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The First of Firsts – My First Flight

Jeanna GLeave a comment

This is the first in what will be a series of firsts.

I ran a summer camp for the past seven weeks, and one of the ice breakers we played was “Never Have I Ever.” This is a great game to stimulate your memory and go back in time. The kids responded “Never” or “Have” to events like riding in a limo, eating food off the floor, and being sent to the principal’s office. The kids all wanted to share their stories, which were usually pretty hilarious, and their sharing revived quite a few stories of the silly stuff I have done. So now and in future posts I’ll share some of my firsts, in no particular order.

In 6th grade I took my first flight. I was traveling to visit my friend whose family had a house on Chic’s Beach along the Chesapeake Bay. While there, my friend and I decided to steal a cigarette out of her grandmother’s purse, run what felt like a mile from the house into a wooded area on the beach, and smoke our first cigarette together. It was a menthol. I remember being totally freaked out that we were going to get in trouble, but I also remember giggling uncontrollably.

I’m sitting here thinking I need to apologize or explain or give excuses or point out that it wasn’t my idea, but that would just make the whole experience different from what it should be. And what was it? It was fun. And I’m not sorry, I have no regrets.

I think a lot of emphasis is put on firsts. First word, first step, first tooth, first tooth lost, first haircut, and fast-forward to first date, first kiss. We want to remember them, so they need to be memorable. The trouble with that is we can become very disappointed if they don’t turn out the way we hoped, or if our stories don’t measure up.

And we also want our firsts to be first; I started walking before you, or I started playing soccer at a younger age than you. And then everything becomes a race, a competition.

When we played the game with the kids, we had to create new rules that involved raising hands and waiting to be called on if they wanted to share because we got caught up in a cycle of one-upping. The point of the game was to get to know one another, but everyone was shouting out their stories at the same time, and no one was listening to each other. They were excited to share, but it was also as if they had something to prove, and I’m not entirely sure why that is.

If I could go back in time, I would put more emphasis on the ‘who’ than the ‘how’ for my firsts. I think that as long as you’re with the people who you share love with in the moment, the memory will be a good one. Then, if you continue to surround yourself with loved ones, there’s no competition, just sharing your lives with each other. Part of what makes a moment worth remembering is who you were with at that time. And another part is to remind you how you got here.

What are the firsts that you remember?

Sharing is Caring

Jeanna G2 Comments

When we first moved to town, before buying the house I grew up in, we rented a house next to a family that became and remains close friends of ours. They had a daughter that was about my age, so naturally we played together often. When we bought our house around the corner and down the road, we still made our way back to their house to play on a regular basis. In the summers, they participated in a program called the Fresh Air Fund. Two young children from New York City would travel to our rural town to live with their host family, our friends, for the summer. My parents followed their lead and welcomed a young girl to live with us for a summer. I anticipated their arrival with a buzz of energy because I knew how the increase in group size would spur fresh dynamics that harnessed a lot of potential for game play!

The mission of the Fresh Air Fund is to transform limited opportunity into limitless potential for the underserved children of NYC. I wasn’t aware of this at the time, but my experiences with these children was my introduction to racial inequity. I remember how excited and nervous the children were in some of their new experiences with us. What do you mean you’ve never swum in a pond before? What do you mean you’ve never rolled down the side of a grassy hill before? What do you mean you’ve never stomped through a brook or walked through the woods or caught fireflies before? I took my advantages and opportunities for granted. I still do.

I offer up prayers of thanksgiving and gratitude, and prayers for those in need. My life’s work has revolved around helping the young and underprivileged gain skills and knowledge to achieve their goals. And so maybe I’m doing better than some of my privileged white counterparts in the awareness department, but I cannot become complacent, because there is always more to do and more to give.

I’m hopeful that, in light of recent events, more white people, myself included, will come to terms with their white identities. They will do some digging, uncover some truths, and let in some light. And then they will begin to share. And I don’t necessarily mean opening the doors to our homes to welcome in children from the city (although I highly recommend it!). I mean to share the kinds of things that are replenished and multiplied through the act of sharing: kindness, joy, knowledge, experiences, time, and friendship.

It’s past time for a season of change. It’s past time for those of us who have been breathing freely, stagnant as the air may be, to throw open the doors in our minds, because everyone can benefit from fresh air.

What gifts can you share? How can you help to level the playing field for all humankind? What opportunities and privileges have you taken for granted throughout your life?