very addicted to the baggage that I travel with, that I can’t imagine a world without it.
I still pray for the day that I can look myself in the mirror and say:
Thank god for my creation with all of its flaws and downfalls!
Well, that may be some time, because I cannot see past the nose on my face.
Nor should I…maybe.