One More Graduation Letter to a Very Important Graduate

Dear Andrew,

Sometimes I laugh when I think about the totally different ways we have experienced the same family.

You see, I am the front end of the family. I was there for each new baby that was born. We were a house dominated by three little girls. For years. Til that day in 7th grade when I used the pay phone at lunch and between classes and Dad would update me on his brick cell phone how Mom was doing. She was bringing my first brother into the world that day.

You are the tail end of the family. Your life has instead been punctuated by each of your sisters leaving the nest until you were the only one left. Twenty years ago I never would've been able to wrap my head around the idea of Mom, Dad and a teenage boy at home. I didn't even know what that would look like. I was scared of teenage boys.

The time when we lived in the same house together might be even more of a distant memory for you than it is for me. But I wanted to tell you that that makes me no less a proud sister, especially now that your high school graduation has arrived.

I know that we joke a lot that from the moment we got our hands on you in the hospital, you were smothered and mothered by your sisters. And now I stand back and look at who you've become in spite of us. I'm really just part-joking about that. I hope you've also felt us cheering you on.

One of the things I admire most is the way you get a project in your head. From the moment it's born you work furiously until it's sitting concretely in front of you.

Like robots that can sort marbles by color. And potatoes that conduct electricity. And music boxes that play music you punched out yourself.

And PVC instruments. (really, everybody, check this out)

Your appreciation of music far surpasses anything I have ever experienced, and I like to think of myself as musically inclined. I play by the books. But you experiment and create and compose.

I am intrigued by the way your brain works differently from mine.

I love how you take things by the reins and you're not finished til you've put your own creative spin on them. And the rest of us are left stunned by the WOW factor.

I just know that junior high and high school can be rough. And I am so impressed with the ways you have engaged yourself while you're there.

You're like the stuff Pixar is made of.

And now it feels like I've set the stage for advice. I just want to tell you is the same thing I told my former fifth graders last week.

And that is, don't be afraid to struggle.

You are so good at problem-solving and working your way through issues until you get what you're after. You are well-equipped, brother.

But life has a really good way of throwing things at us that are meant to develop new muscles in our character. And it is these experiences and situations that keep us truly living and thriving. But they are often not comfortable. I am still learning this, because I don't like being uncomfortable. When those moments come, it is okay if you don't know what you're going to do next. In coming months, you may find yourself in unfamiliar places and circumstances wondering if you've got what it takes after all. But know you do. You've got the know how we've already talked about. You've got a family that loves you forever. And you've lived your life close to God who is always watching and ready to sustain and strengthen you.

You are WAY cool, little brother.

I love you.

Love,
Brittney

To My First Class of 5th Graders Who Graduate This Month

Dear Alicia, Andres, Angel, Anthony, Austin, Charlie, Cianni, Collin, Dante, Destanye, Gutania, Jennifer, Jonah, Juan, Justis, Kasarah, Lara, Latasha, Maddi, Makenly, Maren, Marisa, Marissa, Mark, Nick, Peyton, Sidney, Susana, and certainly not least, Taryn,

Hi!!! It's your 5th grade teacher! Didn't expect to hear from me after all these years, did you?

You've had many a teacher since your 5th grade year. I wonder if anything sticks out in your mind from the one we spent together. I'll tell you what I remember.

I remember going out to greet you, all lined up for our first day of school together. Rumor had it there was a new fifth grade teacher, but no one knew anything about her. I remember the look of joy in your faces when you saw that I was 24 and beaming in my excitement to meet you.

Even though their first encounter with my last name is difficult for most people, you each learned to say it flawlessly. You went home and taught your parents and brothers and sisters how to say it, and if anyone called me anything other than Mrs. Co-YA-do, I loved hearing you defensively correct them, even though it was my job afterwards to remind you to be polite.

I remember the week we learned about writing letters to the editor. Do you remember how Peyton's letter generated a furious discussion on the online comment boards? A couple more of you had your letters published in the days that followed.

Do you remember the day the mayor came to class in his fancy black and green pinstripe suit? He brought the chief of police with him because I was concerned about the negative attitude many of the boys in our class had toward police officers. You listened so respectfully as they explained their roles and then answered your questions and concerns. And then you treated them like rock stars at the end, having them autograph numerous scraps of paper and in some cases your arm.

Do you remember Red Ribbon Week and how along with all the other activities the PTA had going, I gave you a passionate presentation on how you were never to do drugs? I told you how drugs had damaged the lives of people I knew. I told you how my classmates and I had all worn the red ribbons when we were kids. But that as we got older, there were people and circumstances that disguised drugs as not harmful but fun, and some of my classmates had done them anyway. I fiercely pointed my finger at "you and you and you and you" and told you I didn't want you to fall into that category. Did you stay drug-free like you vowed you would?

How about the Valentines Day Mr. Collado came in so we could demonstrate our salsa dancing skills for you? It tickled my heart to hear some of the girls giggle over how "hot" Mr. Collado was.

All these highlights make me smile.

A funny thing happened yesterday when I went down to the basement and sorted through all I have that remains from our year together. I discovered a stack of letters from one particularly rough day in the classroom. No one told you to write the letters. You wrote them yourselves. "Mrs. Collado, I'll always be by your side when you cry."

"You're the best. Even when we treat you less than you deserve."

"At first I thought that you are new, you would go easy on me, but I have not been going easy on you."

"Thank you Mrs. Collado for not given up and I know you wanted to a couple of times. So would I."

The notes revealed something that may or may have not been painfully obvious to you.

Teaching fifth grade was a struggle for me.

I had gone to college for several years to prepare to be your teacher, but many teachers will tell you that is only the beginning. There is a huge learning curve that most teachers encounter when they hit the classroom.

Frankly, it was hard. Really hard.

But I was determined to give it my best shot. So every morning when I walked into our classroom an hour before you got there, I would shut the door and my knees would hit the floor and I would pray and ask God for help in being your teacher.

He didn't magically make you behave like angels. He didn't cause you to all master fractions overnight. But I do believe we got through the year in one piece and had some meaningful experiences along the way.

I used to think that if I was struggling, it meant that something was wrong. But the further I get along in life, the more I learn that the struggle (as much as I may not like it at first), and the way we handle it, is such an important part of life.

And so, as you stand on the brink of the rest of your life, that is what I want to say to you, my darling 5th graders.

Don't be afraid to struggle. In fact, it will likely be a constant theme for the rest of your life. In many of your cases, it already has been.

A day won't go by that you don't struggle for something.

Warning: not every struggle is worth it. Listen to your heart to help you determine which struggles are so you can use your energy for the ones that matter. Is there a relationship that is draining the life out of you? Is the way you are managing your money making your life miserable? When you honestly look at your life, is it uncomfortable? Do you find you are not being loyal or true to the person you'd like to be? ARE YOU DOING DRUGS? Or engaging in other harmful behaviors? These aren't the good kinds of struggles. I pray that you can shift the way you're doing things and living your life into struggles that will be worth it.

The struggles that are worth it? Relationships that are good for your soul. Being dedicated to your job and carefully putting some money away. Giving diligent effort to the trade or college degree you are after. Making good and honest choices each day so that you can confidently stand in front of the mirror, look yourself in the eye and like who you see.

Not everything will be a struggle. Some things will come easily to you. And pay close attention to them, because those are your gifts. You can use them to better the lives of the people around you.

Not everyday will be a struggle. I hope you can count on many, many hands the days you go to bed with a smile plastered on your face and happiness lingering in your heart.

So was our year a struggle for me?

Yes.

Was it the first time I had struggled?

Certainly not. Stick around for awhile here on this blog that I've created and you'll quickly learn a lot more.

And my struggles did not end when I left the classroom. Among other challenges, before I can go to bed every night I have to put a talkative five-year-old and a demolition derby of a two-year-old to sleep first. But our lives together with their dad are sweet and satisfying.

But back to all of you. I just want you to know that as far as struggles go, you were worth it.

Now go and live a fulfilling life.

All my love,
Mrs. Collado

The Day Sharon Hushed My Fears: A Mother's Day Post

 One night as a new mom, I stood next to my baby girl's crib. She was all swaddled up and it was time to lay her down for the night. But I just couldn't yet. I lingered a little longer. I loved her so much I thought my heart would burst. I knew that this precious bundle in my arms was not going to stay small forever, and as a new mom, the thought paralyzed me. I wished instead I could paralyze time and hold her in precious innocence forever.

As time went on, however, I found that her growing up was not nearly as scary as I thought it was going to be. It was my new favorite spectator sport. Very small things like rolling over and sitting up became very big deals.

And with sending her off to Kindergarten, it has only gotten better. She comes home spouting off facts about Antarctica, and demonstrating how she can count by 5's to 100.

Life is so sweet.

*****

This post is now going to take a major detour: to a whaling boat in Alaska, for that is how we met Joe. The details truly deserve an entire post of their own, but suffice it to say that four years ago, he and my family (my husband and little girl plus my parents, sisters and brother) ended up on the same excursion to go watch whales in Juneau, Alaska, an experience which also deserves an entire post on its own. 

Joe was traveling on his own on vacation from his church where he served as a pastor. His sense of humor and personality meshed so well with our family that day and on the remaining days of our Alaskan cruise, that he has since traveled out our way for weddings and high school productions of Les Miserables and The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Whenever Joe's in town, we get the whole family together for breakfast and lunch and dinner whenever people can make it because we're such big fans.

You could kind of say we've adopted him.

Except that he's already got parents who love him very much.

And last year he decided it was time we met his lovely momma. 

And his darling fiance.  

 *****

One thing I noticed very quickly about Joe's mom Sharon was that talking to her required practically no ice-breaking period. It didn't matter that she'd only been off the plane a matter of minutes, she could talk to you as easily as an aunt who watched you grow up.

And so I was thoroughly enjoying my conversation with her that day as we walked down the street, showing them the sights of our major city. We were swapping stories about what it was like to raise a little boy as Joe and his fiance Jill (with whom it is easy to get along famously as well, how do you think I got that cute picture up there ;)) walked hand in hand in front of us. 

I shared with her my experience of at first fearing motherhood would be one big painful farewell to each stage of my children's childhood, and then expressed what I already said in this post. That each new thing they learned how to do brought me so much joy, it was much easier to move from one stage to the next.

Little girl was bopping around next to us, probably freezing various trees and buildings as she sang Let it Go. "See, there was a time I wanted her to stay three weeks old forever," I said, motioning both arms toward my daughter. "But this age is so fun."

"And it doesn't matter that I've done it all before with his sister, watching little brother grow has been just as exciting. He's grown out of the baby stage, but I like this stage, too!"

Sharon smiled and nodded knowingly. "And you know what?" She pointed to her son a few steps ahead of us. 

"I like this stage, too."

Oh. That was profound.

Sharon went on to explain, "He's a hard worker, I'm proud of all the things he does for his church. He checks in with me from time to time so I can know how he's doing. He's kind of like the best kind of friend you can have. And now that he's found someone he loves and cares for so much, I'm excited about the new life he'll start with her. It doesn't get much better than watching your own child find happiness."

She had done it. She had passed that horizon that I think most of us mothers of young children fear. That someday when they are pretty well independent, they won't need us anymore. And that there will be some kind of final farewell. And so we are dragging, screeching our heels because we are terrified of that day.  

But she had just demonstrated that even when he's pushing 30, a momma can look at her child and say, "You know, I like this stage, too."

And that prospect, which I hadn't ever really considered before, flooded my heart with joy. 

Suddenly the future looked a whole lot brighter.

Post Partum

 Chelsea and Jordan welcomed her beautiful baby boy yesterday, one week to the day after Hailey and Colin. WHAT A SPECIAL WEEK!! What a lucky aunt.

I wanted to elaborate on something I hinted at a couple of weeks ago in my letter to my sisters. In addition to describing the love that washed over me with the births of each of my babies, I assured them that if they encountered moments or periods of not feeling like themselves, that they were going to be okay. 

I don't know if it is hormones, lack of sleep, or my being somewhat predisposed for depression (a mix of all three I am sure), but having a baby can create the perfect storm for a funky mood for me in the days and weeks immediately after. Going in informed helps a lot, and knowing you're not the only one helps a lot, too.  

I wrote this piece in 2013, 20 days after little brother was born. 

 

"I can throw this away for you if you like," said the Walgreen's pharmacy tech. He was holding my empty bottle of Motrin in his hand. I'd taken one a day from that bottle since baby boy was born. He was done using the label on the old bottle to fill my new prescription.

Little did he know the battle that was waging inside of me.

"Yes, that'll be great," I said, confidently.

I had won again.

I tried not to look too triumphant as I heard the bottle clunk in the trash underneath the counter.

When my babies are born, I have a borderline obsession with objects that were part of those first few days and weeks of life with them.

Not just the first outfit they wore home from the hospital, but the plastic from their first package of diapers, or the mug they send home with me from my hospital stay.

I don't know what my reasoning is. Something along the lines of being able to preserve their tenderness and innocence through clutter.

I know I struggled with this when little girl was born and that if left unchecked it could hinder my progress in getting to and keeping a healthy state of mind as a new mom, so when we got home from the hospital this time, I took a garbage sack through the house at least once daily and threw away stuff.

If it hurt to throw something away, I tried to step out of my emotions and look at it objectively. How happy are you going to be in three years that you saved the styrofoam cup you chewed ice chips from as you waited for labor to progress? If I couldn't provide a rational answer, it went in the garbage. I will admit, I hung on to the disposable cover to little brother's bilirubin bed for three days before it went in the trash. He'd punched out that cute hole with his arm! Some things must be allowed a little more time. :)

This is one facet of my personal experience with postpartum depression. I wondered to what extent I would experience it after my second baby was born. I am thankful that it has been fairly mild this go round.

It's interesting though, this experience at Walgreen's happened 45 minutes ago. I have step back and laugh a little that I really do have to think that hard about throwing away an empty prescription bottle. The fact that it's a decision at all tells me it's still lingering a little, but the way I win a little "battle" each day makes me so thankful that I am doing so well.

Here are some other facets to my whole postpartum experience.

I love my hospital experience. I am especially emotional after giving birth, and it makes me especially appreciative of the care that is shown to me by the nurses. It actually makes it really hard for me to go home. I become attached to my nurses. This time one of the nurses slid an envelope into the paperwork I was bringing home the evening we checked out. When I got home I opened it to find a card signed by all the nurses that had cared for me. It made me cry. Now it makes me smile. It did not go in the garbage.

For several days after giving birth, I have a heightened sense of how fragile mortality is. Danilo turned on Tarzan one night at home shortly after little girl was born, and I didn't tell him, but I got so upset inside and couldn't enjoy the rest movie when Tarzan's parents were killed by the cheetah in the beginning. I can (kind of) laugh at it now (having just experienced becoming a mother again), but I was truly, truly angry. 

The hardest part of the postpartum experience for me is an intense fear or anxiety that settles in and nearly paralyzes me. Fear of all kinds of things. Parent-killing cheetahs, Danilo making it safely home from work, and mostly over the responsibility of being a parent. Will I be able to do this as well as my parents did? I feel so broken and inadequate. This little person depends on me for everything. Will I be able to rise to the task and give them everything they need?

And then there's the need to know I will experience normalcy again. I was comfortable with life before the baby and now I feel like my whole world has been thrown up in the air and come down scrambled.

The night we brought little brother home from the hospital, he cried all night long. I wanted Danilo to sleep so we could have at least one alert parent the next day, so I made a bed on the floor in his room and tried to calm him from sun down to sun up. As I lay there, I had a wave of anxiety rush over me all night long. It was kind of uncomfortable and scary, but I just kind of let it do its thing.

Because this time I can say, hey, I have a three-year-old now and I felt this way when she was born too, but now she is mine and her daddy's whole world. It took several nights to figure out and adjust to life with her, but now it's impossible to imagine life without her.

Something else that has helped make my postpartum experience easier this time round is having little girl here with me. At a time when my emotions could cause me to take life and myself and this whole experience too seriously, she provides comic relief. She laughs when he burps. She laughs when he spits up. She laughs when he goes cross-eyed. She laughs when he chooses to relieve himself when his diaper is off. It's a truly amused laugh. And it makes me laugh too. And while I laugh, I'm thankful that I'm not all by myself taking life too seriously.

Lastly, I taught a lesson a couple of months ago to the young women at church on the topic of grace. It changed my life. I have come to understand that after all we can do, God will bless us with a strengthening power (grace) that will make the seemingly difficult or impossible possible. So when postpartum panic starts to set in, I just remember my testimony of His grace and move forward. Sometimes the manifestations of His grace have been through my own daughter, sometimes a text message from a friend, the words of a blessing spoken on my behalf, or moments when I'm blessed with clearer understanding. These verses were part of my scripture study this morning and I loved them:

This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope.
It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.
Lamentations 3:21-24

All that being said, it would be cool if I knew I am not the only one who has become attached to an empty package of newborn sized Pampers. Is anybody with me?  

Summer 2013

To My Sisters Who Are Both Making Me an Aunt This Week

due six days apart both with little boys

For two brief seconds, I thought I invented the term, "bundle of joy."

I was rocking my newborn baby boy and could not believe how much happiness I felt with him wrapped up in my arms. He was so beautiful, so perfect, and just by being there, he literally brought Heaven into our home. 

I struggled to know how to express my love for him. "You're just, a bundle of joy!"

That was a lovely way to tell him how you feel, all swaddled up in a blanket in your arms! I thought to myself. But it seemed oddly familiar. And then I realized, it was the same saying plastered on gift bags, and baby shower cards, used in television and movies over and over again. Probably one of the most overused phrases used to describe babies ever.

I felt a little silly, but it didn't matter. I meant what I said. 

I snuggled him close. And breathed him in. And kissed his forehead. And whispered, "You are MY bundle of joy."

Something similar happened this week as we were driving with the family in the car. Danilo and I were trying to explain to little girl why no matter how much she grew up, she would always be our little girl. My parents used to tell me that all the time and I just thought they were silly.

But I get it now.

You, my darling sisters, are embarking with your husbands on one of the sweetest journeys life has to offer. In a few weeks you will be rocking your little boy wondering what you ever did so right to get to hold him in your arms.

You have not yet known the kind of joy that awaits you.

*****

I just want you to know that if your joy is ever eclipsed by moments of feeling overwhelmed, anxious, or overly emotional, you are okay. I hadn't anticipated anything but being completely overjoyed at the birth and bringing home of my baby so when I started to feel this way for periods of my day, I was concerned and worried.

If you're having funky thoughts or feelings, call Mom or call me or some other wonderful lady so we can help you realize you're okay, cheer you up and come over and lift your load when you need it. 

Your baby is safe with you. Even if you feel inadequate. And especially if you call for help when you need it.

I think what unnerved me the most was that these thoughts and feelings made me not feel like myself anymore, and with the dramatic life change I had just undergone, I was worried that I wasn't going to feel like myself ever again. I just want you to know that it's okay. Things will level out. And you will feel like yourself again.

The truth is, having a baby has changed you. Into your baby's mom. And you will love who you become because of him. You will find you have the courage to be better than you were before you had him. 

And he will love you. He will think the world of you. 

You are his mom.

 P.S. Oh, and hey. Thanks for making me an aunt! ♥♥♥

Unselfish

Did you know that in a few weeks, on May 5, Kim Kardashian is releasing a new book called Selfish, containing over 350 of her favorite pictures she has taken of herself?

Read that last part again. Containing over 350 of her favorite pictures she has taken of herself.

This is not a joke.

Bless her heart.

It is available for pre-order on Amazon now. 

*****

This is not a post about whether or not you should be keeping up with the Kardashians. This is not a post analyzing whether or not Kim Kardashian is a good person. I like to hope that there's a little bit of goodness in everyone. And besides, I don't have enough content to work with, because around here we are keeping up with Elmo, and that cute Australian show about mermaids on Netflix.

This is a post about another book coming out on the same day as Kim Kardashian's, but this one is titled, Unselfish.

It is a book that contains 99 stories of people putting others before themselves. 

I feel like everyday we are constantly shown examples of humanity getting it wrong. This book is refreshing as page after page demonstrates stories and beautiful photography of people getting it right. I felt grateful that the people inside are scattered all over the same planet where you and I live.

I'll be honest, while I was excited about having the opportunity to review a book before it was released, I got a little nervous as I started reading. I was worried this book would make me feel like I sometimes feel at a university graduation ceremony. You know, when all the accolades of highly successful individuals are read. That it would be full of stories of people who dropped everything and moved to a third world country to help the people there. Or people whose passion for an issue developed into a gigantic foundation. That it would make me feel like I haven't accomplished much at all.

Sorry for my bad attitude.

While the book is full of stories like that, it is also sprinkled with stories that made me feel like, hey, I could do that.

One of my very very favorite pieces in the book is about two auto shops in the same Georgia town. In 2011, one of them was leveled by a tornado. In the aftermath, the auto shop that was still standing opened its doors and let its competitor in. The two businesses shared car bays and office space and worked side-by-side for ten months. "We truly believe that God wants us to take care of our fellow man, and when we do, he will take care of us," said the shop that opened its doors.

Along the way I learned that unselfishness is like a muscle. We all have that muscle. Kim Kardashian has that muscle.We better ourselves and the world around us every time we exercise it. 

Some are blessed with the vision to apply unselfishness on a grand scale and can bless vast numbers of lives. Others quietly apply it on smaller scales and have profound impacts on individual lives.

It took me about five or six sittings to get through the whole thing, and each time I put it down, I found myself wanting more and more to get outside of myself and be more selfless.

I stand with the book's claim that, "Unselfish will reignite your faith in humanity and may just inspire you to love your neighbor as thy selfie."

*****

Since I read Unselfish, selfless acts around me seem to be happening more often.

Yesterday I was watching my kids play at the park. The weather was lovely, it was the perfect afternoon to be out. But one little girl kept interrupting the scene by screaming at the top of her lungs. Her mom apologetically smiled at us. "Mildly autistic and I'm forcing her to be social today." She carried a baby in her arms as she knelt down and gently talked to her daughter in distress. I observed with admiration this mother who had her hands full as another child, a little older than the screamer started calling, "Mom! MOM! I need a PUSH!" I realized this woman had a third child who was not enjoying her time on the swing because her mom was required to tend to the crisis at hand.

A mom among the rest of us stood up. "Is that your mom?" she spoke to the girl, motioning to the other woman. "Is it okay if I push you while she helps your sister?"

And she did. Not just five or six times, but for nine or ten minutes.

What was so beautiful about the scene to me was that it was clear by their outward appearance that these mommas would not probably run in the same social circles. Their differences in dress and hair fed my assumption. But the inner beauty of each of those two mommas was so apparent in that moment. The one with her I'm sure day-in, day-out patience with her children, and the others willingness to step in and lighten her load made me grateful for the unselfishness I was witnessing in my very own neighborhood.  

I don't think selfless acts are actually happening more often. I think I am just more in tune to recognize them better. And they inspire me to be better. And the world seems a more beautiful place.

*****

 

Interested in learning more about Unselfish or owning a copy?

You may do that here:

unseflishstories.com

here:


https://www.facebook.com/unselfishstories


and find it for sale on Amazon here.

Pink Cadillac Summer

As I followed little girl in her pink Cadillac to the park this week, little brother and a friend in tow, my mind wandered back to that phone call with Dad a couple of years ago. And I smiled.

He had a co-worker with a gently used pink Barbie Cadillac Escalade. The co-worker would not accept any money. He just wanted a little girl to be able to enjoy it as much as his little girl did before she grew out of it.

"He's bringing it to work sometime this week and I can drop it off to you."

Heh heh. 

This was going to take some swallowing of pride.

*****

 
I know what it's like to be walking down the aisle at Toys R Us and happen upon a Barbie car when you're a little girl. It's magical. You climb inside and you dream of cruising the neighborhood in it.

But I never had one. And I had a lovely childhood void of frivolous pink cars. And I grew up to be responsible. With my priorities straight. 

So every time my husband suggested we consider getting a motorized car for our daughter, I turned him down with my little speech about how not having a pink Barbie car made me into the woman I am today. Even when we came across one for $50 at a yard sale. I assured him it was best we walk away.

But there's no way I was going to get away with turning it down now.

I recall the night he got home. "So, uh, honey. My dad's got a little something for us....".

If you'd seen his eyes light up when I told him what it was, you would've known it was all over too.

*****

Once we had the Cadillac in our possession, I had to admit, it was an impressive sight. And very fun.

And as we cruised the neighborhood behind our little girl, I felt the need to explain to everyone how we got it.

"Yeah, my dad had this co-worker who just didn't want it on his hands anymore. See, we were actually helping the guy get rid of it."

One summer night as we were getting ready for bed, my husband made a request. "Could you stop explaining to everyone how we got a hold of that car? It takes you five minutes. It's okay if they don't know the whole back story."

He had a point.

I just didn't know how else to stop people from thinking that I would buy a pink Barbie Cadillac Escalade for my little girl. 

*****

And then one summer's night when we were again cruising the neighborhood, we bumped into a family just a stage ahead of ours. They had two daughters in school. I had always admired them, their friendliness, their sweet kids.

After saying our hellos, she motioned over to the Barbie car. "These are so fun. We got one for our daughters two Christmases ago. They just love it. It makes me sad to think of they day they'll outgrow it."

You mean, they bought one on purpose? It wasn't thrust upon them?

With that, she totally shattered my image of people who buy pink Cadillacs for their daughters.

Ever since then, I've kind of embraced the car.

*****

Driving home from the park one day a little later that same summer, there he was.

A decade and a few gray hairs older than my dad, shaking his head.

The epitome of everything I had feared when the pink Cadillac came to live at our home standing there in front of us.

"You know if you get her one of those at this age what she's going to expect when she's 16." His words and body language reeked of disapproval. 

I knew this day would come.

But I was prepared. Because the pink Cadillac had taught me some lessons that summer that made me look at things differently.
 
The first of those lessons being, don't lump everyone into the same box, ie, people who buy pink Cadillacs for their children.

Don't be so fast to make assumptions about people.  More often than not, you are wrong.

People with pink Cadillacs have feelings too.

Be flexible in marriage on things that aren't as earth-shattering as I may perceive them to be. 

And finally, the most ground-breaking for me, one I am still perfecting, that it is not my job to stop people from thinking anything. That is in fact a very exhausting route to take in life. It's really just my job to live a good life, without or with a pink Cadillac.

I endured the shaking of his head back and forth with zero words in my defense, only a smile. Not a smug smile. A genuinely kind and friendly smile. Because I recognized a lot of me in him. He and I would probably get along better than he would assume.

If I was going to be one of these pink Cadillac owners, it was time to start building some bridges.

That and any other disapproving glance since (and there have been a few) have been the price I have paid to learn the lessons of that pink Cadillac summer.

And it has been worth it.