The Unexpected

My grandmother, who is 85 years old, is quick to say that there isn't much that surprises her anymore.  She has lived through the Great Depression, an abusive first marriage and a less than satisfactory second.  She has also witnessed the mental breakdown of her eldest son, suffered through the drug addiction of the other two and then, the eventual overdose of the youngest.  These are the heartbreaking side roads of her journey, which might have caused most to stumble, fall and never recover, but yet, she has regained her strength and dignity time and time again and stepped back graciously onto the cobblestone road that has sometimes marked her voyage.

Not much surprises my grandmother, because she has in a few words, "seen it all".  I too, have seen much, but there are still surprises that stumble across my pathway every now and then.  For instance, I lived in New York City when terrorist devastated the lives of Americans all over the world on September 11th, infusing fear and distrust in so many.  I also lived in Chicago, IL and celebrated at the Hilton Hotel on Michigan Avenue when presidential candidate Barak Obama became the 44th president of the Free World, the first African-American president, and gave an acceptance speech to a crowd of hundreds of thousands, directly across the street at Grant Park.

On the other hand, there are things that should surprise me, but don't.  Namely, while driving down the street yesterday, I saw an individual sporting atop his head, what appeared to be a baby's diaper.  With a second glance, to affirm the ridiculousness of the situation, I was easily able to see what was indeed, a "grown man" of or around the age of 25, with a baby's diaper firmly placed over his head.  I should have been surprised, but I wasn't, because so many people are just dying for attention, no matter how it comes.

On the flip side, I was completely surprised when my grandmother visited with me last year and as always she had me to carry her off to the casino in nearby, Joliet.  There we were, passing through, when we spotted what appeared to be a makeshift dance floor, with a DJ.  Suddenly the song, Cupid Shuffle lit up the speakers and my grandmother, along with a small camp of a few young and several elderly white women, began to break into the familiar line dance that accompanies this song.  They had more rhythm than The Temptations.  It looked as though I was watching my cousins and aunties from back home, as I stood on the sideline in utter disbelief!  Thinking, "when did white girls learn to dance like that?!"  Even I didn't know how to do it, but after that day, I was determined to learn!

I say all this to say, it has come as a surprise, the individuals who have shed tears in response to my leaving and equally so, those who have not.  My girlfriend in Cali was the first known crier and even though we don't speak everyday and probably see each other every few years, she said that it saddened her, because she always thought of me as just a plane ride away.  Or, how about my girlfriend Mary, who said as only a true New Yorker can through snot and tears, "you're one fearless mother bleep".  And, I can't forget my mother, who's as hard as nails on the outside, but soft like crème fraiche on the inner; who decided to come to Chicago to surprise me on the day of my farewell party.  What a surprise it was to see her, my sister and my cousin, as they barged into my apartment, only hours before the party was to begin and at the end of our visit, my mother cried like a baby in my arms.


Tears and warm wishes have come from some of the least likely places.  On the first day of school, I was nervous to tell my old students that I would be leaving this year.  Afraid of how disappointed they would be.  Sure that they would cry or be angry or all of the above.  Upon walking into the cafeteria that morning, I was greeted with smiles and hugs and, "good morning Ms. Holmes."  As I reached the center of the cafeteria, a young man approached me, whom I had spoken to a million times last year, but whose name I did not know.  He said, "Ms. Holmes, I was looking at my schedule and I was wondering why I didn't see your name on it?"  I paused, took a deep breath and smiled.  "Well, I won't be your teacher, because I am going overseas to teach."  Before I could say another word, tears began to fall, he lowered his head and said to me, "I was hoping to be in your class this year".  


I...felt...like...a hill.  How could I do this to this boy who went out of his way to greet me with a genuine, "hello" each time he saw me?  A boy who said to me nearly everyday towards the end of school year, "I'm going to be in your class for 7th grade"!  A boy whose name I did not know, but yet and still, I think I had managed to make an impact and leave an impression.  I must have, because 7th grade boys didn't cry in he middle of the school cafeteria over teachers!  It was an oxymoron.  Anyway, we sat at a nearby table and through his tears, he began to tell me how much he enjoyed the summer reading I had assigned.  I sat there totally astonished by this exchange.  He talked, I held his hand and I listened.  Thinking, life is full of so many surprises; some good, some bad and some, totally unexpected.