Jax, Jumping Rope, and Wetting Your Pants

1969 feels simultaneously like such a long time ago and yesterday all at once. I was a young girl, just six years old. The world was a giant, magical place. The days seemed longer, the sun a little brighter, and everything was full of promise. I grew up in a modest neighborhood in Northern Kentucky. I remember thinking that my house was the most beautiful one on the street. Friends were plentiful, and life was good. At the end of that summer, I was preparing to go to first grade, and was more than a little excited about that prospect.

In what would become a yearly tradition, my mother took me to JC Penney to purchase new shoes. I did not take long to choose what I wanted. The new penny loafers were what I instantly knew I needed to buy. We took them home, after the coin-operated horse ride, and my mother found two new pennies to insert into the openings. Everything was set!

School began in the usual flurry of activity. I quickly settled into riding the bus the short distance between my home and my school with my older sister, Karen. I was the only person I knew, except my sister, whose mother worked outside the home. So at the end of the day we also rode the bus home. We let ourselves into the house with our key. At that time, I was a bit unhappy about that situation. I did not understand why my mom was not able to be home when I arrived. She was not too far behind us each day, and came through the door and went into her second shift activities. Namely, getting dinner started, homework checked, laundry going, and all of us ready for the following day. As I grew older, I appreciated her ability to handle so much, so well, more and more. My first step down that road began with a very powerful lesson.

In the early fall of my first grade year, I found myself at recess, sitting with the girls who were given chalk, jump ropes, and jacks to play with. I was growing increasingly bored with those activities and looking across the playground at the boys who were participating in foot races. The winner would ask for a new challenger, and whoever was victorious would challenge the next boy in order to see who was the fastest on the playground. Eventually, I found myself unable to resist the urge to ask to join them. They laughed at me, but agreed.

I was dressed in my new shoes, and a brown, plaid dress with big pockets on the front. I got ready to race the current winner, and remember how wonderful it felt to be running across the blacktop. I won that match, and returned to the line to challenge the next boy.

This continued a few times, and I continued to win. I lined up to race the final challenger. I ran as fast as I possibly could, but he was pulling ahead of me. I pushed harder and at the edge of the blacktop found myself unable to stop. I stumbled forward into the muddy grass, eventually falling down. Both of my shoes became stuck in the mud and one of the pockets on my dress was torn. By the time I got myself upright a very unhappy schoolyard monitor with a very serious hair bun was standing over me. She frowned, and then began to scold me. "Kimberly, look at what you have done! You have spoiled your dress and shoes. Ladies are not supposed to behave this way. You are going to hurt yourself, AND you are going to make the boys feel bad because you beat them!"

I still remember the deep shame that poured over me. I believed every single word that she had said, and found myself wondering how I would ever make things right. I rode the busy home and for once was happy my mother was not there. I took off my dress and shoes and hid them in my closet. I waited and eventually heard the familiar sounds of my mother coming in the front door. As usual, she flew into her evening routine, but she began to notice that I was uncharacteristically sullen. Before long, I found I could not hold everything in any longer. I began to cry, and the whole, awful story spilled out. I will never forget the quiet that fell over my mother and the entire kitchen. She asked me if I knew what a whipstitch was. I shook my head and she took me by the hand to sit down with her as she retrieved my dress and shoes. She placed a thread through a needle, and began to sew my pocket back in place on my dress. I watched in wonder as she explained how easy it was to fix. She then went on to clean the mud off my shoes, and replace the pennies with two new, shiny ones. She then proclaimed that everything was as good as new and went on to the task of dinner.

I was relieved, but still troubled. Things should be back to normal, I remember thinking, but somehow something was off. I went to bed and woke up in the morning feeling the same unsettled way. It was then that my mother surprised me again. This time, she announced that I would not be riding the bus to school, but instead that she was driving me there herself. Up the long drive we went, but instead of dropping me off, she proceeded to park and then got out of the car. She walked straight into the front door with me, and instead of turning right towards my classroom she tuned left and walked into the principal's office. Mr. Huber was a kind, gentle man, and seemed surprised to see my mother there. She asked to speak with him and the playground monitor from the day before. I sat in amazement as I watched my mother quietly explain that she expected her daughter to be treated the same as everyone else, whether on the playground or in the classroom. She waited for assurances that I could choose to jump rope or foot race as I liked. She then got up to leave. She paused at the door, and then turned around and looked straight at me. "Have a good day. And remember, if those boys can't keep up with you, that's THEIR problem."

It was as if a key tuned a lock inside of my head at that moment. All of my unsettled feelings transformed to feelings of accomplishment. At the age of six, I realized I had not created an issue because I did something wrong. I created an issue because I did something unexpected. Doing something unexpected does not equate to doing something wrong. It has laid a foundation I have tested again and again.

What I know to be true is that you have to surround yourself with people that will support you, and be truth tellers. I've also learned that we all need to work through what has happened to us in our past in order to move ahead. It took me a long time to understand that, and to realize that I define who I am. I am not defined by a job title, or a salary, or public opinion. None of us are. I am the boss of me. You are the boss of you. As for wetting my pants? I wrote about that challenge in my memoir, and will address that another day. For today, I will share the lessons I've learned so far:

Family is everything. Everything else is just everything else.

There is no price too high to pay for behaving in an ethical manner.

If you find yourself outside of the circle, make your own circle, and invite others in.

Everybody wets his or her pants at some point.

Do not play jax if you really want to run a foot race instead.

You do not have to have all of the answers.

Trust the universe. Follow the path.

You will never find true happiness if you are not in alignment with your moral compass.

Being a parent is a blessing.

No one will ever be as happy to see you as your grandchildren.

At the end of the day,it is important that you have treated others well.

Forgive those who have hurt you.

Ask for forgiveness when you have hurt others.

Nobody is perfect.

Life is a gift.

When you are in a dark place, know that the morning is coming.