"Son I am proud of you", that phrase brought that clinching feeling in my throat, the feeling I had learned as a child to hold tight, to fight back, and endure its cramp. The feeling that was actually uncomfortable enough to feel like pain. A feeling that freezes the thoughts. Back in the moment, on a grass field, busy with parents hustling kids around soccer fields, I think I was 35. At this point in my life I had found comfort in crying. Why now was I holding these tears back. It was a conversation with my dad, that I wasn't prepared to hear. He followed up describing that he was proud of the path I took after my divorce. He was proud of the feelings that I was willing to endure. He was proud that I took my pain seriously. He shared how many things he did differently. I wanted to cry. Even writing this I still hold back tears.
I have a good idea for how to process my suffering, but what I am now being encourage to do is something new. I am being asked to be proud. The dysfunction in the catholic Chicano is the lack of emphasis in the ciriculum or catechism about healthy pride. I actually feel toxic when I start to be appreciated, valued, and honored. I have shame in being magnificent.
Where did this shame to feel accomplished come from? There is an overwhelming need to depreciate myself. I believe there is an aspect of pride that requires modesty and then it can be appropriate. I feel the need to give glory to God, my parents, my elders, my mentors, my friendships, my dogs, my children, and the academy award list goes on extinguishing any appreciation for the gift I am expressing through the actions deserving gratitude. But then there comes the mistrust of pride. Is vanity creeping in?
My moral compass starts to spin wildly as my navigation panel dials spin recklessly faster and faster until I feel ashamed for doing something wonderful. My blog, my marriage, my friendships, and my attitudes might be gentler had I somewhere along the way of life been told I'm proud of you. This was that day. My dad took a sledge hammer and swung it hard with his words, "I am proud of you", it landed solidly right in the middle of my catholic Chicano ego. He shattered the cinder block wall that had been hindering my luminescence, like the Berlin Wall coming down, my ability to see my greatness with the blessings and grace from God, is trickling out from the deshreveled concrete jungles. My ability to feel helpful, worthy, valuable, magnificent, and successful is happening.
Dad, I am proud of you!
