MBT #5: Three Year Olds

Me: Ok, so we have 4 friends waiting for us by the tree. How many flowers should we pick?
Three Year Old: um, 20!!!!!!!!

My (legally) adult thinking was hoping that she would say 4 because as an adult I am concerned with abstract concepts like fairness and equal distribution and evading guilt and preventing people from feeling left out.

Of course it's the toddler who chooses abundance, who seeks to bring to the rest of the group this incredible discovery of the buttercup variety.
And to bring it to the full.

When I found out that, let's just call her Zachiah, usually chooses a favorite intern to adorably cling to for the whole summer I immediately began judging the rest of the team in three critical categories of
1) silliness
2) creativity
3) soft skin
and proceeded to remove myself from the competition, resigned to my decidedly un-kid friendly future.

And again, of course Zachiah and I spend the following afternoon running through the park together, picking flowers and counting butterflies.

I was wondering if her adorableness could get any more adorable when as we walked back home in the early evening, I saw the flicker of a lightning bug. Seeing the teachable moment, (the telltale sign of burgeoning responsibility) I pointed them out to her, and that's when it happened:
She ran back to me, her face contorted in fear, tiny arms flailing in escape.
Proceeding to grab hold of my leg, she began softly whimpering "no.no.no.no.no." with her face buried in my hip.

Game Over.

MBT #4: Late Night Talks with Parents

Hot English Teacher told us first-semester high school seniors last year:
I can guarantee you all that one year from now, you are all going to be in your dorm rooms eating pizza with your friends and asking yourselves something to the effect of, ''Dude, what if...what if we're just a fish's dream?"

And he was right.

I used to think true intimacy was limited to the hours between midnight and 3 AM, that meaningful discussions and soul-entwining talks could only happen late at night. That these were the prime hours for those big existential, world-view questions we are too busy to answer during the rest of the day.
That only the nocturnal were enlightened.

But this was because my understanding of intimacy was far too small, shamefully so. I am thankful that I am now learning that sharing of life does not depend on the rotation of the planet.

But there is something to be said of those early morning hours. Maybe we naturally lower our inhibitions as our bodies tire. Maybe with the darkness we more urgently seek out each other for security.
I don't know.

Regardless, I had my first late night talk with my parents last night.
I jumped onto their bed as my mom was winding down with a National Geographic and my dad was packing for his business trip. We started chatted about Elliot's violin lesson and somehow ended up examining the ramifications of torture on an international scale.

Politics is something that consistently divides me and my parents.
It is also something that always comes up.
Ultimately, we agree to disagree, but last night their stauchness was something I didn't anticipate. It was difficult to swallow my parents' criticism and accusations, but I think I understand them that much better, and that can never be a bad thing.
I actually began crying with relief to hear how their stances on some issues had softened. Or maybe I was crying from the stress of division. But it was beautiful to be able to tell my parents good night and kiss them just moments after stomach-curdling, heated debate.

It was even more beautiful to receive their reciprocation.

MBT #3: Picking Up Where You Left Off

Angelo, upon seeing me at a church youth group meeting in high school:
"Are you lost?"
I love this man.

He is one of my best friends and has been my Sunday school teacher, counselor, role model, mentor, friend, and older brother. His patience and humility astound me, and in high school, he invited me into the Christian community when I felt that no one else did. His willingness to faithfully and actively pursue me and love me in quirky ways played a HUGE role in my personal encounters with Jesus, and continues to inspire me to do the same. He still claims that his love language is sarcasm. And I still laugh everytime I hear that.

In my eyes, he is kind of a big deal.

And throughout my first year at college, we struggled to maintain our friendship even with phone calls and school break dates. In loving me, he let me go: "You will always have your safety net back home. We are here."
And I never doubted it.

This past Saturday he gave me a ride to a friend's wedding, and after dropping off his ladyfriend at the church, we made a run for the Vietnamese grocery store across the street. Bringing back two sandwiches I had heard rumors of greatness about, we sat in his car under a tree and began unwrapping them. He was quick to add the one thing that would make this moment impeccable:
U2's "City of Blinding Lights"

The May breeze flowing through open car windows intermingling with U2's epic upliftness as we munched on crisp bread, fresh meats, and the sour fish sauce prickling my taste buds was too much. I began to laugh and he asked what was so funny.
"This is."

He later told me he wanted me to be part of the wedding as a greeter.
I would love to.