Family

This weekend, I met family I had only heard about through stories from my mom, and my grandfather, and my aunts and uncles.  From the moment I met them...I loved them.  They were my family.  There were similarities in looks...in personalities...in joking...and you would never know we were meeting for the first time.

This weekend, I learned not to take anything for granted.  In all the years I lived in New York, I can never remember getting excited about going to "the falls"...because I took it for granted.  It was so accessible to me (an hour's drive)...it wasn't a big deal.  "Who cares...they're waterfalls...whoop-dee-doo." 

BUT...

One of my favorite moments this weekend (and there were a few) was gathering with my family, familar and new, and trudging through the ice, snow, and sub-zero temperatures to look at those beautiful waterfalls.  It's amazing how truly strong and powerful they are.  Some places were frozen solid, but those waterfalls were unrelenting.  You could see the mist from them as we walked...and at first, I wondered if it was the pollution from the power plants.  But, as we got closer, I could see the lights through the mist and I jumped up and down like a little girl and said "it's the falls" and skipped (and slid) toward the metal railings and iced over binoculars so I could see this landmark that I never gave a second thought.  I felt like I was seeing them for the first time...I guess I was. 

My family is like Niagara Falls.  There for as long as I can remember...strong...powerful...and unfortunately, so accessible, I have taken them for granted.  One thing I have often marveled at is the way my family can still make me feel.  I feel like I'm 7 years old when we're all together...it's not a bad thing.  Some of my favorite memories come from times I've spent with them...as a group...and individually.  And, I have to admit, when I first saw them I felt that little lurch in my heart that made me want to go skipping (or sliding) toward them like they were the lights in the mist of one of the world's most beautiful natural wonders.

Because...to me...they are.

Dents Add Character

A few months ago, I was talking with a colleague about a new student I was going to get in my classroom.  I was concerned because she was known for her angry outbursts, and defiance, and I was even warned against trying to talk to her about ANYTHING.  So, in this conversation with my colleague, whose opinion I respect, she referred to this young lady as a "dented can."  It was not out of disrespect, nor was it out of dislike for this student whom she had never met.  She was simply stating a fact:  no one wants the dented can because you just don't know what you're going to get.

I have been thinking about the "dented can" metaphor ever since that conversation. 

The original hardwood floors of a hundred-year old house have dents and scratches from one end to the other.  The dents in that hardwood floor are said to add "character."  Each dent tells a story.  Fast forward to now...they actually engineer wood floors to make them look distressed...dented.  Why?  Because it adds character.  In my own home, we had Brazilian cherry floors laid on the first floor.  They were smooth...shiny...sleek...new.  Within the first two weeks of those floors being installed, my mother-in-law opened a cabinet and the saxophone statue on top of the cabinet came crashing onto the floor...it left a dent.  A couple weeks later, my husband was standing in the middle of the room looking up at a wall with a cup of coffee in his hand.  The next thing we knew, the cup broke away from the handle and fell to the floor...it left a dent.  At first, I was sick to my stomach because they weren't really dents...more like gouges in this beautiful pristine cherry floor.  But they have added character.  I could have the floor sanded, and restained, and while they wouldn't be as noticable, the dents would still exist.  I would know they were there, and I would know what caused them.

If dents in something inanimate add character, why are dents in people considered flaws?

We all start out as that pristine hardwood floor.  Undented.  The older we get, the more dented we become.  And those dents...no matter how deep or superficial...add character.

My name is Andrea, and I am a dented can.