In some strange and subtle way, I feel like an alcoholic attempting to successfully complete the 12 step program. Specifically, I feel like I've been stuck on Step Nine for a few years now as I have stumbled my way through the pages of Social Networks looking for old friends, mentors, acquaintances, crushes and you..
It's not that I have a need to make amends with anyone. It's not even about seeing how certain people's lives turned out or looking for something to make me feel better about my own. Really, it would be easy to say it's the curiosity factor or a boredom activity but the truth is I miss certain people, I miss how it once was, I miss the intensity of being younger, the wide eyed optimism I once had. And truth is I miss feeling alive.
Recently, I sent Pastor Davidson a message here on Facebook. I reintroduced myself, mentioned my mom and then quickly shared with him something memorable he once did for me.
When I was 12, mom and I were standing in the foyer after Sunday evening service and for 30 minutes, Pastor Davidson and her were talking. I was hungry. I wanted to leave. So, I did what all self-centered 12 year old kids do... I tugged at mom's shirt and rudely kept interrupting their conversation. She would look at me with anger and push me to the side. After this repeated cycle of me nagging and her pushing my face out of the way, Pastor Davidson grabbed a $5 bill out of his pocket and kindly told my mom to go buy me McDonalds. That was a lot of money to me; moreso, that was a lot of money to my mom.
I retold this short anecdote to my old Pastor because after all these years, it is still cemented in my mind. I suppose true acts of kindness are like that; especially when we don't deserve it.
Pastor Davidson wrote me back. It was a short but kind message in which he thanked me for reaching out to him. It was obvious by the terseness of his message he had no recollection of who I am or that specific moment from thirty years ago.
I suppose asking an 80 year old man who has preached in front of tens of thousands of people in his lifetime to remember a bratty 12 year old might be too much to ask. And I suppose this egocentric man should not have been shocked that he didn't remember me. And really, I guess the lesson to be learned is that genuinely kind people don't ever remember kind things they do. It just comes naturally for them.
I mention my recent encounter with Pastor Davidson because well, the moral of that story explains why all these Untold Stories I have been telling have come to a surprise to you. Allowing you to view yourself through my eyes from an innocent period of our lives, I am certain, has been quite bitter sweet and uncomfortably uplifting. At least, I hope the uplifting part is true.
I don't remember the first time I met you like I do with Pastor Davidson but I do remember the last time we spoke. I was drunk. A friend and I were housesitting. I was laying on a waterbed staring at the ceiling with the cordless phone glued to my ear as I clung to every breathy word you spoke. My last words were Talk to you soon. I knew it wasn't true.
What never began was over. That lightning quick moment you existed in my life was now just the sun breaking through the rain clouds and a new life with a future of endless possibilities was about to begin for you. Someone else would be taking you to prom. Someone else was going to win your heart and your family's approval. It was meant to be someone not me.
And I was okay with that. And then, I let you go.
I've got so many stories I will never get to share with you and I am sure you've got plenty more than me.
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