Of One of the Joys of My Job; I Found the Boot!

Hello My Dear One,

Every so often I get an opportunity at work to be a little more creative than usual.  Other times, I find myself canvassing the entire schoolyard, searching for a student's lost item.  This winter we had a lot of snow where I live, and consequently there were magnificent mounds of snow that were created whenever we needed to find our driveways and parking lots.  At school this meant that not only were there added places to play, there were added places to lose things.  So, Mr Hilton could often be found precariously walking through snow drifts on yet another rescue mission for a hat, mitten, scarf, toy, or even a boot.

Out of these experiences came one memorable search in particular, a search for a missing boot, lost by one of our students.  The following poem/rhyming story is the result of this event and despite its fantastical nature, the account is true.  I hope you enjoy my little tale.  Sometimes, a good chuckle is all one needs to remember the sweetness of how fortunate we are to have what we have.

And yes, I would love to publish this story with fantastic illustrations, soon!

I Found the Boot!

It happened one day at our school’s own playground

In the middle of winter with the snow all around

There was snow on my left, there was snow on my right

Everywhere that I looked there was snow in my sight  

There were drifts five feet deep,there were banks ten feet high

And the best one we had reached clear up to the sky

So there we all were, climbing up, sliding down

We were running and jumping and clowning around

We were laughing and shouting with joy unrepressed

On our mountain of snow that was truly the best

And that’s when it happened, that moment of change

When our friend broke the rules and then had to explain

That the side of the fence he was not to be on

Was the place that his boot had mysteriously gone!

It was true, it was true!  The boot disappeared

Right down through the snow it was no longer near

Then the boy and another one started to dig

But our wonderful mountain was simply too big

So, sad faced and worried our best teacher they told

She looked at them both, then to the snow that was cold

She looked at the mountain and then shook her head

And all of a sudden I was filled full of dread

Because now, our best teacher was looking at me

And I knew it was I who would have to go see

So up our great mountain, down over the fence,

I climbed and I hurried so the hunt could commence

But the snow was too soft, I teetered and wobbled

I felt my leg slipping and that’s when I bobbled

The snow soon gave way and I fell a long way

I was stuck in the snow like that boot on that day

So I struggled and fought as I pulled myself out

And I flopped down the mountain with a loud, silly shout

And I left our big mountain, the snow, and that boot

I left it all out there and did not give a hoot

So I told our best teacher that the boot it was gone

I just couldn’t find it in the snow on the lawn

She said that we’d wait for the mountain to melt

It was up to the sun now, was just what she felt

So we waited and waited and waited each day

But the mountain of snow just would not go away

As the months came and went we began to forget

All about that silly old boot in the snow that was wet

But then one special day when at last it was Spring

My heart lifted high like a bird on the wing

As I walked by the hill I was sure that I saw

Something foot-like and blue that had come from the thaw

There it was, there it was, sticking up through the snow

That boot it was there and I just had to go

So I ran and I jumped and I hopped to that place

With the biggest of smiles that would fit on my face

For I found the treasure that lay hidden so deep

Yes, I found the boot and it made my legs leap

And I skipped to the boot, grabbed it up and I ran

Through our playground and onward right past the trash can

And into the building I slowed to a walk

And I lowered my voice as I started to talk

“I found the boot!” were the words I declared

And everyone stood there and stammered and stared

And then with a rush each one started to cheer

“You did it!  You did it!  Please bring it right here!

And I did, yes I did, I brought the boot to the boy

And even our best teacher was filled up with joy

She said “You found the boot, and for that I am grateful,

I will always remember that day that was fateful.

Thank you for finding our friend’s missing thing,

And now let’s be thankful it’s finally Spring!”

I smiled and nodded, I beamed with such glee

For I found the boot, yes the finder was me!

Copyright 2014 Arin C. Hilton

One found boot!

Thanks for joining me on the journey to find important things.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari

Of Unhidden Easter Eggs and Unwanted Rabbit Holes

Hello My Dear One,

It was a hell of a Holy Week this year.  I found myself pulled as usual in multiple directions, Passover, Easter, the Bipolar I nightmare that is the month of April, excessively high blood glucose levels, and dealing with a school vacation that robs me of my routine as well as a week's worth of pay.  Spring has never done much for me, I love summer, but that's another story.

Anyway, as far as the Holy Week issues, I could have defaulted to my old standbys of religious discord as the basis for my current distress, however that would have been a lie.  This year I have been more at peace with who and where I am on my spiritual journey than I can ever remember.  I watched and listened as the Jewish and Christian holidays and traditions danced, dovetailed, and diverged as they always do.  I marveled at their relationship and my relationships with each of them.  In reality my problems with Holy Week have far more childish roots, or at least, reasons that are rooted in my childhood.

The angst I experience each year stems from what I didn't get to do as a child, what was not done for me, and how I leap down the rabbit holes of distortion over and over again.  Every year I perseverate on the missing elements of the holidays and the ones that I as an adult am now responsible for.  There is a deeply wounded place within myself that recoils at the jobs that are now mine.  And there is but one reason that underlies my petty unwillingness to participate in a manner befitting an almost 40 year old.



My parents never hid easter eggs for me.






It appears trivial in a way, never having been gifted with the opportunity to seek out plastic eggs filled with jellybeans, candy, or coins.   It seems silly, to be sad over children's holiday games that ultimately do not enhance the spiritual meaning of the religious tradition.  And it even seems a little pathetic that I, a trained theologian, become morose at the thought of Easter morning because there will be no hidden eggs, no basket, no store bought candy waiting for me when I awake.  My desire for religious growth is buried under a heaping mound of missing chocolate bunnies, stringy vinyl easter grass, and those damned plastic eggs.    

Now, for sake of transparency, I will admit that I did receive easter baskets in my youth, they did have candy in them, albeit from the fancy candy store from our beachside town, and that there were indeed plastic eggs with goodies in them in the basket itself.  Mind you, the coins within the eggs suffered from a dirty, sticky, cough drop infused coating that made the money seem more like a scrounge through the bottom of my mother''s purse than a special treat.  The amounts weren't even clever, just assorted clumps of change that my mother had in fact fished out of her purse that afternoon.  Oh, and the dreaded black jellybeans were in other eggs.

But these childhood slights are not about the traditions themselves, not the actual hunting for eggs, or shrink wrapped, toy filled, plastic baskets from the local department store, but rather what they represent. They represent the normal that I longed for that was never achievable in my nuclear family.  I wanted adults to be adults and hide the Easter eggs for me to find, just like my neighbors' families did.  I wanted to believe in the Easter Bunny, but just like Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and every other childhood fantasy staple, that desire was crushed on a yearly basis.  My parents were people unwilling or unable to play the magical roles that create a foundation for playful innocence and joy in a child.  Instead, they chose to explain how the magic tricks were done, leaving behind no mystery for me to be amazed by.

So, I hid the easter eggs for them.  I was the Easter Bunny.  I was the magician performing for my parents.  At the tender age of 9, I secretly hid the eggs and ensured that each one was found.  I hid those stupid plastic eggs for people who should have been hiding them for me.

So, like most years, Easter morning arrived this year and once again there were no eggs to be found.  In fact, because there is often a hectic rush to church on Easter morning, the Easter Bunny visits our house while we are at church.  Translate this statement to mean that when the church service ends, one parent must rush home, hide the eggs all over the lawn, make sure the baskets are ready, and display the handwritten note from the Easter Bunny himself stating how many eggs he has left for the boys to find.  This final touch ensures that each child will have an equal number of eggs at the end of the affair.

It was my parental turn this year, so I came flying home to be the Easter Bunny again, 30 years later, this time as a father attempting to perform the magic for his children.  And as my stomach turned, I hid the plastic eggs, and did my best not to fall into the rabbit holes of my mind, where the sadness, unworthiness, and fear reside.  I tried to hide the eggs skillfully and with joy, but most of them just ended up barely hidden in obvious places.  And in retrospect this lax effort was not a mere fall into the rabbit holes, it was a knowing leap.  

As I squeezed into the darkened tunnels that twist and turn, creating a never ending maze of fear and disappointment, I willingly stayed in the confinement of distorted thinking and behaviors.  It is not a truth I want to disclose, but I wasn't the parent I wished that mine had been.  I didn't bring my best that day, and I didn't miraculously evolve into a better, richer, more fully actualized version of myself.  No, I limped along, tried to make the best of it, and still managed to be an unpleasant fool to be around for the rest of the day.  

At the end of the day I had still done more than my folks ever did, and I knew that my boys were happy with whatever magic I had managed to create.  And in the days since then, I have realized more and more that I can see the rabbit holes before I fall flailing into them.  It doesn't mean that I won't fall or leap into one, but it does mean that I don't have to, and that I can climb out before I get sucked down further.  Just like the disappointing plastic eggs of youth, those rabbit holes are not filled with what I need, want, or even desire anymore. 

What I need, want, and desire is to be a man of integrity, dignity, and inherent value, and I want that for my sons as well.  I want them to know that they are loved.  And maybe, if I can watch where I'm going, I can lead them away from the rabbit holes that I've fallen into too many times.  Maybe, I can lead them to the hidden eggs where the treasure is in the finding, and not what is inside.

Thanks for joining me along this crazy bunny trail of a journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

- Ari