Superhero

I lean back in my chair, head cocked to the side, confident and full of myself; pretending I am a superhero. I lift one eye brow with a slight grin. 'I can do anything' I whisper to myself. 'Because I'm a freekin' superhero! And superheros have super powers.' I grin widely.

But then I glance back at the computer area in front of me; papers scattered about, bits of old projects left unfinished on top of the printer and left on and around stacks of CDs. Around my feet lay wires tangled with themselves from old and broken parts of who-really-knows-whats. I'm not really smiling anymore.

Among the heaps of junk and potentially useful items is a College catalog with course listings. I let out a sigh and sit back in my chair normally, snatching the book out from under a pile of old art work. I flip it open to some papers stuffed into the pages. Enrollment papers for the coming semester. 'I want to go to school', I tell myself, in a less than convincing voice. Barely audible. I stare at the book for a bit but then I toss it back onto the pile, and set to work on getting rid of some of the mess.

I shuffle through some papers lying on the desk. I look back at the computer screen, and see a face smiling out at me. It's the face of a baby. Amy. She's only a month old. Her little face smiles out of the computer screen, the rest of her body wrapped up warmly in the embrace of her father. His face smiling along side hers. I put down the papers and look at the picture on the screen. 'Hi Amy.' I say. My heart begins to ache a bit. It must be so comfortable there, in her father's arms. He's got a hold of her snug and tight. You can tell he's not going to let go of his little girl any time soon. How peaceful it looks to be a part of that picture. 'I want to be a mother', I begin to say, less audible than before.

I bookmark the page, and close the window. Why was that painful to look at? I decide to change rooms and I go get the papers I left with my church books. I begin leafing through and find the notes from church I took earlier this morning. Notes about being kinder to people, and about what faith really is, and about what separates hope from belief. There on the corner of one piece of paper is the scribbled words 'Note to self: Go on a mission'. There's so much that intrigues me about the gospel. I believe it. I want to share it with people. 'I want to go on a mission', I say. But am I too scared, I wonder?

I continue working on recording the notes in other places so that I can throw out all the bits of paper that have been collecting over a period of much-too-long. But I don't know how to throw some of them out. Some of them are pieces of art work, swirls and lines, shaded pictures mixed in with my notes. How do I throw those out? They aren't exactly masterpieces, but they aren't exactly transferable to some other place, and I still want to keep them. After a while, I stop. I go back to the computer chair by the window. I'm not interested in sorting papers anymore. I'll leave that for some other time. When I care more. Maybe I'm bored. Maybe I'm ADD. Then again, maybe I don't care if I'm ADD.

But, what do I care about? I wonder to myself. What do I want to do? I've got a job. I work at a daycare. I could keep working there. But for what? But I don't really want to work there anymore. Working there isn't what I want to be doing in a few months. Maybe it's because I am not dedicated, and I just don't want to do something I'm not enjoying, or maybe it's because having worked there has made me dislike children, and I think that is wrong. So I ask myself again, 'what do I want to do?'

'I want to start a business', I say, half wishing someone was listening so they could give me some sort of motivation. It would be amazing to change the world in some way through a business I created. The truth is, I want to begin changing the world through my efforts to help people. I want to help people all over the world. 'And I want to travel too'. I hear the words come out, but by the time they are out, my mind has already moved on. I want to travel, but what about all the other stuff I want to do? Do I have the guts? Do I know what's coming? Can I do any one of these things and not miss out on the rest?

I sigh. I lean back in my chair, and cock my head, looking out the window. 'I want to be a superhero', I say. This time I can barely muster up the words. 'Maybe then I'd have the guts to try something. Anything. Even if it was just finishing clearing up this messy room. I'd do something exciting. After all, I'd have super powers.'

But nothing changes. The leaves aren't even rustling in the wind. It's all the same. Same as when I looked out the window the first time. And I'm not a superhero. I don't have super powers. And I can't bend the rules.

I sigh again. I wish someone would push me in some direction. Then I wouldn't have to choose and come up with my own motivation. I'd just have to keep the momentum.

I get out of the chair, and begin cleaning the papers off the desk. Frustrated, and weary I trudge on, hoping somewhere in the mix and confusion of it all, someone will save me from the fate of the unfortunate soul, born as a regular. Not a superhero... Not even a sidekick... Not super at all.

Forgotten Lessons

Hello. My name is Sera. I pronounce it "Sarah" though. I can spell my own name now. My middle name is harder to spell. I went to kindergarten once.

I remember the big blocks we used to play with. I played with Jeff and we made dinosaurs out of the blocks together. The dinosaurs were as big as I was. That was the first time I was told that I should clean up after myself. We had a lesson on it. I remember the blue frilly shirt mom picked out for me to wear and the pink clothes with skirts that I don't like anymore. I remember the fake food we would pretend to eat during play time. The teacher told us not to really put them in our mouths, because of tiny invisible things called germs or something. I remember using little stuffed animals and tiny kid-sized pillows to sleep on when they turned out the lights. I was usually the only one awake during nap time. I never slept very well. I remember my favorite white bear that I took to nap time with me, and I remember other kids fighting over the rest of the stuffed animals. I cried when kids called me mean names.

Things were so much easier back then. When I was small.

If someone stole my toy or pulled my hair, I could go cry. It was so simple. It would make it all better... After the teacher scolded them, of course. If I had a runny nose, I could wait until the teacher gave me a tissue paper to wipe my nose with, and that was okay. If I fell and scraped my knee, it was okay to cry about it, and the teacher would help me up and take me to the sink and wash my cut and put a bandage on it. And it was not a bad thing to feel hurt back then. It was okay to cry. It was normal.

But I can't solve my problems like that now. Problems are so much harder today. Grown ups don't like it when others cry. I think they don't know what to do because they're all the same height. They're the same size now as the teacher was back then, back when it was okay to cry. They don't know if they should be like the teacher and help people up, and clean their cuts, or if they should be like any other kid from class and cry along with them. After all, we are all the same height now. And instead, in the middle of the confusion between being teacher or class mate, they usually leave, not sure how to deal with what they left back in the room. And the other tall person is left where they were, feeling sad, and still crying, and now a little ashamed that they cried in front of another tall person.

Did I miss that lesson somewhere? The one that told us kids that it's still okay to cry, even when we grow up? Did someone forget to tell me that sometimes people need a hug when they cry, because we all need to feel? Did the teacher just not know that people need love and care, even when they are all grown up? Did she just forget to tell us? Or did her teachers not tell her that if she scraped her knee, it's okay to cry? And that it was normal?

Well, I must have missed those lessons. But I've found out through my own life that sometimes teachers don't know everything. Sometimes nobody knows anything, and all we have left is our feelings, and all we are, is confused little kindergarten kids. Someone out there should let us know that it's okay to feel lost and confused and that it's okay to cry. Someone should tell us that it's still normal.

I am someone.

It's okay to cry.
It's normal.

I think they forgot to tell us that.