I hadn't talked to Molly, my hairstylist, in several years. Molly came into my life when I was 7 or 8, and my mom sold her a house. I continued to see Molly for haircuts for many years, and somewhere along the line, I started babysitting for her kids. If I remember correctly, I started sitting for her when her middle son turned 2. He is now 16, and driving a car. Crap, I'm old! Anyway, I nannied for her family for several summers, and they really became like an extended family. So Molly was thrilled to see me back in MN, and, of course, was curious as to what brought me home, and why my marriage ended. I told her my story, and she was totally shocked and very sympathetic. But telling the story this time was a proud moment for me. It was a proud moment, because as much as people feel bad for my situation, and as much as talking about it upset me several months ago, I was completely unemotional about it when I talked to Molly. I guess I just proved to myself that it is so far in my past, it isn't even hard to tell the story anymore. I don't need sympathy. I don't need to bash my ex. I'm just that far over it. It feels great. We chatted awhile, she showed me pictures of her boys, I showed her pictures of Charley, and it was an amazing reconnection. Molly came back into my life, not just to give me a haircut (which is amazing by the way...Aside from my sister, she's the best), but to extend my family.
I mentioned before that I think every man I've dated has served a purpose, or shown up for a reason. I think that's true. Even if was only one date, and a bad one, it taught me something. Like the guy who took me for sushi, and ordered me all kinds of raw fish. I learned that even on a date, I can't bring myself to eat food that's not cooked because I'll go home nauseous. Or the guy who showed up stoned, and talked ridiculously slowly the whole date. He taught me that I need someone who can keep up with me in a conversation! Or the guy with alopecia. He taught me that I REALLY don't want to be the hairy one in the relationship. I talked to my friend Rena about that one, and she sent me this picture the following day:
Now, circumstances weren't quite THAT severe, but I didn't know prior to that experience that I NEED a man to have hair. I've had men come into my life to show me what a true connection is. I've had men show me what I will and will not tolerate. I've also had men show me how a real man treats a woman, and I learned from that. So, to sum up, the men I've dated have taught me that I don't like raw food, I can't date a stoner, and I want to date a man with hair, along with a few other things. Some didn't make much of an impact, but like I said, I think they have all shown up for a reason.
Okay, time for a teaching story. Let me tell you a little story about a boy I'll call Jacob. When I lived in Kansas City, I took a job as a paraprofessional, in an amazing Special Education classroom. I worked with Jacob for at least two hours a day, in the general education classroom. I went to science with Jacob, and two other students every day. One of their assigned science activities was building a chair. Yes, I was working with three special needs children, who all wanted to build their own chairs. That was a nightmare in itself, but we had arranged for their parents to come in and help periodically, so that made it tolerable. Anyway, the students had to make a model of their chairs before they could build them out of wood. They used popsicle sticks and a hot glue gun. Jacob was a character. He had trouble holding the popsicle sticks the way he wanted them, but he INSISTED on putting the hot glue on. I decided I would let him put the hot glue on the sticks, and I would put them into the correct positions. It was going great, until the glue got stringy, and I was distracted for a minute. When I glanced back at Jacob, he had a mischievous look on his face, and the hot glue gun about an inch from my arm.
"Jacob, no!" I shouted, as I felt the metal and glue press into my forearm. Crap. I don't know if you've ever been burned by a hot glue gun, but it hurts. Mostly because the glue continues to burn as it settles into your skin. I grabbed the glue gun, looked him in the eye, and he had a totally innocent, "Whoops," kind of look on his face.
So, we returned to the resource room, where we could discuss what he had done wrong, and the appropriate consequences. Jacob was a writer, so I decided he should write the following, 10 times: "I'm sorry I burned you, Mrs. Pierron. I will not do it again."
He started out great. He had it written 5 times, in a matter of minutes. Then, he lost interest. He looked at me, scowled, looked back at the paper, and started writing again, with his arm covering the paper. I said, "Jacob, I would like to see your page, please." He sighed an exaggerated sigh, and passed over the paper. It read, "I am NOT sorry I burned you Mrs. Pierron. I WILL do it again." I had a hard time not laughing, because he was so annoyed that I had blown his little game. I made him start over. It took 3 times before he got the job done, but he never burned me again. Jacob was in my life for many reasons. One of them was to teach me never to take my eyes off a kid with a hot glue gun.
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