Coming Clean

So, to provide some context to this entry, I’m in grad school. Lockheed Martin is a very cool company that will pay for you to further your education in the field you work. So, I’m getting a Master of Science degree in Applied Computer Science. It’s a neat program — I’ve learned a lot about working in embedded systems and realtime operating systems, but most of it is re-hash of undergrad. Eh.. anyways.. that’s not the point.

The point is, on going to class tonight, I saw him: the bad ass version of me.

He stood my height, had my dark brown hair, and didn’t wear the extra 20-25 pounds from settling down. He walked in even and confident stride down the side walk without a concern in the world except maybe the next beer he’d get and the next chick he’d lay. He had a glare in his eye that told you that, even if there is a hell and he goes in, he’ll climb himself out. In short, he was one mean arrogant son of a bitch.

I saw him, and he was romantic to me. Once upon a time, I wanted to be that guy, and he’s the furthest thing from what I’ve ever been.

It’s incredible to me just how completely I wanted at one time to be this kid in my head, and yet how utterly distant he is from me. And there’s a few reasons why I think I’m me and not him today.

#1 My parents didn’t let me decide who I was going to be. They helped to steer my interests and let me pursue my own interests that were healthy, but there were a definite road blocks down certain roads. I was not going to go down those roads no matter how much I wanted to. I was going to do and be what they said while I was living with them.

#2 The Grace of God. There is only so much a parent can do with a child anyways. If I was going to BE that guy, I’d BE that guy. But, for whatever reason — nature, conditioning, Grace, or (most likely) all of the above — I wasn’t going to BE that guy. Instead, God gave me to good parents who knew how to raise me, provide me authority, and who I equally respect, love, and fear. It astounds me when I talk to people from abusive and/or broken homes. I feel like I have so very little to offer them because I do not know the situation they are coming from. I reel in the confusion of why I got to be “lucky” and they didn’t. I wish I knew how to tell them that love is not parasitical, and that they too can shed this old life and find genuine love. I wish I knew how to tell them that people DO love them and care for them. And I wish I knew what it means for me to love them genuinely — to know how, when, and what to give but also realize when I’m being used and how to deal with it.

Wow, this post didn’t go ANYWHERE I thought it was going to go.