His voice, deep in tone and slow in cadence, gently plead with me to make a choice. He chose his words carefully, knowing the choice he was asking me to make felt like it would break me. For me, it seemed too much to ask.
We had been at this for what seemed a life time by now. How did I get myself into this predicament? As a child, I was always meticulously responsible. I knew how to make smart choices and weigh the cost/benefits of my actions. I was the kind of child that neighborhood mothers watched in anticipation as I grew, waiting for the day when I was old enough to babysit their children. In short, I had a good head on my shoulders.
And yet, despite my sensible nature, I also had a streak of something else in me that fought against my careful demeanor. I loved a challenge. I craved the high I got from pushing my mind, body, and spirit beyond the boundaries of safety. The feeling of a sprinting heart beat always brought me back for more, searching for a way to stretch my abilities.
From time to time this would get me in trouble. I remember the day that I set out to climb the light pole at the end of our street. As I sat at its base and stared up the 30 some odd feet to its top, I knew I shouldn't..... but I had to. I pressed my ear to its warm, gray metal and could hear the humming coming from inside. This pole was mine. I peeled off my socks and shoes and began the climb. I was quick, like a native islander up a coconut tree. Before long, I was at the top, and paused a moment to appreciate my accomplishments and the view that it earned. It was the most beautiful lower-class, slummy, filled with dirty faced kids neighborhood I had ever laid eyes on. I had conquered it. What if I just took a minute and shimmied out along the crossbar? That would enhance the challenge and once out there, I could hang from it like the monkey bars at school. No one would ever have known if SHE hadn't tattled on me. I still haven't forgiven her. Out the door came my mother, screaming and threatening me within an inch of my life. I considered briefly staying there and waiting her out. She would never be able to reach me. I thought better of it, deciding that I would probably get hungry eventually, and headed down. I can still remember the sting on my backside. She felt good about it. She had taught me a lesson.
But even valuable lessons can be forgotten if the call of the Sirens grows too loud. Not long after, I found myself sitting on my front lawn, ticking away the hours by myself, as I often did. Wait a second. Why had I never noticed this before? The large tree in our yard, with its sprawling branches, came curiously close to the roof top of our house. I couldn't climb directly from the branches to the roof, but if I employed the services of my friend the garden hose, I could climb to that large limb there. It hung several feet above the roof, and if I looped the hose over it, I could lower myself down. Yes! The boredom of the day melted away as I put my plan into action.
I was on to the roof in no time, and celebrated my victory with a walk around the place. Well, not much to see here. I decided I had had enough and went back to the hose to climb up and then down again. Unfortunately, getting ON the roof was the easy party. I was stuck. Horribly, hopelessly, permanently stuck. I considered the 9 foot jump to the ground. Nope. Too risky. That was a skill I wouldn't conquer for another couple of years. I analyzed the situation from every angle that my little 6 year old brain could gather. Try as I might, I knew there was no solution. I sat down on the blistering roof, hugged my legs to my chest and dropped my face to my knees. How had I gotten myself into this situation? I knew that the fault was my own, and I felt a burning shame that I couldn't fix the problem that I was responsible for.
As I sat there, hopeless and with tears coursing down my face, I knew there was a solution. I didn't want to consider it. It hurt my pride too much. There would be consequences....... but I had to.
I stood up, and tentatively at first, I began calling for my father. My pleas became louder and louder as I realized that he would never hear me unless I put some energy into it. I probably yelled for several minutes and could feel my voice growing horse. Then, when I was sure he had ironically gone deaf in the last half hour and would never hear me, I saw his dark head of hair emerge from the house. He walked out into the yard, looked up at me, and had to stifle a smile. I wish I could have seen myself. Dirty, grungy little girl with ever-present scrapes on my knees and tears running down my face.
"What happened"? I detailed my harrowing experience, and again, he smiled ever so slightly. "Well. It's not really a big deal. All you have to do is jump to me". Ummmmmm.......... excuse me? Come again? "Just jump". I walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. He WAS my dad, after all. I SHOULD trust him. I crouched down and prepared myself for my probable death. NO. I can't do it. Minutes passed, each one felt like a lifetime. Each time I would come to the edge and prepare myself, my gaze would rest on the 2 foot span between the edge of the roof and his outstretched arms below. A lot can happen in a 2 foot space. Let's be honest. It could be the difference between life and death.
"Jump, Brooke. C'mon honey. You gotta jump. Trust me, kiddo".
His voice, deep in tone and slow in cadence, gently plead with me to make a choice. He chose his words carefully, knowing the choice he was asking me to make felt like it would break me. For me, it seemed too much to ask.
Finally, I came to the conclusion that I had no other choice. Be stuck here forever, or take a risk that seemed scarier than any I had taken up to this point in my life. (Never mind the "Using the light pole as monkey bars" incident). I put my toes on the edge, just like they had taught me in swimming lessons, screwed my eyes shut, and jumped. For one brief moment, I could feel the wind in my face as I moved through the air. And then I was in my daddy's arms, safe and sound, and actually laughing out loud at the anticlimax of the decision. And then I was grounded.
I have looked back on this experience in my life more times than I can remember, drawing on it for lessons I couldn't have learned any other way. Over and over again, I find myself stuck on the symbolic precipice of a situation. Sometimes the situation is one I have gotten myself into through choices I am not proud of. I need to make a change in order to put myself back on a path that leads to happiness. Sometimes the situation is no fault of my own, just a natural occurrence of living in a mortal world. Sometimes, the situation isn't bad at all, but really actually very good. It just requires more courage to make change than I feel I can muster at the time. I know that if I don't want to be stuck where I am forever, I need to make a choice, a choice that feels like it could break me. One little jump. One moment of suspension. 2 feet to cover. On the other end of that jump is my Father. At times He must be slightly amused at the fear that comes from these little jumps. But He has my best interest in mind. He is the last person who would want me stuck on the roof forever. In fact, His whole purpose is my progression. And he will NEVER, EVER let me fall.
God said, "Come to the edge."
I can't. I'm afraid!
God said, "Come to the edge."
I can't. I'll fall!
God said, "Come to the edge."
So, I came to the edge.
He pushed me!
And I flew.
Guillaume Apollinaire
