The Many Thoughts of Wanda Kidd

Almost every current event, theological topic, or local gossip at our house includes an allegorical story. The person telling the story usually has a point they want to make. They are confident it will clarify the conversation. Recently, we were talking about how some people need more affirmation than others. The person in question may not even know what motivates their annoying, attention-getting behavior.

The conversation revolved around the idea that age does not always bring maturity and that many adults behave like twelve-year-olds. An age when we are often at the peak of confusion. Those on the verge of maturity want all the perceived benefits of adulthood. They also want to be coddled. They love being told how special they are. They want to be free to pursue their hopes and dreams without consequences. At the same time, they want to be seen as special. Sometimes they push the envelope to make family and friends acknowledge that the world would be incomplete without them.  

Hopefully, these qualities diminish as we embrace maturity. Or at least that is the hope. However, many adults live out their lives like pre-adolescents. Yes, we talk like that at our house.

I wanted to give an example of that behavior. So, I thought I would throw in a story from my transitional youth. I was around eleven when I dreamed of “orchestrating” a drama to get everyone’s attention. We were visiting my mama’s sister and her family on their dairy farm in upstate New York. I was not ready to go home. Often, when we visited other people’s homes, I thought it would be great if I could just stay there for a while. There was nothing really wrong with my home. I was just the classic middle child. I felt overlooked and underappreciated. I thought a change of scenery would improve my self-esteem. To be honest, I manipulated several such events, and they have worked out pretty well for me. However, this plan was much more involved and risky.

Here was the plan I put into action the morning before we were heading back to North Carolina. There was a small patch of trees and a well-worn path between my aunt’s house and my grandma’s cottage. My plan was simple, but ill-conceived.

Stage One: I would climb the tree closest to the path. Then, I would jump, making it look like I accidentally fell. I would hope to land just right. Maybe I would sprain an ankle or a wrist. but nothing terrible. With the infirmities, I would obviously have to stay until I was well, and everyone would be very concerned about my well-being. (Which would accomplish all of the aforementioned goals of a twelve-year-old’s hierarchy of needs.)

So I climbed the tree and waited and waited and waited until I realized I did not dare to implement the plan. So I moved to Stage Two. Wait. I was sure someone would at least be concerned enough to come looking for me. However, I was up there for well over an hour. No one even acknowledged I was missing. Stage Three: Ask for help and have them show concern for my predicament. Finally, one of my cousins came close enough for me to call to them and tell them I was stuck in the tree. They went and got a ladder to get me down. They didn’t even ask how I ended up there or why I decided to climb the tree. As a ploy to make me feel special, this plan was a spectacular failure. As a ploy for me to stay longer, that didn’t work either.

I concluded the story by saying,

“I was in the car at 6:30 the next morning, along with my family, headed home to North Carolina. I never brought up my plot to elicit sympathy or notoriety, but I did learn several lessons. I am not as brave as I thought I was. People are not thinking about me as much as I think about myself. The most important lesson was that manipulating people to make you feel better about yourself is a bad plan.

I felt I had made the point about the lack of maturity issues. I also addressed manipulation and failed plans. So, I decided to wrap up the proffered story. I did this with the “ministerial bow” we preacher-types do. Fait accompli- done.

That is when my daughter looked at me. With incredulity in her voice, she said, “Wait, let me get this straight. You climbed a tree?” “Yes, but that is not the point?” She replied, “Are you kidding? The only thing more surprising than you EVER climbing a tree is if you told me you modeled bathing suits at Belks. That would truly surprise me. I can’t even imagine either one.”

So much for anecdotal wisdom given by a prophet in her own home. I guess the beauty of a story is that we each get what we need.