I went to a wake tonight...a traditional Catholic wake in many ways--flowers, prayer cards, chairs arranged in rows for the prayer service, (open) casket along one wall. My coworkers and I entered and greeted our colleague and friend with hugs and sympathies...and then we heard it.
"Out of the doorway the bullets rip to the sound of the beat, yeah...another one bites the dust!"
His kids had made a playlist of their father's favorite songs, and had the ipod speakers plugged into the corner. As I approached the casket, I realized that the music wasn't the only unconventional part of this set-up. He was wearing a royal blue New York Giants jersey with Notre Dame, NY Yankees, and Giants baseball caps lined up beside him. No doubts about whose funeral this was--who this man was. His family had the courage and the good sense to make this a celebration of his life.
It made me think--about my own true self, about the censoring I do of myself, about that fear that I'm not enough. I can't let people know that I like this music, or that TV show...I'm even reluctant to talk about the many reasons I love my job. I have a hard time talking about it with my girls even--relaying my own experience of faith, my own experience of role models. I withdraw from the threat of judgment.
And then I see a celebration of life so true to someone's life and I pause. Who cares? He was who he was, why be self-conscious? Why be ashamed? When I see other people embrace their true selves, I'm proud of them and I am drawn to their confidence--maybe hoping to steal a piece of it for myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment