Growing Popcorn

 When I was around eight years old, I learned about the process plants go through when they grow from a seed. I did little experiments to see how they grew under different conditions. I placed seeds in clear containers... some with just wet paper towels, some with rocks, some with sand, some in nothing but water, and some with soil. I was able to watch the growth process and learned hands on what worked and made a plant grow. I was fascinated with seeing the seeds break open and watching the roots come out and begin to stretch themselves out and take hold. Of course, some of them only grew to a certain point. The ones that I placed on wet paper towels opened and branched out, but not having soil to expand into, they died. But not before I got a really good look at the beginning of the growth process. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

My mom had a garden in the back yard and I started helping her tend to it. I learned to spot weeds, when it needed watering and so on. I decided to plant something of my own. I didn’t have any seeds or seedlings from my experiments left, so I decided to ask my mom for some seeds. I didn’t care what they were, I just wanted to make something grow. She promised that the next trip into town, we would pick me up some flower seeds that I could plant along the front walk leading to our front door. I didn’t have much in the way of patience back then. I didn’t want to wait a few days... Then I thought of it! Every week, we had family movie night and we made popcorn to go with it! SEEDS!! I asked my mom if they would grow and she said she didn’t think so, but we could find out. She pulled the big bag of popcorn kernels out of the freezer and gave me a handful.

Feeling victorious, I ran outside, grabbed a trowel and the watering can and got my hands in the dirt. I was going to make something grow! In my mind, we would have popcorn for life! I carefully planted the seeds along the walkway and gave them a nice dousing of water. I knew it would be a few days before they pushed their way through the soil, so I went out and checked them each morning. Finally, they sprouted! I ran and got my mom and showed her, she smiled broadly and said I’d done a good job. I was so very proud and began planning my future as a farmer.

A few days went by and I walked out to see my crop, and found that the plants had been cut back! I called my mom out to the front yard and said something had happened to my plants. She looked at them and pointed out that they were still alive and growing. I asked her what happened to them, and she told me that my dad probably cut them, not knowing what they were. I realized that we hadn’t told him about my project, so I would have to let him know.

Then I forgot to tell him. A few more days later, I woke up to the faint sound of the lawnmower running. MY POPCORN!! I jumped out of bed and ran outside just in time to see my dad run over my crop... and he was going for the gusto! He ran back and forth over them and he looked determined and downright vindictive about it. I literally screamed on horror! “DADDY STOP!!”

He looked up at me in surprise and turned off the mower. In tears, I ran down the steps and over to where he stood and fell to my knees and ran my hands over my butchered plants. My father’s surprise dissolved into confusion and concern.

“What’s wrong babygirl?” he asked.

I tearfully answered, “You killed my popcorn!”.

“What?”

“You ran over my popcorn plants with the mower!” I pointed to where they were planted.

“Popcorn? I’m sorry babygirl! I thought they were weeds!” I looked up at him and saw pure guilt on his face. He was mortified. “I didn’t know. I never would have run over them if I’d known.” He knelt down next to me and looked at the mutilated plants. “I’m so sorry.” He hugged me and wiped the tears off my face.

“I forgot to tell you,” I sniffled. He hugged me again and offered to buy me some flower seeds to plant along the walk and assured me that he wouldn’t harm them in any way. I planted marigolds and zinnias, and I planted more popcorn in my mom’s garden... Those were the first and last plants I would ever grow successfully. I have the proverbial black thumb. I can’t even keep a cactus alive. I had one for two weeks and it died. I even tell people not to give me plants because it’s not fair to the innocent plant.

Many years later, I would be diagnosed with my mental disorders. It was something else I didn’t tell my dad. I didn’t tell my mom either. Not right away. I had gotten into the habit of only telling them what they wanted to hear. Since I didn’t understand my disorders, I didn’t talk about them. As I discovered who I am, both in the realm of my mental illness and outside of it, it got harder to tell them what was going on with me. Since I didn’t tell them how much I had fallen apart, they didn’t know what not to say or do as I was going through the painstaking process of putting myself back together. They said a lot of wrong things, completely not knowing that it was hurtful and even set me back in my recovery. The more they hurt me, the more that I kept from them. I was literally fighting for my life, and they didn’t know it. My point, and I do have one, is that you can’t expect people to know the things that you don’t tell them. In the years since, I have tried to tell them more about who I am, and my relationship with them is a struggle towards open communication, but there is so much they still don’t understand because I didn't opt to bring them along on my journey. As a result, they will always only have part of the picture.

People who care about you will say the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time and it is painful. But do they have all the information? I barely spoke to my parents for several years BECAUSE they didn’t have all the facts. When it comes to your recovery or anything important or life-changing, talk about it. There are people you love who are only working with small pieces of information, and don’t have the whole picture. The new flowers you are planting haven’t grown into something others fully recognize, and might look foreign to them. Tell your story. Advocate for yourself. Your path is your own, and it’s unique to you... so just don’t let anyone run over it with a lawnmower.

My Dad and Me

I was born a mama’s girl. My mom and I had always been close (for the most part). My Dad is another story. I always tried to establish that same connection with my dad. Don’t get me wrong. He loves me and we have a great relationship, but I was always reaching for the same kind of bond that I had with my mom. My dad taught me all kinds of things. When I was 8 years old, I asked him to show me how to play basketball, which is his favorite sport. He gladly took me to the basketball court several days a week after his morning jog. It didn’t take me long to learn the mechanics of shooting the ball, and dribbling took some work, but I got there too. He was so pleased with me, and I relished his praise. I have mentioned before that my parents were missionaries. For a couple of years we lived on the little island of Dominica. My father was a church planter... starting new churches was his specialty. There was a little village a couple of hours away from our home called Boetica. My mom, sister and I didn’t like making the trip there each week. It was hot, humid and a long ride. My dad was soon making the trips by himself. Over time, I started feeling bad about him going alone, so I volunteered to go with him sometimes. He was thrilled and I was getting my dad all to myself for a few hours. I didn’t like the trip, but I liked the company. One Sunday, my dad and I were invited to lunch after church by a church member and his family. My dad gladly accepted. My father, knowing what a picky eater I am, quietly told me that we would be guests in their home and refusing their food would be insulting and in poor taste (no pun intended). He told me to eat what was put in front of me without complaint. I said, “Okay” and braced myself for something like fish heads or something equally scary. When we sat down for the meal, I thought I was ready for anything. But what appeared on the table was beyond my imagination. There were tiny little fish, just a little bit bigger than a grain of rice, called titiwi... which means “tiny fish”. There were thousands of them... I could see their little tiny eyes, which looked like specks of black pepper...they looked like maggots with eyes. I took one look, turned to my father and said as quietly and firmly as I could, “DADDY! I AM NOT GOING TO EAT THAT!” My dad loves telling that story now. He thinks it’s hilarious. My memory of it isn’t laced with laughter however. I remember the look on his face...My dad gave me a look that I will never forget. It was a combination of embarrassment and anger. On the way home he chastised me for insulting our hosts, being a snob and an “ugly American”. I never went on another one of those trips with him again. He doesn’t remember that part. I was heartbroken that I had disappointed him and I figured the best way to keep that from happening again was to keep my distance. But it didn’t stop my craving to be close to him. I found myself hanging on my father’s every word, especially when he was talking directly to me. I harvested his wisdom every chance I got. I talk about my dad a lot when I am discussing my recovery, because those words that meant so much back then, have given me a new understanding of things now. This has led me to a realization... I had exactly the right relationship with my dad. It was how it was supposed to be. You see, if I’d had the tighter bond with him, like the one I had with my mother, I wouldn’t have hung on his every word. I wouldn’t have absorbed the wisdom and reason he bestowed on me. It would have just been words. On a few occasions my dad’s words have saved my life, some friendships and my sanity. My relationship with him is solid now. I take great pleasure in telling him how things he said to me in my youth, have shaped my present life. When I share my story of recovery, I mention him a lot, and always in a good way. My dad is the wisest man that I know. He taught me common sense, reason and to not be afraid to go for things that can make my life better. He is forever a peacemaker and jokester... but more than anything else, he is a great father. His father was absent from his life, so the only father he knew was God. I used to get so annoyed when he disciplined me by preaching to me. Now I know that he was leaning on the words of the only Father he knew. He didn’t have to be there for us. He could have walked out at any time. I can honestly say that even though he made mistakes with me, at no point did he set out to deliberately hurt me. Everything he did, right or wrong, was done with love and good intentions. He went above and beyond when it came to “dad duty”. He would babysit my dolls for me so I could go out and play. Sometimes I would come home to find them all lined up on the couch, watching tv or they would be tucked in for a nap. He taught me to ride my bike, how to play tennis, and spent countless hours at poolside throwing coins into the pool for me to dive for. He taught me life lessons as well... when I went through my first breakup, I was crushed and cried for days. Finally, my dad sat me down and said, “Look, you lived happily without him before, and you can live happily without him now.” That little morsel cut my mourning period over lost relationships way down. He also taught me that you can’t hold everyone in a death grip and expect them to stay. He used our parakeet as an example. When we wanted to take him out of his cage, if we just grabbed him, he’d fight like crazy to be free. But, if we just stuck our finger out and let him step onto it, he would happily stay there for a long time. Dad also said that “there is a fine line between hugging someone and suffocating them.” It took me a while to see how a lot of his words of wisdom applied to me in my life, but I am seeing it more and more as time goes by. My dad and I are pretty close now, and I still hang on to his words. Much more often than not, the man is giving us pearls. Everyone knows about the long term romance I had with suicide. It was my father’s words coming through that gave me a tiny bit of hope, and eventually led to my longevity in the recovery process. He simply said, what if you give up right before things get good? He’s right. Some people have their father's looks, or abilities. I got my father's longevity, humor, and hopefully his wisdom. He’s retired now, but he still casts the odd pearl when it is needed. And while he didn't always give me what I wanted, he definitely gave me what I needed. The best thing he ever told me? "Never let anyone treat you like you are anything less than a child of God".