That which defines us

A recent trip had me spending time in yet another hotel. The spacious room was nicely furnished as the hotelier did his or her best to make sure I felt at home although hundreds of miles from it. As I surveyed the room upon entering there were a number similarities to home. There was a couch, a bed, a sink, a refrigerator, and TV. I made use of each and every convenience. As I walked through the bathroom I saw something extremely familiar. Something we all have and probably take for granted. The toilet. But this porcelain throne struck a chord in the heart of this suddenly very lonely feeling man. Why? Because the lid was down. In fact the entire weekend the lid was down (well, except of course while in use). Why did the lid remain down? I am a guy. A lonely guy. No one is going to gripe at me for falling in while trying to take a seat in the dark. Why do I bother to leave the lid down? Every. Single. Time. I'll tell you why. Training. 

When I first left my parents' home over three decades ago I roomed with a number of guys while working toward my college degree. There was no need to leave the lid down because it was the guys. But when I got married I was suddenly looking out for someone else's best interest. So the seat had to be lowered. And, after much repeated instruction (and fishing for one earring) I learned to keep the top lid lowered as well. It worked better for the both of us. It had not taken her long, but my wife had trained me. 

Before I got married I had a bad habit of leaving a trail of my daily breadcrumbs along my path as I walked in the door. The keys got dropped onto the first flat surface, and papers I carried joined them. My wallet would end up on the coffee table. And any change I had may find itself dropped near the wallet. So my beautiful new bride put a small white basket by the door and asked if I would just please drop everything in the basket. Then she would come by, pick it up, and put everything in our bedroom. She placed this basket on top of a tall speaker just inside the door as I walked into our little apartment. One day I came home and the basket wasn't there. I looked around and saw that she thought it looked better on top of the speaker by the bedroom door. Although I had to walk five whole feet to get there I deposited my daily detritus in the recently moved basket. She was worth the extra two strides. After a month or so of this I noticed the basket was gone. I quickly made the two steps to the speaker and saw that she had placed the basket just inside the door of the bedroom on our dresser. I just had to reach an extra three feet or so inside the bedroom doorway to drop my burdens. My wife would then find time to grab the basket and move it across the bedroom to a closet close to my side of the bed so it would be conveniently waiting my retrieval in the morning. The next step, you guessed it, was for her to move it into the closet where I started taking my stuff every night when I came home. I had effectively been trained to go on my papers. 

A good friend of mine and I had a discussion this week. We talked about what defined us. What is it that made us into the people we are today? I can proudly say that I am who I am because of my parents first, then God as He became part of my life, and, finally, because of my wife. I have been trained until I became who I am today; A man that makes mistakes on a regular basis but is forgiven; A man that leaves the seat and the lid down on the toilet; a man that keeps a shelf on his closet for his daily collections. 

Recently I've noticed that I have started a small menagerie on the kitchen countertop as I first walk in the door. It usually gets put away later. But not always. I no longer have that voice ringing in my head and further shaping me. Does this mean the real me is coming back? Or is who I was for over 26 years who I really was and this new me is just a lazy bum who misses the guidance of his wife? My prayer is that I will maintain a life built on the principles instilled in me by my parents and my wife, and that this new me is the real me and that the me of yesteryear, who thought only of himself, is truly gone and buried. And although the collection may build on the countertop in my life I can assure you of one thing that will never change. The lids will remain down when not in use.