Sunday, October 30, 2005

An Elephant Never Forgets.

I've worked very hard these past few years to surround myself with more positive people. Positivity is good, I'm told, and I do believe it's true. My new positive friends don't understand my negativity; they don't understand my appreciation for the negative. And they shouldn't really. I'm becoming increasingly certain that my condition is genetic.


Me: Did I tell you that they asked me to help with the nursery at church?
Mom: Oh, well, you'll like that!
Me: Oh yeah, it'll be fun. But it's sort of funny to think of myself as somebody's Sunday School teacher. I mean, these kids are going to think back someday on their earliest church memories, and I'll actually be there. They're going to think of me as that nice, religious girl who taught them stupid songs and how to sit still during the sermon. That's really very funny. Especially considering how much I hated Sunday School myself.
Mom: Well, you better have fun with it now. Because you know you're going to inherit all my health problems and get sick and old while you're still young. And nobody's going to take care of you, either, because you refuse to settle down and have a boyfriend!
Me: You know, when some mothers plan their children's futures...
Mom: And you better watch out in that nursery too! Don't get yourself in any positions! You know how people throw around molestation charges these days!

This is where I come from. These are my people. How should I be expected to reason otherwise?

Totally unrelated:

I'm watching this show about killer elephants and it reminds me of a story my ex-prof/boss told me. He was born in Sudan and spent time as a refugee in Uganda. He said that when he was a kid, they grew a lot of mangos. One year, some of the mangos were thrown out and they fermented in the sun. The elephants snuck into the village at night and drank the mango wine. They danced and stomped and made a royal mess of the crops and terrified the villagers.

The elephants had such a good time that they always remembered where the village was. And every year, they'd come back on the anniversary of the mango wine, and they'd search the village. The villagers would have to wait until night, when the elephants were vulnerable because of their poor night vision. Then they'd make noise and chase the elephants away with torches and flare guns and whatnot. The elephants never got any mango wine again; the villagers were very careful to see that they didn't. But an elephant never forgets; and every year, the elephants would take their chances once again, facing down the angry villagers, in hopes of reliving the best party of their lives.

Reading all this back, I'm struck by how the second half of this blog underscores the uncertainties of the first half. Hey kids! Let's learn about Jesus! And admire elephants who'll face down death itself for a little wine and dance!