Restore, Repair and Heal

Let’s Be a Part of Changing the World, One Word at a Time

article by Cindy G. Foust

Happy Independence Day month readers as I write this month’s column wishing I was more “independent,” but, alas, I find myself writing my column as I convalesce in my big comfy chair. That’s right readers, it seems the song “Bad Mamma Jamma” has a whole new meaning for me than it did just two short days ago. Here’s what happened.
I thought I would be nice and help backstage with my daughter’s dance recital… I mean, that’s nice, right? As luck would have it, bad luck that is, we were just dancing our way through the last six decades of music (which includes of course, only the greatest decade in the history of music, the 80s), when suddenly the lights went dim. I’m setting the mood for you readers, because I’m convinced it will help justify my injury.
Okay, where were we? Lights… yes, the lights suddenly dimmed and the strobes and the disco flashes started and I began to feel “so excited, I just can’t hide it” and then the prelude to “Bad Mamma Jamma” started playing simultaneous with the stage director asking me to run and get a group of dancers. I’m not sure what exactly happened next, well, that’s a lie… I know exactly what happened.
As I jumped up, I became so swept up in the music and the lights that I found myself transported back to 1980-something and I was under my garage with my friends from Woodlawn Junior High and we were all dancing to tunes on my jukebox. Yes, I was very ahead of my time, friends, because I had this really cool 8-track, turntable, light flashing jukebox. Am I still in a rabbit hole? Where in the cat hair was I going with this story?
I think my injury not my jukebox, so, in an effort to be Miss Helper, I jumped up to run get the next group of dancers, but the music took over my body I started “juking out” to “Bad Mamma Jamma.” I don’t think I will ever forget the look on the dance teacher’s face as she watched my “dismount.” I like to think it was because she knew I was hurt, not the fact that I looked like a gazelle who had been hit by a car, but we can debate that later. The point is that it all happened so quickly, like in a split second, and I couldn’t take it back either, because let me tell you something, I really wanted to take it back.
Because when I landed readers, the pop I heard in my calf sounded like a gunshot going off in a tin can. And the pain? Well, the pain was instantaneous and quite simply, I wanted to scream and cry and lay down on the floor and die. Gosh, that sounds like music lyrics right there, but injury or not, I had a job to do. I was, after all, the stage supervisor.
Well, I kind of self-appointed myself the stage supervisor, but somebody has to be in charge, so it might as well be me, right? I’m in a rabbit hole again.
So, here I am, two-days post “Bad Mamma Jamma” incident and I am hobbling around like I’m 93, not 53, and my calf hurts and is sore and slightly discolored and my daughter has told her family goodbye and is currently living with another family in Montana. Just kidding, but I’m not kidding about the fact that I am limping around like I’ve been stepped on by a T-Rex. And as much of a good story as this makes, or bad story depending on who’s telling it, it got me to thinking about how my calf muscle injury can be used as an illustration for a life’s lesson. How so?
Sometimes our actions, like my impulse to jump up like I’m Cindy-Lo or some really good dancer, or words, can cause the same instantaneous injury and hurt. Sometimes we can say or do something that has instant ramifications that might have the capacity to cripple someone else… even when we might not mean for it to.
I sure didn’t mean to hurt myself to the point of disability, but I did it, without thinking, without considering what might potentially happen. And when I landed my dismount (a graceful image probably comes to your mind, like Gabby Douglas or Simone Biles) the pain was so quick and so sharp that it took my breath.
Our words, readers, our actions can have the same crippling effect on someone else, and the tongue can cause greater, more lasting harm than the words to “Bad Mamma Jamma” (even though I’m sure I did look like “poetry in motion.”) I know this, because I have also been on the receiving end of harsh or critical words… words that have made me question my confidence or feel bad about myself. It’s hard to be transparent sometimes, friends, but the truth is I have also been on the giving end of such behavior, words and actions I wish I could take back. Right? Anybody else smell what I’m stepping in?
We are living in the strangest of times right now… here is so much tension and anger and hostility that I can barely stand to get on social media or the news. The words are harsh… the actions are worse and innocent people have been hurt and continue to be hurt. It causes a dull ache in my heart, in the pit of my stomach when I read it, and I wish someone could just wave their magic wand and take us back to 1980 something, when the biggest dilemma was trying to decide if we wanted a Big Mac or McNuggets from McDonalds.
But this is the real world 2020, and here we all are, and just like the pain in my calf, there is a lot of hurt and pain around us, and it came on much the same way as my leg injury… in an instant. I also wish I had a magic wand that I could just wave and fix what seems to be broken. Because readers, there’s a lot of brokenness, and like me, I am sure you wish we could be in Mayberry. But there is no magic wand or no time machine to take us from this holy mess.
But what we do have is each other… we do, readers, even if we don’t agree on politics or religion or one of the one million things that seems to be causing all this angst, we have each other. And we have our tongues, which gives us the ability to restore, repair and heal. I believe in humanity, readers…because I’ve also been on the receiving end of kindness and support that helped me grieve the loss of my child or heal after an illness.
Trust me, kind words from strangers can be just as powerful and compassionate as words or actions from someone we know and love. We are never going to agree on the “issues,” we aren’t, and someone reading this column might be looking at me like I had a unicorn head if we were having this discussion in person, but it’s on my heart… just like last month when I encouraged you to be flexible and supportive.
It’s trying times; we all have our platforms and it’s likely they will be different platforms than our neighbors, but rather than spew hate and hostility, can’t we each work on our dismount? Because that dismount is what keeps our communities in turmoil, and I believe with all my heart, restoration is possible if opposing sides of any argument can just listen and speak with thoughtfulness and humanity rather than antagonism and anger. This narrative has the potential to change the world, readers, so be part of it. Lead it. Think before speaking. And like the words of the great song “Bad Mamma Jamma” let your words be “poetry in motion” rather than words that destroy and break.
Cindy G. Foust is a wife, mom, author and blogger. You can find her blog at the alphabetmom.com for weekly columns about home life, parenting, small business stories and insight with a smidgen of literacy. Give her a like or follow on Facebook and Instagram.