fortune.

so, neighbors,
about thirty years ago, give or take,
cabbage patch kids dolls were the new hottness over here.
mmhmm.
that's real.
my sisters had 'em,
so did every girl in the whole town.
it was as is, overnight, if your daughter didn't have one,
you were a sh!t parent, and that child would grow up a failure
due to your doll-related inattention.
that's a hard style.
guys,
y'know what else is a hard style?
i had the biggest batch of cabbage patch envy a little boy could ever grow.
i dunno what it was about 'em,
but i wanted my own little baby cabbagey doll,
with the name tattoo on it's butt.
thing is,
i couldn't bring myself to ask for one.
i mean,
i was embarrassed, and inexplicably genuinely afraid
of what would happen if i spoke up about wanting a baby doll.
i even used to 'babysit' the girls in my fourth grade class's c.p.k's,
which was really just holding them while they went and got
their gross hot lunch tray of reddish blops and runny pudding...
damn, duders.
even now, i can clearly remember worrying about what my folks might say.
like, i thought they'd be mad or something.
in retrospect, i suppose i was projecting my own fear forward onto them.
the true story is- i would've LOVED to have one,
but i let my own wearying worries prevent even the request from escaping my lips.
eventually, something new took over as the must have childhood treat,
but i didn't forget that feeling i had, of missing out, and not deserving,
and of something maybe being wrong with me.
nowadays,
i'm sure there's something wrong with me,
but it's absolutely not a confusion about gender-roles or parental inaccessibility.
i sincerely hope my own kids will find me a person
they can talk to about what's up in their world,
and that they don't have to be embarrassed about the things they like.
secrets just seem dumb when you're a truth-teller.
after all, if you have to keep something a secret,
and it isn't a surprise party or an XI-mas present,
then maybe don't do that thing?
loud fresh hardness is an out-in-the-open sort of way of doo-dooing that freaky sh!t.
and THAT'S no joke.
*
i told my kids that story.
trying to relay that it isn't always easy being honest,
and i know the feeling from firsthand experience....
i dunno, friends.
embarrassment due to envy may be my least favorite feeling.
there's a happy ending, here, though, folks.
yesterday, at the post office,
i got this:

c'mon!
amber heard me telling the girls about how, back then,
my friend ben fisher's parents got him a newborn premie baldy baby patch kid,
and how he was subsequently the only boy who could hang
out at recess with the whole crew of doll-carrying girls,
and i was the most jealous i'd ever been up until that point.
she reallllllly listened, y'all.
and i guess it plucked at a heartstring to hear about the battle-beastliest bronad
barbarian being cutesy and sad about a stuffed toy...
i'll bet that anything that makes me seem like less of an A*-hole
must be something to hold onto when i'm being an A*-hole, maybe?.
the thing is,
she acted with genuine intent,
which is the even-better step that follows true paying attention-
and now, three decades later, i've got my very own.
to say i'm touched would be underselling it a whole lot.
i'm lucky,
and i'm grateful,
and i've got the exact opposite feeling from the first draft of this story.
i'm fortunate for the people who truly participate in my life,
and i know it;
never quiet, never soft.....