A late night conversation, just between the two of us, not realizing how it would forever be tucked away in my mind, resurfacing over and over again, never forgotten.
The things we had in common; this was the topic. Unaware of how it began, I remember the intimacy of our exclusive conversation.
A restaurant, my first Sangria, and an enduring exchange of thoughts about our similarities.
Discovering we both stepped over cracks based on the old saying, “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.” My father questioned his motives, since he had no reason not to want to break his mother’s back. A habit, once started at a young age, which is hard to break; we decided.
We both watched rain drops race down windows, especially in the car, as entertainment on a rainy day. A way to pass the time, contemplating, and betting on which one would win.
In deep conversation, connecting on a personal level, a father remembering being a boy with his young daughter. I know there was one more thing we discussed that evening, but for the life of me, it won’t resurface and reveal itself. Forever dissolved into my mind’s abyss.
Then there was the moment I discovered a picture (the one above) that revealed my father, just like me, had the same freckle in the middle of his nose as a young boy. A relief to a little girl who felt awkward due to this dark mark, smack dab, in the middle of her nose. A physical parallel between my father and I that created a symbolic bond between us. We were both delighted to discover such a similarity, something he had never focused on the same way I had. A mark he had forgotten about. Ironically his name was Mark, something that just passed through my mind as I write this.
A mark that I eventually erased, through determination and perseverance. Something, even after discovering the significance it had between my father and I, that made me uncontrollably self-conscious. A teenage girl wanting to blend in, be attractive, and have a pretty face. It felt, to me, like an immortal pimple that must be removed.
My inherent willpower enabled me to erase this awkward, in my teenage mind, mark that had connected us; another unyielding trait from my father. The mark was physical, but the determination is part of my immortal soul. So is the kindness, compassion, and ability to be ever changing as life’s experiences transform me into a new person, continuously, day by day.
He and I believed lives can be a work in progress, we are never stagnant. Growing with each new experience, physical, emotional, and social. Open minds, willing to consider the possibilities and realizing we, just as all things, can improve upon what we were yesterday or last year. Taking on challenges as if they are tests to our tenacity, allowing us opportunities to learn more of what we are capable of. The privilege to awaken our minds to the uncultivated perceptions that only experience and receptive consideration can unveil. A dynamic work in progress!