A Flushed Dignity

image from here

I don't know why so many cultures view aging as a bad thing- I love it.  The older I get, the less I care about what others think of my appearance, which is why, when necessity dictated, I walked around a decent-sized town recently with a potty strapped to my back without embarrassment.  That comment bears explanation- more on that later.  I want to start today with how we view ourselves in relation to others, and how it changes over time.

To this day, I look back on my middle school years and cringe.  I cared so much about my appearance and what others thought of me.  I feared a bad hair day or poor outfit would scare girls away.*  It wasn't until a bad haircut in high school- one I dreaded sporting in public, but, to my delight, elicited no derogatory comments from the general populace- made me realize that most people don't notice or care.  What a freeing revelation!  It didn't occur to me that maybe nobody cared because I wasn't popular enough to be noticed, but hey, ignorance (and, often, anonymity) is bliss. 

The college years were much better, though I still wanted to put my best foot forward.  But, at that point "my best foot forward" was not awkward hairstyles or nice clothing, but just the opposite- uncombed hair, thrift store t-shirts (the weirder the better), and exuding an attitude (often accurate) of "not giving a rip." I still cared, but I cared about looking like I didn't care.  One step in the right direction.

Once I got married, the appearance question became less of "how do I look" and more of "how does my wife think I look," which I quickly realized was more important than my personal opinion.  Though Beth's desire for me to be presentable was occasionally annoying- I am, after all, by nature unpresentable- I still took one more step- now, I only cared because my wife cared.

Then the kids came, and any concern about my appearance- indeed, about my dignity in general- is gone.  I have taken the final step in the road to apathy.  My primary thought as I walk down the street with my family isn't "how do I look?," but "I didn't realize it was possible for my child to scream that loudly for so long," or "I wonder if the police will be summoned?"  

You may think that this turn of events is unfortunate, but I argue that it's fantastic.  So often our inhibitions are based solely on what other people think.  Once we don't care about the latter, we can do so much more.  That's why I was free as a bird as I walked through York with a toilet strapped to my back.

Now, the circumstances need expounding.  My daughter Natalie is potty training, which means we've been engaged in psychological warfare for the last month.  We've taken baby steps, in the sense that she now will at least pee on the potty- but only on her green potty- no other.  Though she has demonstrated an impressive ability to 'hold it' for hours on end, it's still a good idea to have the potty on us at all times, in all places.  We normally stow it in the stroller, safely out of view, but this time, our itinerary made such an arrangement impractical, and so I put some "child necessities" in my backpack, strapped Natalie's potty to the outside, and off we went.

As Nat and I walked through York, the thought that I had a toilet on my back caused me no shame- indeed, I hardly even thought on it.  I took care only in the narrow store aisles- I had, perhaps rightly, assumed that the owners wouldn't been tremendously happy if a toilet was swung through their wares, and so I kept unusually aware of it while in such establishments- other than that, it was never on my mind.  I did see a group of girls point and giggle, but one day they'll have children of their own, and they have to birth them, so I didn't begrudge them their fun.

Did people notice?  Surely.  Did I care?  No.  Because you know what?  In the end, nobody really cares.  Those that did notice may have made a comment or two, or even gone home and posted on facebook about it, but at the end of the day, they won't remember.  They'll live their lives; I'll live mine.  And, years from now, when we're both in the ground, it's likely that neither of our tombs will reference the incident.  In fact, as I stroll through graveyards now, I notice that not one of them say things like "had bad hair in high school," or "didn't get asked to prom."

I suspect living my life based on others' perception will always tempt me in some fashion.  The desire to be liked, admired, and respected is in all of us, whether we admit it or not.  But, in the end, we shouldn't be living our lives to gain the approval of others, and my children help me live that every day.  So thank you, Natalie, for helping me flush my dignity.  After all, we're not here to glorify ourselves, and it's hard to be proud when you have a potty strapped to you.

*little did I realize that my personality, temperament, and hygiene were doing that just fine on their own