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“Judi, please hold still or I’ll never be able to make your
chignon."
Squirming restlessly, I cry out, “I can’t help it, Mommy,
I’m so excited!"
With a mouth full of bobbie pins, my mother patiently
completes my “holiday hairdo." Kneeling beside me, she hugs me tightly and
affectionately smiles at the little girl in the looking glass.
“Who’s that beautiful princess I see in the mirror?" she
playfully asks.
Clapping my hands in delight, I reply with a giggle, “It’s
me, silly Mommy! You made me the
beautiful princess!"
“Well then what are we waiting for, your Highness? Let’s all
go to Grandma’s — it’s Thanksgiving!"
It was 1964 and, oh, how I loved the holidays. My stomach
was already grumbling with hunger as my brothers and I pile into the back seat
of my parent’s ’57 Chrysler Desoto. I close my eyes and silently count each
minute until we reach our destination. Grandma always cooks a scrumptious feast
that keeps the entire family at the dinner table for hours amidst good
conversation and hearty laughter. I couldn’t wait to get there.
Finally in my grandparent’s driveway, I scream with joy as I
instantly sight my grandfather. No longer able to contain my excitement, I
imperiously leap over my two brothers from the bulky back seat of the Desoto.
Running straight toward my grandfather’s open arms, I am abruptly pushed to the
ground as my Aunt Conchita angrily barrels past me.
Without looking back, she yells at my grandmother, “Camella,
I told you I never want to see that
woman again and here you try to trick me. I will never forgive her for what
she’s done to me — never!"
Coyly, my grandma begs, “Conchita, please, honey — she’s
your sister; she’s our sister. Enough is enough. Please come back in the
house."
Now, all eyes, including mine, are focused on these two
women as our heads move back and forth like ping pong balls.
“No, Camella, no! You of all people should know better! I
will never forgive Juana, never!"
“Conchita, please, it’s Thanksgiving. Plea—“
All of a sudden, and as if on cue, Aunt Juana walks up the
front walk buried behind a large pile of bakery boxes. Although Aunt Conchita
is my favorite aunt, her temper is dreadful and I become nervous.
Oblivious to everyone around her, Aunt Juana is trembling
and nervously greets her sister with a tender embrace.
“Oh, Conchita, I’ve been looking forward to today for
months. It’s been too long — twenty years? I’ve missed you so much. Come, dear,
let’s go inside."
Red faced and full of rage, Aunt Conchita pulls herself free
from her sister and angrily proceeds toward her car without saying a word.
Insistent for a perfect day, I break away from my
grandfather’s protective arms and run towards my Aunt Conchita.
“Aunt Conchita, wait up, please."
Softened by the sound of my voice, she impulsively turns
around and waits for me.
“What, my precious Judita," she quietly asks.
Frustrated, and filled with tears, I impulsively blurt out,
“You can’t leave. Stay! It’s Thanksgiving and everyone is here."
“Darling, I can’t stay."
“Why? What happened to make you so mad at Aunt Juana?"
“You’re too young to understand, Judita."
“You and I are the closest in the whole world; I will understand."
My aunt’s eyes fill with tears as she blankly stares above
me toward my grandmother’s house. For a moment, she seems to be lost in time
and does not respond to any of my inquisitive questions.
I patiently wait as my Aunt begins to cry.
Finally, she picks me up and somberly says, “Judita, I
honestly don’t remember why I’ve been so angry at your Aunt. I think but I
can’t remember what happened. To think I’ve spent twenty years being angry at
someone I love so much. Your Aunt Conchita is a darn fool, that’s what she is."
I tightly hug my Aunt’s neck and kiss her.
“Does that mean you’ll forgive her and stay?"
Burying her face in my chest, she wails, “Yes, my little
one, yes. You’re Aunt is not going to be a fool any longer! Judita, promise me
one thing."
Gently putting me down, she squats and looks directly at me.
“What, Aunt Conchita?"
“Promise you never get so mad at someone that you can’t say
you’re sorry even if you don’t understand why. Pride, my Judita, is the most
damaging of all traits."
***
As with my Aunt Conchita, many relationships have been
unnecessarily damaged due to the insidious double edge sword of pride.
Contrary to Jenny’s quote in Erich Segal’s 1960s best selling novel, Love
Story, love does mean having to say you are sorry…
…over and over and over again.
Pride, on the other hand, is essentially an isolating form
of self-worship usually manifested by an arrogant bearing and a disregard of
the worth of others.
Father God, for those of us who are willing, teach us your way, Lord, not ours. Help us to “get over ourselves" and echo the words
“I’m sorry" more often to those we love and to those we know. ©2008 Judi Lake. All Rights Reserved Worldwide. |
