“The world can really kick your ass. I only have a VAGUE recollection of when it wasn’t kickin’ mine.”
Sometimes as a small business owner (and a school at that) I feel like a punching bag for the universe - one of those blow up punching bags that have a clown on them and a weighted bottom. When you punch it and it falls over but pops right back up so you can punch it again. Some days I’d like to let the sand out so I could stay down, but I can't. The whole getting back up thing has always been a big deal in my family.
And yet, some days the ground is so very comfortable. It would be so nice just to lay here. Getting back up seems really complicated. And if I’m just going to get knocked down, wouldn't it just be easier to stay down and save some energy?
All good points, the ground feels mighty nice…
While both sets of grandmothers talked about the importance of getting back when you get knocked down, my paternal grandmother (MaMa) drove the point home for me rather unexpectedly.one afternoon.
My high school lacrosse team had the NJ semifinals game in Montclair one afternoon. Their stadium was closed so we played in a park. The field was sort of roped off but it didn’t do much. The crowd was seven or eight deep of some fired up people - very few of whom seemed to be rooting for us. It felt like we were playing inside a mosh pit - a pit that bordered on out of control at that.
At some point in the second half I got lit up and went over the rope and into the crowd. I heard voices, felt spit, and knew my jaw was out of whack. My vision was a tad blurry as I opened my eyes but I could make out a knot of angry dudes taunting me. However, as my eyes focused there I saw my grandfather (BaBa) had carved out space (he was the wrong one to fuck with so a space opened quickly). In the haze between concussed and sunset I found MaMa kneeling down giving me a bemused smile.
MaMa was not one to mess with or annoy. Also she didn’t come to many games so it was a big deal when she was there. I was confused as to why MaMa was suddenly kneeling next to me. Before I could ask, she reached under my helmet and in one gentle snap, reset my jaw. With her hands still gently holding my jaw, MaMa came closer to my helmet, looked me in the eyes. Her smile took on more seriousness. With gentle seriousness she reminded me, “We. Do not. Stay down.” And you do not argue with MaMa. I nodded and returned her smile. BaBa hoisted me up and dropped me over the rope and back on the field.
We never again spoke of that moment, but I hear words whenever things goes really sideways. Suffice to say I hear MaMa’s words in my head on a pretty frequent basis. In graduate school when I found myself tangled in a forest of weeds… “We. Do not. Stay down.” And now as I try to keep school going, the shadows that fill my lack of sleep echo … “We. Do not. Stay down.”
Maybe I'm too stupid to stay down. After a brief wallow in my misery, the voice returns and muscle memory takes over. Somehow I get my legs under me and stand up once again. So almost 40 years after her reminder and even though she’s been gone for some time, I still heed MaMa’s words. After all, it’s still a good idea not to get on her bad side. “We. Do not. Stay down.”