The point is brought home immediately. Within hours I notice a new incoming link, and trace it to the Mouse's brand new blog. The link reads "The Gypsinator's Blog--She's my Hero."
Wham.
I get that from my students, but Mouse is not a student. It maybe wouldn't surprise me coming from someone I've known awhile, who I have been able to serve or help in some way, but I haven't known her long.
That link instantly raises the bar. It reminds me that regardless of how we choose to see things, we are not living for ourselves. Every single one of us is a walking example for the world, for better or worse, whether we agree to be or not.
When I'm around Mouse, "being a hero" is furthest from my mind, choked out by laughter and how can we shatter the fun-barrier and what flavor Blizzard is best for breakfast? Makes no difference that I never interviewed for the position--frankly, the responsibility is frightening.
This is where we all stand. Accidental warriors in an army of unlikely heroes unknowingly fighting for the heart of the world. Every action, every word spoken or written becomes ammunition, regardless of intention... or even awareness.
Let that sink in.
And sink in some more.
Thank you, Mouse, for that reminder. And come home soon so we can whack at each other with escrima sticks!
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Wow,beautifully spoken. A great reminder to all big people. You made Tink have tears.
ReplyDeleteAs long as I don't make you hit me with your purse! ;-P
ReplyDeleteI used to be a summer day camp counselor for Brookfield's Parks and Rec Dept. Did it five years, and every year, they moved me up one age group, so I wound up with the same group of kids each and every year. Which led to two things:
ReplyDelete1. One year, I had Scott. Scott was your stereotypical jock kid (mind you, he was in 1st grade). He excelled at every sport, and knew it. He also was extremely competitive, so Scott would spontaneously combust with a cry of "Come ON!" whenever we played softball (being conselor-pitcher, I'd give a poor kid holding the bat the wrong way endless strikes and then fumble and bobble the barely-mobile dribbler hit back to me). Well, the following year, Scott wasn't in my camp. Until halfway through the year, when his parents pulled him out of whatever camp he had gone to and signed up for the Parks and Rec second session. He walked into our room, saw me, and immediately looked to the skies and cried out, "Oh, NO!"
I think he liked me. :-)
2. A year after that, in dire need of a real summer job to pay for college, I started working a shoe store rather than the camp. One of my boys who I'd had for a few years came in and saw me. He got upset and asked me why I wasn't at the camp.
How do you have an answer for that? I didn't, except the truth, which wasn't that good, either.