When I was about nine years old, my mother, brother, and I had a weekly routine. Every Friday we would travel to the Wal-Mart shopping center on 103’rd Ave here in Jacksonville to visit Xeno’s comic book shop. My mom, very much like her younger brother, my uncle Gary, was an avid comic book collector. She initially began reading X-Men, which branched off to a number of other storylines, resulting in a big stack of comic books waiting for her each week. My brother and I looked forward to these weekly visits, as we enjoyed looking at all of the comics and collectibles and were friends with the really cool, twenty-something clerk named Jeff who loved Star Wars, comic books, action figures, and all things awesome. The name of the owner of this comic book shop escapes me now, but she was friends with my mom for years. We had followed the shop when it originated in the Gateway mall years prior and eventually moved to the prime Wal-Mart proximal location on the West side of Jacksonville. She was an older lady who owned the business with her husband, who I rarely remember seeing, but who had other interests in addition to comic books. She sculpted figurines and collectibles, some intended for use in role playing games, others just for the sake of cute. At age nine, I was more interested in the latter. On one occasion she sculpted a small dog and cat figurine with tiny accessories, such as bowls and a bed that fascinated me. I became preoccupied with acquiring them. On top of that, there was a Hallmark store located next door. My love affair with Hallmark began the year prior, when I received my first collectible Hallmark Christmas ornament, which spawned a collection of hundreds over the last 23 years. In addition to ornaments, I adored stuffed animals, and Hallmark carried some of the best. Thus it happened that I came to be enamored with a small, stuffed calico kitten that I named “Scampers” before I was even able to take it from the store. My obsession with both the sculpted figurines and the stuffed kitten began around the same time, when I had sadly no money.
My mother, bless her good intentions, was much more structured with me than she was with my younger brother. I was afforded a small allowance; however, it required massive amounts of house cleaning in order to earn a meager amount. We’re talking bathroom cleaning, vacuuming, dusting, and other unpleasant tasks in the house which my grandmother had raised four children and lived in for roughly thirty years by that time. My only other sources of income were from good grades (I earned money for every A and B I brought home on my report card) and from birthdays. Mom was also diligent about making me go to school, which I now deeply appreciate. My brother, who suffered from terrible asthma as a small child, was allowed to stay home with every sniffle, and eventually dropped out of high school in the tenth grade. On the other hand, I went to school unless I was desperately ill, and went on to earn a scholarship in high school which put me through college to earn a Bachelor’s degree. Therefore, I was presented with choices as a child that helped prepare me for the realities of adulthood. There were a great many things I was not taught that I probably should have been, and some of the lessons I did learn needed to be relearned later in life. This lesson, although obviously memorable, did not really hit home with me until recently. Now I am glad for it.
After saving my money for several weeks in order to afford the figurines and the stuffed kitten, and checking frantically every week that they were still available for purchase, the Friday finally came that I would be able to bring them home. Unfortunately, my body decided to rebel against me. I awoke that morning, having gone to bed with the excitement of the next afternoon’s weekly trip to my favorite places, with a severely upset stomach. I wasn’t just suffering from my usual “nervous stomach”, I felt outright ill. My mother gave me the option of staying home, in which case I would not be allowed to go shopping that afternoon, or I could make it through the school day and be allowed to bring home my long awaited treasures. I remember battling with myself over this decision, and ultimately decided that I would do anything to be able to go out that afternoon to get what I wanted. So I went to school.
The day was an eternity of misery. When you feel nauseous, it is nearly impossible to think or do anything else. I spent much of the day with my head on my arms, resting on my desktop. Given that I was typically an “A” student, overachiever, and rule follower, my teachers and the staff loved me. I can’t tell you how many times during the day someone offered to call my mom so I could go home. I stubbornly refused. I was in an epic battle against the forces raging inside my body, and determined that the power of my will would prevail.
When the classroom music teacher came and the students got up to dance, I sat at my desk feeling lightheaded. When it was time to paint, I could scarcely muster the energy to finger paint, and cleaning up afterwards was a dreadful chore. Lunchtime was a torture of badly smelling, burnt cafeteria pizza which made me fight the urge to gag. Again, the teachers in the lunch room pleaded with me to go home, and I steadfastly refused. I desperately wished for that half hour to hurry by, but it crept along as though intentionally testing my resolve. The afternoon dragged out until after 2:00pm, at which time I began watching the ticking of the second hand on the clock, focusing solely on the wonderful prizes that would reward me shortly.
After what felt like weeks of agony, the school bell rang. It would have been the sweetest sound, were I able to hear it over the loud thudding of my heart and the blood rushing in my ears. My friend Amanda, who had worried over me all day like a mother hen, walked with me out to the circle where my mother would soon arrive to pick me up. Although I doubt he remembers it (thankfully), Buster was there too, as he was my classmate at the time and would often walk with me as well. After what would soon transpire, I only remember that he made a sympathetic comment which somehow managed to comfort me in spite of my embarrassment. Not all kids are awful.
So there I stood a sickly green, but victorious; having endured the entire school day feeling like death warmed over, and having fought down countless waves of nausea. My prize was in sight, and I had now only to be picked up and driven to retrieve it. I must have let down my guard for that brief moment, and whatever was plaguing me finally triumphed and came spilling forth onto the sidewalk. Obviously, elementary school kids are not particularly prepared for something of this magnitude, and the reaction was predictable. Luckily, my friend Amanda, the loyal and mature soul that she was, stood by in my defense after I was done puking on the front steps of our school. Additionally, my mom had the decency to pull up shortly thereafter. Given that it was Friday, by the time I returned on Monday, the few people that witnessed the event had already moved on to other things, and luckily I wasn’t subject to too much ridicule.
After welcoming me into the car and hearing what had just occurred, my mom felt that we should just go home so that I could lie down. Most parents would have insisted on this given what had just transpired. However, I would have none of that, and my mom was a soft hearted soul who hated to disappoint. Deliriously, I detailed the various ordeals of my day and expounded that after upholding my end of the bargain, i.e. going to school, I deserved my reward. We drove to the shopping center, my mother frequently sparing me concerned glances as I sprawled sickly in the back seat. Somehow I was able to drag myself into the stores long enough to make my purchases.
I believe these toys became infinitely more valuable as a result of my hard work and suffering to acquire them. Scampers in particular accompanied me for many years of car rides and daily playtimes and has the wear to show for it. I am not sure what happened to those figurines, although I kept them well into my teens, but I know I still have Scampers in a box somewhere, a testament to the power of my will. Or it could be stubbornness. But I’m going to go with will. Had someone just bought them for me, they would likely have been neglected and forgotten, as were so many other toys. The value of something, be it an object or an accomplishment, is directly related to the effort and sacrifice they required in achieving them, at least that’s what I’ve come to believe.
Things get more complicated as you go through life, and getting what you want requires more than just making it through one particularly unpleasant day. My parents studied at the school of instant gratification, and never had the resolve to endure a job they didn’t like, or sacrifice something they wanted that moment in order to save money for the future. Perhaps if I’d had better role models, I wouldn’t have had to learn the hard way. Maybe I would have had to learn it on my own regardless. At any rate, I have learned it. After working so hard to get through high school and college, I fell prey to the path of least resistance, not knowing or caring what the long term consequences would be. I quit jobs impulsively when angry, bored, or frustrated which often left me lost and desperate and forced to take the next crappy job that came along, only perpetuating the same cycle. I spent money I didn’t have, using credit cards to buy things I wanted, or thought I needed, with money I didn’t have. Now, a decade later, I am paying the consequences. I am now enduring a job I don’t particularly like in order to move into a position I hope to find more fulfilling further down the line. I put up with daily frustrations and irritations because I see that jumping ship is not the answer. I think very hard about the money I spend and what I spend it on, because I now have to use so much of my income to pay for the debt I accumulated in the carelessness and shortsightedness of prior years. I appreciate now how hard money is to come by, and take opportunities to make more wherever I can find them in order to get on level ground again. Only when I’ve atoned for the mistakes of the past can I be rewarded with the luxuries I desire in the future such as a house with a backyard, and my own agility equipment.
Its taken lots of trial and error to finally realize that it may take years of doing something you don’t really like or want to do in order to ultimately get the prize you seek. Winning the battle requires patience, endurance, and a commitment to that goal which will not be denied. Somewhere along the way, in trying to decide WHAT I wanted and WHERE I should direct my energy, I lost touch with the power of that nine year old girl’s determination. It’s always been there, and surfaced here and there for various reasons, but only now do I really appreciate it. I think that finally having goals, discovering my talents, and realizing a vision for what my life can be if I am willing to work for it, I am beginning to see that little girl’s will power emerging once again.
I needed the power of a kindred spirit to help me see what is possible if you are willing to endure. Funny that he was there on that day over twenty years ago, but we both had many lessons to learn and mistakes to make before we could become the people we are today. We still have many lessons to learn, but the difference now is that we have a direction and a reason for trying. Each day remains a struggle between what would be most gratifying in this moment and what we are ultimately striving towards. The key is to remember that all things worth having require you to resist what is easy, or fun, or satisfying right now in order to achieve that long term gratification. This takes effort and focus in every moment of every day. Chances are, not every battle will be won, but it’s a long war. Luckily, when I know what I want, there is usually no stopping me.
Hopefully there won’t be too much vomit along the way.
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