RESILIENCE
One particular summer during my childhood, my parents decided to take us to a private beach near Ocean City, MD where we leisurely roamed the open beach and soaked in the warm sun as we snapped a couple memorable photos. Judging from the wind blowing through my hair, it was a breezy day with the unique smell of salt and brine filling our nostrils. As we walked, the warm, wet sand squished between our toes and stuck as it always does, refusing to set you free. We spent a few minutes walking the beach inspecting the sand for pretty shells before my father shot this particular photo I am describing. I believe that the fact that I’m standing there facing the waves as everyone else has already walked away speaks volumes. My feet are firmly planted and I’m just simply being, if only for a moment. I was just being me, allowing the waves to crash at my feet and the salty air to blow through my hair.
All throughout my childhood I have been a thinker. No, I don’t mean I kept my mouth shut and thought about things before I said them, I just thought a considerable amount about things that I said after the fact. I always seemed to play out the scenarios in my head after I would say or do something, wondering if perhaps I could have said or done it differently. Many of these instances were following an argument with my mother, or listening to her explain her point of view. Now, don’t get me wrong, my mom and I have an excellent relationship now; I just think that as a young girl I wanted to be the one to make the decision about what was the right or wrong way to do something. Even now I find myself sitting in the same position that I have so many times in the past: trying to bite my tongue as my mom tells me her beliefs on a certain subject that I may or may not agree with. Sometimes I find myself managing to keep quiet, but then wishing I had stood up for myself, but of course, that usually only has made and makes it worse. So, most of the time, I would find myself alone somewhere pondering life and my position in it, wondering if I could ever dig myself out of the rut I’d been sitting in for so long.
I have also always loved nature, especially waterfront views and beaches. During the tumultuous times in my life I would always find solace in the quietness of these scenes. There is something so tranquilizing about the swooning of waves and the brushing of rushes on the shore that I could almost fall asleep standing there. Most times, I would drive to town and get a vanilla coke with the little tiny pieces of ice in it and walk down to my favorite spot and pick a bench to sit on. From there, I could see the Chester River Bridge and all the houses on the other shore as well as all the boats and the famed Sultana that tourists would often come to ride on. I would see the tourists and their wacky outfits and hear their strange accents and questions and I would almost envy them and their freedom and individuality. However, my position in life was unchangeable, so I just turned back around and continued listening to the tiny waves lap against the pier. “The water”, as I call it, with its sparkle and sound, was, and still is, my escape; not only from the regular buzz of everyday life, but from thoughts and concerns and all those immaterial things that so often weigh upon us.
In the photo, I am wearing the typical loose tee and pants I usually wore, not the usual skimpy beach attire that is worn dominantly by most beach goers. In my family modesty is a strongly stressed belief and practice that I have grown up with and acquired comfortableness with. Sure, I balked as a younger teen, hating to stick out when other girls were wearing the latest trends with tight pants and “cool” shirts, but as the years went on I learned to compensate and found that everything went much smoother if I simply went along with the guidelines my parents had put in place. I remember my mother constantly reminding me to be “lady-like” and modest, and as much as I hated to comply, it seemed as though I had no choice. Modesty, in general is a fairly residual practice in most if not all places. Even on a professional level it seems as though the goal is to be sexy and well-thought of rather than classy and well-educated. I suppose one could say that as I grew older and the world’s perspective on modesty changed, the reins in my life slackened a slight bit, I made it through, and some of those constraints that I so often fought against are now nearly non-existent.
In light of that, I wonder if perhaps that is where my mind is focused in the photo. We previously had visited Chincoteague Island and there is a great probability that, as I was looking out across the waves, I was wishing I could be one of the horses that run free on that Island: free of constraint and obeisant to their own wills. As I stood there with the salty air blowing through my long, sandy blonde hair that also symbolized the femininity my parents tried to instill in my mind, I wanted to be free and taste a bit of what it would be like to do my own thing and find myself rather than having to wade through the roaring sea of conflict and be pelted with the hail stones of conformity that I, as a young pre-teen girl, felt were inhibiting me. I remember the first time I got it cut short my dad almost had a heart attack. Of course, it wasn’t because I had broken the eleventh commandment by doing it, but rather because it was a statement that was being made. I wanted change, to go against the grain. I mean with my family, it was us in our own little community of all these strict, conservative Christian beliefs, while even the kids at my Christian school held a totally different set of values for dress and proper behavior. Not only that, but outside of school, society always pushed and pushed their ideas through television and popular media, screaming silently for me to resist conforming to my parent’s beliefs of conservatism and join their ranks in the “do what feels good and makes you happy” army. The battle inside my mind was constant and relentless, and at the point I am in this photo, I just wanted to be free.
My brother, totally the opposite of myself, has always been the quiet one. He actually thinks before he speaks and more often than not chooses to be silent rather than speaking his mind. This practice, of course, is very uncommon in today’s society, and in some cases I suppose one could label it as nearly archaic. I can recall many instances in which he could have said things to defend himself, but rather than doing so, proved to be the bigger man by keeping the oh-so-dangerous tongue still. His nickname of sorts over the years has been the “gentle giant”, meaning that, though he could probably kill someone my size with one blow, he usually is one of the kindest people you’ll ever speak to. Standing at a gargantuan 6’ 5”, his presence alone can make you feel inferior, or, in my case, make you feel like there’s not a soul in the world that could harm you when he’s around, and I often used this fact to my advantage during my school years before he graduated.
The perspective from which this particular photo was taken makes my brother look ten times bigger than I with him in the foreground facing the camera and myself recessed a slight bit next to the edge of the shoreline which runs perpendicular to our two bodies. It’s amazing how such a small range of distance can make such an enormous difference in the apparent size estimated from looking at a photograph. Other than the natural lighting that has been captured accentuating the outline of our bodies and glistening off of the waves and sand, I happen to believe that this photo captures so many qualities of my brother and I that are not immediately visible. It shows my resilience, yet it also shows my brother’s humility and soft heart.
Photography is very intriguing to me in the sense that there are so many options for perspectives. For instance, the photo of my brother and I (taken by our dad), is perfectly lined up. Not only do you have a perfectly parallel shoreline, but the two figures (my brother and me), are equally set apart from the edges of the photograph almost providing a frame for the eyes to focus in on. My father must have been standing in the perfect position to capture this, because, had he been standing a little further to the right or the left, this picture would not be so symmetrical. My body is perfectly squared up to the camera, which makes the photo really speak to the viewer by grabbing their attention and making them focus on my stance and, perhaps, making them ask some of the questions about my past that I have explained. If my dad had moved, however, he would have thrown off that strong vibe of sincerity and thoughtfulness and would have weakened the appeal of the photo by making it seem more nonchalant and casual.
The overall mood of this photo is very serene. At the time, we were the only four on the beach (my mother, father, brother, and me), which makes the photo so inviting. It provides an atmosphere of relaxation and peace in the midst of a roaring world. The mood would have been different if perhaps my brother and I were throwing sand and water at each other, which would not be an unlikely scenario. We used to wrestle when I was pretty little—until, of course, he made me cry not knowing his own strength sometimes. My mother eventually made a rule that he wasn’t allowed to “rough house” with me: that was when he discovered pinching. His pinches left bruises that stayed for weeks and I still shudder at the thought of being pinched by him! He didn’t do it to intentionally hurt me, of course, and I did my equal share of abuse, but what are brothers and sisters expected to do anyway? However, Instead of being our unusual rowdy selves, we were behaving like the “proper” young children were supposed to. We were, after all, raised to behave well in public and not make a scene. I find now that I’ve gotten older, though, that I’m not always “well behaved” in public. Yes, to the appropriate extent I am, but I don’t worry about being so proper that I can’t enjoy myself. I love making people smile and generally will go the extra mile to see that happen!
I miss these kinds of trips that we used to take as a family. It seems as though when my brother and I reached driving age, they ceased. The four of us used to go to Dover, DE every Friday night for our weekly Wal-Mart run. We would go to Wal-Mart, Sam’s Club, and occasionally to the mall, where we would each get an Auntie Anne’s Pretzel to fill us enough to keep us until we reached Wawa (a convenience store/gas station) to get our piping hot chocolate and delectable snack of choice. Every once in a while we would have dinner at Olive Garden with their heavenly endless salad and macaroni and cheese shells and delicious breadsticks. I suppose that, when I was young, doing all these things as a family was a fairly common practice within our culture-middle class American families. Aside from the amazing food and snacks we encountered, I miss the family time with Dad’s bad jokes and Mom’s bright smile, when everything seemed like it was perfect. Sometimes I would fall asleep on my brother’s lap in the back seat to the rhythmic sway and purr of the car motor along with the sound of the man’s voice on Prairie Home Companion. Oh! To be that young again, carefree and simple—I would give anything. Now we are all scattered—my brother on his way to a job at NCIS in Washington, DC, my dad in Maryland waiting for our house to sell, and my mother and I in New York with my grandmother—and many times I just long for my family and the security that is found in being together and belonging to something.
The overall content of the photo presents a peaceful yet bold message. Though my parents are not in the photo, their love and dedication is. There is a sort of silent comradery between my brother and I, though anything but evident without knowing our relationship. My brother’s silent strength shines through, while I’m still standing there, not wanting to be removed from such an amazing place where my soul was at rest. I love the color of the photo that was enhanced by the sun’s reflection. Its composition could not be more perfect, nor the objects more well-placed. And above it all, seeing the beach makes me wish I could be there, smelling the amazing smells and feeling the waves crash around my feet.
Looking back on all these things I have described, I’m not sure I would change anything if I could. Sure, some would drop their jaw in disbelief at some of the things that I wasn’t permitted to do or made to wear or not wear, but all those things have shaped me to be the person that I am today. When the time comes for me to have children of my own, of course, I won’t be as strict, but I do believe that in a home, limits and guidelines do need to be placed. In my case, I’ve been to the point many times where I have been tempted to turn my back on my family and follow my own will: I never want to push my children to the place where they feel that way. The secure feeling that comes from being a part of a family is not something that is only common to myself and my family, but is a world-round felt feeling. According to pop culture, normal family structure isn’t needed to provide a proper, nurturing environment, but if you ask any small town family person, they will tell you that without their loved ones by their side, their lives would fall apart.
