Recently, I was talking with one of my friends about childhood experiences. I won't go into any detail because I, better than most, respect the dignity of privacy especially concerning family issues. The general gist is that my friend considered it to be nothing short of a miracle that her and her siblings not only survived their childhood but actually managed to turn into stable and flourishing adults. Hearing some of the stories about her and how she raised her younger sisters, I am just as amazed as she is and applaud the strength to rise above turmoil.
Even more fascinating for me is hearing the stories of the past and hearing about what each individual takes away from their unique life experiences. Seeing how these snapshots follow us through life and in turn, both leading us to curse and praise the activities that make up a specific timeline of our lives is interesting and eye opening work.
I had a conversation this weekend with another friend where I discussed spending a few years very closely linked with a bar. It was for a couple years during my childhood when my mom worked at a local Polish bar and hall. She rented out the hall and my family helped to clean it after weddings. Next to the hall there was a bar where I used to hang out while my mom showed the hall to perspective clients. While in the bar area, the bartender would keep me supplied with gingerales and cokes from the spray gun and old veterans (the bar was associated with the VFWs) would pull quarters out from under my ear and ask me general questions about grade school. They never considered it awkward and I was too young and innocent to think it was not typical.
I don't tell many people about this part of my life because quite frankly when you mention the words children and bar in the same sentence most immediately draw pictures of inadequate parenting or think that child services should've been informed of this in the late eighties/early nineties. It takes alot of time to really examine how my time spent there shaped me into the person that I am today and why some memories that would probably be rough to many are considered fond to myself. I also don't tell many people because usually I do not like to talk about myself or my feelings. Now don't let me confuse the issue, I love to talk and I adore joking around with others, but normally I hate to dig below the surface when it comes to me.
I once had a friend tell me that she would get off the phone with me (our conversations would typically last 30-40mins) feeling that she told so much about herself and would hit the end button of her cell hearing the bare minimum about me or the day I had. I never saw a problem with that. In fact, I preferred it that way. The ironic thing is that the one time I needed her the most was the time she was not available. She said, perhaps not really sensing my urgency, that she would give me a call back after dinner. I am still waiting for that phone call. But maybe she is at one of those places that serves multiple courses, and is open 24/7. A trendy postmodern restaurant where patrons can sit for hours, days, or even weeks without being pushed out of the doors. I am still waiting, perhaps she is still dining?
Although, I guess that it really does not matter now since that emotional vulnerability window has long since closed and we would just be once again back to me listening and asking the questions to defer from myself. Maybe if she would've called me back that night, or even the next day, I would've told her about the back bar days of my childhood? I guess we'll both never know. But all in all, I am cool with that. Because the bartender is always cool with the situation. As Joan Didion phrased it "one cool customer." I shall discuss the bartenders coolness in tomorrow's post...
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