When I was 17 years old I had this incredible incredibly random opportunity to get a tattoo at a little parlor called Bloody Kisses. I found it by accident while touring the Neubrandenburg City Wall. Its shop was carved out of the wall and was located near a historical clock and a statue of many people holding hands, a monument called the New Door, or Neues Tor.
And I really considered it, the tattoo.
Picture this: half Jesus-fish, half fairy....
I think God spared my sanity that day as I ultimately decided that getting a lower-back tattoo while in a foreign country with a German exchange program was likely not my best move. Not to mention an already oddly-configured image and a language barrier.
But still...there was that one moment I thought I would do it.
Other great discoveries while in the land of Einstein and Oktoberfest included Nutella (with its Heavenly chorus ringing in my ears with every newly opened container) and this unusual chocolate egg with a toy inside- I think I remember getting a tiny bicycle which really moved! It would be years before this marvel would make it's way to the States and I cannot remember if we were warned not to bring any back home with us or if the Kinder Egg ban would come later. Either way, the chocolate and the toy were simply fascinating. Keep in mind, I was 17 at this time, but computers were mostly used to play Mahjong and no one had a cell phone. It was the simple things.
Funny thing, that same "ooh" and "ahh" came out of the mouths of my sons when they saw their first Kinder Eggs, all these years later.
Fact: We have 2 Kinder Eggs in our house presently.
Fact: I was not buying a third.
Fact: I have 3 sons...the numbers don't add up.
When my most spirited son asked if they could have the Kinder Eggs for snack that day, I reminded him that there were only 2 and that, together, the 3 brothers would have to figure out what that looked like. After a mere moment, I learned that my eldest, sweet, darling Zeplin, had given the ultimate sacrifice: he would sit this one out, allowing his brothers to enjoy both chocolate and toy while he found another snack.
Bravo to him, right?
No. No bravo.
"Zep", I asked, walking with him away form his brothers, "why did you say your brothers can have it? Do you not want one as well?"
"I do want one", he replied. "But I want them to be happy, so I said that I don't need one."
And in this moment, I knew we struck gold.
Here's the deal: Zeplin is a sweet kid. 9 times our of 10, he'll give in and help his brothers with their chores when they are dragging their feet, volunteer to pick up the Legos he knows he didn't dump all over the floor, and give away the snack he also wishes he could enjoy.
Because I know this....
Because I know him....
I said no.
"Your heart is incredible, kiddo", I began, "but there is a lesson here for you to learn. Listen up.
Sometimes, when you are the most likely to help, to sacrifice, to be there and do the thing,
people will -consciously or unconsciously- take advantage of you
and it is your job to protect your heart.
You get to say no sometimes.
You get to have the nice thing, take the break, and think about yourself sometimes."
We talked about the fine line between being nice and being taken advantage of and in that moment, when he wasn't feeling the most empowered, I made the decision for him. No, he would not sacrifice his portion of the KE, and, in fact, no one needed one that day anyway.
Turns out, we have plenty of teachable moments throughout our days- if we're looking for them.
I cannot speak for all. What I do know is that I have been on both ends of the advantage train (not to be confused with the privilege train) and I have struggled to stand up for myself. I have struggled to say no or even yes, given whatever the circumstance currently was. And at times I have needed someone to remind me to think about myself. What is best for me in that moment?
And like rain -or grace- it became a soothing balm and a needed reminder.
Kiddo, your heart is precious. Guard it. Protect it. And when the time is right and it is a good thing, give it away...preferably not to a parlor called Bloody Kisses.
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