I have discovered that epiphanies come at the most odd moments and locations. The newest location is our local WalMart. Which I hate, for the record but that fact is irrelevant for this post. I'm just reiterating my feelings.
Right in the aisle by the chocolate chips I ran into a couple of friends from my childhood. They grew up and got married to each other. I thought it was serendipitous because my oldest daughter and I were shopping for quilt supplies and Charlotte happens to be a master quilter. I tried the "divine intervention" route, trying to guilt her into renewing our friendship and drop on by my house the following day and help us with piecing this thing together but it was a no-go. Always worth a try.
As we stood there talking, me in my sweatshirt announcing the high school where I work, a stocker passed us a number of times. I had an inkling I knew the boy and, once I finished catching up with my friends, accosted him and asked him if I knew him from the high school where I work. Recognition dawned only after I was right in his face and it somewhat stunned me it took him as long as it did. At least he immediately remembered I was his counselor. I sometimes forget that my memory and another's memory is different.
I grabbed the slivered almonds I was after, signaled to my nearly 16 year old daughter and we walked away. Suddenly, this former student wanted to continue the conversation. He kept calling after me with comment after comment. Oh. Kay. Not that I claim any sort of social appropriateness but I can typically tell when the conversation is over. It was over. I kept glancing over my shoulder and smiling at him with a nod. Weird.
I turned the corner at the end of the aisle and nearly ran over my daughter. You know the one - 5'8", 104 lbs of solid bone and muscle, beautiful features. Great big "Duh" on my part and I started laughing. In fact, I almost turned around to call back to him. Offer to introduce him to my gorgeous daughter than run away laughing. Because I'm cruel like that. I live to mortify my children.
Walking out of the store, I watched the young men we passed. I asked her if she ever tired of being stared at. "No, not yet," she replied nonchalantly. I laughed and explained that I forget that I am invisible when she is at my side. She tried to soften the blow with some trite comment. The comment lost its punch because at the very moment she was saying it, we both observed a teenage boy walk directly in our (her) path and trip on his own feet.
"Did you not see that?" I asked.
"Yeah, that one was a little hard to miss." We continued a couple of polite steps before bursting to laughter. Then she said the words that nearly brought happy tears to my eyes. "You know, I really feel very satisfied with who I am right now. I like myself."
THAT is the currency of motherhood.