Quand Je Avais 12 Ans

Would you agree that most of us would say of the time we were 12, that if if there were a film of our lives that section would be heavily edited out? At best, it would be the first on the list of "deleted scenes" never to be remembered because of how painfully that age represented the height of awkwardness, insecurity and overall physical and emotional horribleness....!

No Bueno.

When I was 12,  do I remember not feeling so confident?  For sure... Did I not fit in with the cool groups?  Correct, I did not.  Did I wonder what others thought?  Yes, and I didn't probably take compliments well as I didn't know it was ok to accept them without seeming egoistic.  I was on the smaller side of humanness and do remember being self conscious.  But, I gotta say, despite all that stereotypical drama and fuss,  I loved that time.  I am probably out of my mind, and yet I do remember those years very fondly.

They were so defining to me, they brought such clarity...  

When I was 12, I remember clearly so much of that time frame.  I felt like I soaked in everything, I watched people, I watched what I didn't like and I watched what I did... I began to identify with those differences.  Those experiences and interactions of Jr. High totally helped shape very quickly who I thought I was, and who I might want to become.

When I was 12, I remember really clearly defining what pretty was.... like creating my own Webster's definition of the term.  What defined pretty wasn't words, but names, names of girls.  Girls who I admired, looked up to, thought were so smart and so grown up.  I remember for the first time in my life realizing that some girls were pretty, but I didn't like them and all of a sudden they weren't as pretty any more.  Others, that seemed more plain, less talked about by my friends, became more pretty as I got to see them on the inside and how they acted and carried themselves.  Funny how that worked.... I didnt' understand why, but it went like that for me.... did it for you?

When I was 12, I started to figure out why I liked certain people for the first time other than liking them because my parents did.  It was an extraordinary time to have these awakenings and early insights.  I watched what people did, I listened to what they said, I soaked in a lot without knowing I was doing that.  I then found myself thinking a lot about why people did the things they did.

When I was 12, I didn't know it, but I needed this rich diversity of cultures and nationalities to help me define who I wanted to be. Intetersting I needed to see a lot of what I didn't want to be as much as what I did want to be in others.....  I couldn't have done it without them or those experiences.

When I was 12, I had no idea if anyone would notice, or remember me.  Everything I did was about getting noticed each day, at each party, in each conversation, during each class, with each love note written, ... it was more about a series of living in moments than laying down tracks for the future.  No one thought about that, at least I didn't.  The longest I thought about the future was maybe several weeks, maybe a couple of months at best.  Everything was about "now"!  Maybe that is why it is still such a vibrant memory for me to this day..... Each day was like a mini-liftetime because each day was "it".

When I was 12, I did hate leaving my friends.  I felt their loss when they moved away.  It was intense.  I sincerely thought I would never see them ever again.  The way we lived overseas made sure of that.... it was an age before technology and social media knew how to fill those gaps.  The inevitability and permanent probability of never seeing good friends again caused a lot of ache inside despite the continual reocurrence this cycle had in my life.  It really never got better, I think I just became more numb.... but it did cause those moments to be super tight -- meaning, I squeezed the most out the ones I was dealt.  This made a difference later.... that investment paid great dividends later.... much later!!

When I was not 12 anymore,  I started finding people and they started finding me...  Can I possibly explain how important that was for me?  Probably not very well....    What has been so beautiful is that many that I thought I didn't want to be like, surprised me!  Others, were the opposite.  So interesting to see how all these lives unfolded like long roots flowing out from that center place of being 12 all together.  To see the different directions their choices had led them was fascinating.  What was the best of all is that almost in every case, each friend was still the same... they were still that 12 year old kid at the end of the day.   There was the instant familiarity, the feeling of knowing, the sense of community and immediate understanding and empathy causing an euphoria of emotion and joy.   Despite the stark differences that had taken place, there was that beautiful balm of universal understanding and feeling of "remembering who we were" in an instant!

When I am 112, I will still look back and find the times when you and I were 12 to be some of the most important in all my life.  Yes, they were awkward and painful.... But I wouldn't trade them.

Thank you for being 12 with me then and staying 12 now and hopefully remaining 12 forever.  Can you do that?  Your fingerprints are all over me, your influence lingers, and I could never have become me without you being 12.

S'il vous plaît restez 12 ans pour toujours....!

Sounds of The Night Vendors

I wish I could explain what it was like..... to be 8 years old and living the first few days and weeks in Jakarta, Indonesia.  It would be impossible to describe the color, the smells, the humidity, the heat and the dirt.....the kaleidoscope of a fascinating culture.

To go out into the street I could inhale so many things in the air there.  To hear the early morning and late afternoon islam prayers being broadcast from the local mosques.  To see the the stunning colorfully painted sunsets......It was incredible to experience all of one's senses at once.

We had just moved there from VA.  So the immediate difference in life was stark!  The first couple of nights were so eerie... I remember having jet lag which meant every night I was wide awake at 2am with only my thoughts about this new interesting land and my ears hearing sounds I had never heard before.....or ever since.  They came like haunting calls in breaking the silence of the night.....

"Sapooooo!" "Sapoooo!"  

A voice called out in the black night....  this was the first of many....These were the sounds of the night vendors.  The first few nights these guys freaked me out and I ran to my parents room waking them up only for them to explain to me that these were people out in the street trying to sell something to make a living.   What a foreign idea....Why would they be out so late and yelling out loud??  Who would buy something in the middle of the night.  It didn't make sense.... but in time it would.

Once I knew I didn't have to be afraid of them I began to to catalog the different sounds and sometimes I would try and sneak a peek out the window to see what type of vendor they were as they passed by hurriedly.... to see what were they selling.   "Sapooo!" was the call of the sweep and broom vendor.  There was the cobbler, the butcher on the bicycle, the medicine woman, the knife sharpener, the myriad of food vendors (Satay guy was amazing!), the basket man, the metal clanging guy who I never figured out what he did.... All of these amazing people out in the street late at night walking often barefoot with a bamboo pole slung across their shoulders with their wares hanging on each side creating perfect balance.  Because of the weight and the flex in the bamboo they would almost do a dance-walk, very rhythmic and bouncy as they pitter pattered down the streets.   They would yell out while walking letting the neighborhood know that they were out....to give enough early warning to the neighborhood so they had time to run out and flag them down if needed before they passed by.

As I became more of a night owl even in my young years, I came to look forward to nighttime in Jakarta,  because I knew that when everything else became silent, the night vendors would be there, their calls often haunting and lonely, but to me they became comforting and soothing.

"What a solitary existence....I wondered...." 

Wandering the streets hoping their longing call would trigger a sale.  I would hear them while in bed, waiting to see how many seconds would pass in between their calls.  I wondered what it might be like to do what they did, to live as they did...... I fantasized about being one of them, walking in the night, never cold, being so happy when someone stopped me to buy something and then thinking I might eat that day.  I wondered at times if they were sad or if they even knew what that meant.  Just because I thought they were poor and destitute maybe they weren't... maybe they were quite happy.  They seemed to be able to walk all day and all night with the same energy and pace....not prone to slowing down.  They would carry their sarongs around  one shoulder and then when it came time to sleep, which could be anywhere, they would wrap themselves in it like a poor man's sleeping bag and catch a bit of sleep and probably dream of roads not yet traveled hoping for a life of more ease.....and better food.

Did we partake?  Oh yes... my parents were big fans. They would flag as many down as they could week to week.  There was nothing more fun than to run down and then watch each one do the bargain, do the pitch, start high on the price and then inevitably come down with the art of the bargain.... The cobbler was my favorite.  He came for 5 years and he seemed to never age but I think he was 100 when we started.  He would come up to our driveway and set up his little shop.  It was incredible what he had inside each of those two hanging baskets..  He had an iron anvil shoe horn, tools, leathers, glues and all kinds of doo dads.  We would bring out a dozen pair of shoes (six kids...) each time even if some of them weren't so bad....  I would sit there and just watch him work.  It was hypnotic and I was in awe of his skills.  So adept and supple with his hands.  Measuring, selecting the right leather, tracing it, cutting it and then gluing or nailing little rivets into the soles.  It was fascinating and my memory is so clear of it even today.  The smell of the glue and leather.  His silent toothless smile.  We paid him a bit more which my parents always did....not too much, but more....

I can look back now and honestly say these were profound moments of life for me.  I realized later that it was an honor to see a man live off of his own hands and efforts and to take such pride in his work.  I learned then that it doesn't matter what our work is.  We might be a dentist, a lawyer, or a ticket taker at a concert....what matters is how we carry ourselves and if we do it with our best effort and to be fair in what we are paid for.  I feel God reveres this old man who had nothing but the shirt on his back and the roll of a few coins hidden in his sarong for some rice and tea.  Each vendor was the same, the meat grinder, the broom guy, the lady selling medicine etc....  They weren't looking to be saved or subsidized... they wanted a fair price for their best.  They probably wouldn't have taken more than what was fair.

Do you still know people like that?  Are you like that?  Am I.....?  do I bring my best everyday?  Am I honorable at the end of each day as I look back on each interaction and effort I expended?

It has definitely caused me to reflect on my own approach to my work.  I think I can do better....

So, when the night comes now.... I don't hear those sounds any more... I miss them terribly.  Nothing would make me happier for slumber than to hear outside of my very developed HOA community, the call of a new night vendor... Man, that would put things into perspective again.

I cherish those familiar calls.. they linger long in my memory.  They continue to live and breathe each time I remember....

I won't forget their beautiful sound, and I won't forget what they have taught me...