The Lesson

11/2006

Sometimes, I get paid to write. Honest to God. It’s a miracle. Anyone who knows me, knows I’m not that funny, plus I’ve got plenty of mail to prove it.

In fact, when I was in kindergarten, I was considered a serious somber child. My teacher told my mother I should “stop thinking so much.” Those were her actual words. I don’t know about you, but I always believed school and “thinking” went hand in hand. And, call me a fool, but aren’t teachers supposed to appreciate brain activity?

Apparently, some do not. So here I am today, all grown up and giggly and writing about boyfriends. My kindergarten teacher would be proud. Oprah does a column called, “What I Know for Sure.” Here’s my version of her column in one sentence: I swear, if your boyfriend says, “You’re too good for me,” he’s right.

Please don’t despair at my disdain. I’m not talking about MY boyfriend. It’s raining. Cut me some slack. I’m, god forbid, THINKING. I’ve been thinking for hours, in fact. Days. Weeks. Years. Remember, I was serious child…back before my mother and teacher conspired to take me to every happy breezy event under the sun.

One of my favorite James Taylor songs comes to mind. A portion of the lyrics read:

Hold tight to your heart’s desire.

Never let it go.

Let nobody fool you into givin’ it up too soon.

Tend your own fire.

Lay low and be strong.

Wait a while…

Wait it on out…it’ll come along.

So I’m having a moment. Indulge me. I promise you, there’s a wacky story right around the corner.