In elementary school, to encourage high self-esteem, the administration decided to adopt the Positive Action Kids message. We sang a song during Positive Action assemblies that went something like this,
I am a positive, positive action kid.
That's what I am, that's how I live.
We repeated the lines like the song that never ends, it went on and on my friends. Being clever fourth and fifth graders we changed the lyrics to "negative action kids" in our first stab at rebellion. Boy, did we get 'em. Even our teachers couldn't harness enough willpower to restrain their criticisms and apparent agreement with our sentiments of the fluff program. We may have been forced to sing the song, but we were still gunning for heads while playing dodgeball on the playground.
As part of this effort, a "Peer Helper" group was formed. The intent was to create a positive support network of cool kids for ugly kids and loners. We were the ones designed to make sure no one felt left out, to suck up all the meanness of preadolescence and perform comment alchemy. Whereas, a normal mean little kid might say, "Why do you smell like goat droppings?," our job was to turn that into a compliment like, "He must be jealous of how close to nature you live in an otherwise materialistic world." The school counselor, a sweet lady with Alps worth of dandruff, led us. We met in a third grade classroom and sat in tiny chairs and felt superior to the Safety Patrol. After no one obeyed their neon Safety Stripe, they could come talk to us about how that made them feel.
Recently, Ive found myself arguing with the tv. Sometimes it has a political bent. Obama to create 2 million jobs. Yeah, how, with a savior wand? Other times, I try to surpass importance. Explosive crash on I-75. Great, now I have to find an alternative route. Lately, I've been surly towards fantastical commercials and television. A dog knows the family secret to baked beans and can tell us at home without the owner hearing. Hey dog, your owner is right next to you and he has ears. Jack Bauer takes four shots to kill three terrorists. Nice job, I thought you were supposed to be better than a Chuck Norris-Hercules crossbreed.
She said stop to all of this ridiculous complaining and talking to people who can't hear me. They don't care if I disagree. She doesn't care to hear about it either. Despite raising my voice several decibel levels, the glass on the tv remains impregnable and everything I fight against is prerecorded. I was not being positive.
This morning I asked for a fresh start. I ran for the first time in a month. I asked the Lord for a positive attitude. I asked to see the good in life and not be a critic. Lo and behold, I began to see things differently. Hey, it stopped raining. My Fantasy Football team will win this week. My foot feels better. My hair is not falling out when I take a shower so maybe I don't have male pattern baldness. These Frosted Flakes taste delicious.
I'm trying, and of all weeks to reflect on the good, the warm, fuzzy, new sock feeling, this is the one.
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