Everyday Observations

Okay, so if you read the last post, I went on a ten day trip to England the summer after my first year of teaching. It was the first time I flew, and I was very excited about it. We had a night flight, so we flew all night and arrived at 8:00 am in Manchester. Well, the flight over was less then stellar. I was in the dead middle of a row with like ten people on either side of me – ten sleeping people. So, when I needed to go to the restroom, I had to maneuver through a game of Twister; there were limbs and snores and drool and gaping mouths everywhere. I stood by the bathroom most of the night because I couldn’t stand to be locked in by those hot-breathed bodies. So I wasn’t afraid, just a little freaked out by the circumstances surrounding my seat.

On the return flight, I was able to scoop up an aisle seat on the very last row. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I watched the movies and listened to the airplane music and watched the screen that showed us progressing across the Atlantic and ate my peanuts, etc…

Later that same summer I flew to Miami with my mom. After we were married, Chris and I flew to Miami and New Orleans, and I really enjoyed flying. But I have only flown once in the past six years (the child-bearing years), and now I am wigged out about flying. My heart is racing and my breath is shallow just typing about flying. I kid you not.

My last flight was not pretty either. I fully expected Jesus to take me home that afternoon. Chris and I were with a group from his company, and I acted like a complete loon. He was sweet not to tell me how much I’m sure I embarrassed him. I sobbed and sat very still staring at my Bible opened on my lap, silently mouthing the words to Joshua 1:9. I know that’s freakish. I know, I know.

Chris and I are going to California for our ten-year anniversary trip in about a week, and we ain’t driving, so I’m thinking a lot about flying these days. I think the fact that I’m a mom has affected my desire to fly; I feel like I need to be around for my girls, so I prefer not to perish in a fiery mangled plane crash. And September 11. And the whole gravity-defying aspect really messes with me now.

So how have I gone from a person who enjoyed flying to one with a completely irrational fear of flying? And in my head I know all of the facts, but I firmly believe that my heart is going to burst and I am going to throw up and I may begin to scream hysterically as we accelerate down the runway. My stomach is churning as I type. Where’s the A Team when you need ’em? Can anybody hook me up with some Mr. T medication? I want to be on his flight plan.

Just kidding, sorta…

As a first-year teacher, I was terrified of my principal. And also as a second, third, and fourth-year teacher. He had red hair and was a Vietnam Vet. His office was completely decorated with war pictures and military memorabilia; I can remember one picture so vividly. Once when I went in to speak with him, he was actually listening to war anthems, and I am not making that up. His face could turn the color of his hair, and he could go from zero to red in 2 seconds flat (thankfully I was never on the receiving end of that). I could hardly speak in his presence, and if I saw him today I would still probably act like a bumbling idiot. I think I cried in his office two times during my first year when I went to ask to be relieved of my cheerleading sponsor duties.

One afternoon I was at the drink machine in the teacher’s lounge, and he walked by and came back to ask, “Ms. Eaddy, what are you doing this summer?”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Do you think you can chaperone the trip to England?”

“Sure.” I went and took out a dang loan to go to England because I was too afraid to tell him no. I am not lying.

He observed in my class once during my tenure at that school, and I think he and my students looked on me with pity the entire time. I stammered. I spoke with a quiver in my voice, and I shook like a leaf. When Mr. Principal walked out the door, one of my students asked, “You were nervous, weren’t you?” I nodded the affirmative.

But here’s the thing. He was a really nice guy and a great principal. When I cried in his office, he gave me tissue and allowed me to use his private restroom to mop my face. When the district planned to transfer me to a middle school for my second year (due to enrollment decrease or some other number game), he brought me in and told me he would do everything he could to keep me there, and he did. He graciously took away the cheerleaders after my first year and he found a way to help pay for my plane ticket to England. And after the debacle he witnessed in my classroom, he sent me a gift certificate to Chili’s to treat myself. He was a great guy.

I was the issue. I was insecure as a new teacher. I perhaps placed too much focus on his stern side and not enough attention on his kindness. I created this skewed perception of him even though I had personal experience to the contrary. So, here’s the question. Is perception reality? Perhaps, it was reality to me that he was terrifying. But perception is not necessarily truth. He was truly a generous and thoughtful leader.

My perception is not truth. It is tainted by my own opinions and biases and preferences and emotional state and lack of sleep and too much caffeine and bad hair day, etc… Whether I’m thinking about my perception of you or other people or a restaurant or God or whatever, it’s important for me to realize that the filter through which I see the world may, in fact, hinder me from seeing truth.

Something to chew on…

Be careful what you ask for ’cause you just might get it. You know, there’s a reason cliches become cliche; there’s a life truth behind the worn out phrase, and it is repeatedly expressed and affirmed because…. well, … it’s true! Case in point, my afternoon…

I have been praying for a greater focus on my girls – a greater concentration of my time, my energy, my creativity, etc… As a very task-oriented person, I can very easily and happily fill my day getting stuff done. I, like perhaps many of you, have to be intentional about having quality time with my children. It is so the desire of my heart to pour all I have into them; it’s not my natural bent though, I have to admit. So, I’ve been praying about that, especially with the aroma of summer wafting on the breeze (two half days of school remaining).

Around 4:20 I asked the girls if they would like to go to the park, and both jumped on the opportunity. We began the clean up, potty, pack snacks and drinks, gather the sand toys, grab the cell phone, appropriate shoe choice rigmarole. Twenty-five minutes later we walked out the door, and a nanosecond later I realized I had just locked us out of the house. I immediately turned around to glance through the door window to see my keys properly hanging on their key hook. And not only that, the emergency-secret-hidden-if-you-get-locked-out-key was improperly hanging right beside them. Oh well, …

Ordinarily, Chris would have been home soon, but not tonight. He wasn’t expected home for hours and hours. I have an aunt who lives in my neighborhood, but we have neglected to give her a key for just this kind of occasion. My sister works in town, but she always uses the emergency-secret-hidden-if-you-get-locked-out-key, which may in fact explain why it is not in its hiding place (when all else fails, blame the little sister :-). My mom had the nearest key, which was forty-five minutes away. She graciously drove over after work and rescued us.

But as soon as the realization hit and a plan was in place to remedy the situation, I saw this for what it was – an opportunity to spend some time with my girls. An opportunity with no options for folding laundry, preparing for school tomorrow, pecking on the computer, etc… We headed to the back yard with our drinks and snacks to swing. I set up a little snack shop; the girls rode bikes; we went for a little walk; the sky was overcast and windy which made for perfect emergency-locked-out weather. My mom came over, and the four of us grabbed dinner. Funny thing is – the afternoon was better than if I had planned it myself.

Life can be like that a lot, don’t you think?