'it's not a functional shape for a boat.' i argued as he encouraged me to help him put it in the water. 'its fine, it's fine...you'll see. just help!' i felt frustrated because i knew how much work he had invested in his project and as i looked at the rough shore break and then down at the miniature boat (which was really no more than a wooden shoe box) i felt certain it would take on water almost instantly, tip over and sink like a rock. 'c'mon,' i pleaded, 'let's just tie a string to it so you don't lose it if the worst happens- we at least can haul it back'. 'I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT ANYMORE. I JUST WANT YOUR HELP!' the old man was shaking now and i could see it it was almost impossible for him to bend down to the water. it was worse for him to be questioned than to make an adjustment. 'alright, alright, calm down. of course i'll help you. i just want your boat to come back to you, that's all', i said as i easily picked up the box and moved to the water's edge. his cane was sinking into the wet sand and he was starting to lean like the tower of pizza. even though i worried about him tipping over, i held my tongue. i figured the sand was at least soft enough that he wouldn't break his hip if he fell. as i got closer to the water his eyes started to shine and he waved his hand in a jerky manner like a marionette. 'go on, put it in!' he pressed. i reached down and tried to place the box over the rough waves with a helpful little thrust. almost instantly it filled with water and was dragged out by a long receding wave. i tried to run after it, but the next set of waves was bigger still and it was no use. i was filled with disappointment. when i looked back to the shore the old man was already moving away from the water toward the car. he was swearing off ever making any more effort to accomplish anything ever again. i stood and watched him struggle against the sand and i felt angry at his pig-headed ways and vowed i would never be like him no matter how old i got. i waited for him to reach the tarmac of the parking lot before i started back myself. the box had washed back onto the shore near my feet. i left it there.
i drove him back to his house and did not once try to break his angry silence.
5 Comments:
Boy, does that one ever map straight onto my life. Is it a metaphor for some of your trials also? The kind of situation that starts to eat into your brain in idle moments; though it happened decades ago.
As the years have gone by, I've made a conscious effort to minimize the energy I expend trying to 'save' people from themselves (big personal challenge dislodging that self-aggrandizing Superwoman stick from my ass!). At this point the real life the balance I've reached is that I will sometimes (sometimes not...) speak a truth as I see it and then let people do what they do (fully aware that this is a very noble and generous stance...).
I think the dream reflects me practicing healthy behavior in my sleep.
Good girl!
;)
Interesting! Yes, it's good girl, and good boy, behavior. But I was still stuck on the part where I, alas, was unable to save them. Shouldn't be hard for you to see that in my blog. :-) Alas, I HAVE saved morons from themselves sometimes. Bad reinforcement!
Yeah, you can always walk someone away from the cliff and feel like a hero in that moment but you have no actual effect on their inner desire to return.
True story.
Or their inner moron. Alas. :-)
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