What Lurks Behind a Starry Night
I am about to replace two bedroom doors. Solid wood in exchange for the old luan ones. Most recently(8 years ago)my daughter’s room, it was first, my oldest son’s room(25 years ago).
At the age of fourteen he had a summer job through a program available to students from low income families or those who had disabilities. He qualified in both areas. So, from June to August he cleaned out lockers and desks, and other light maintenance jobs at the elementary school.
Feeling good about the money he earned, his first purchase was a boom box — you know, the kind that was half his size, the loud kind. He loved it and because he worked for it, it earned a special kind of appreciation from within. I knew that feeling like an old friend, so it was easy for me to recognize it. I was pleased with his work experience, since the school year was met with a constant struggle with learning. Teachers just did not seem to provide the support he needed without downing his education. I knew he was frustrated, and now for a change, he was having a positive experience.
On a hot summer’s day, we had a disagreement — can’t remember what that issue was. But I do remember this. His anger took over, and he grabbed an new-old redwood lawn chair and hurled it over the bank. I watched as it broke into pieces. It was one of two I had purchased at a yard sale. I wanted to make a sitting area in our yard. Old and used was(and still is, but not out of necessity, but choice) a way of life. I splurged $20 for the duo and a table, and was proud of the little area I created to sit in the shaded area with friends and family.
Raising four kids on my own at that point, following a nineteen year old marriage plagued with an alcoholic spouse/father, had not been an easy task, but we were holding our own the best we could. Usually reacting calmly, and patiently, I lost it. Guess I was not holding my own as well as I thought, looking back.
I grabbed an ax from the wood pile and went towards the house, yelling “where is your boom box?” It was the one thing I knew had the same meaning to him as those chairs did me. I will never forget the look in his eyes. He told me I was crazy, which made me even more so. He ran to the house before me, into his room and locked the door, while I followed with the ax.
All these years and the hole in the door still lies behind the peaceful poster. No, I did not destroy his boombox, as much as it was the moment’s intent. I am far from proud of my reaction, but I am human, and allow myself to be so. However, I did earn a new found respect from my son. No one believes my kids when the relay this story, most don’t believe I have it in me. I know I do and perhaps that is why the door remained. A reminder that while I prefer softball, I can play hardball when it is necessary, and sometimes without thought, rare as it may be.
Ironically, it is my son who has agreed to replace the doors for me.
