THE END OF THE LINE

 To some, going to the end of the line may seem like an insult or a slap in the face or somewhat disconcerting.  I don't think this at all.  The line is long in the store and I am not necessarily happy to wait but, seize the opportunity to check my emails or text messages on my phone.  If I'm not particularly interested in doing any work or having to connect with anyone, I start looking at the 'fish papers' on the racks on either side of the aisle as my grandmother called them, and read the scandalous titles on the front pages of the magazines.  I have rarely purchased one of them and just like seeing how silly people are and know there is a segment of the population who love reading about the possible hardships and fighting amongst the rich and famous or seeing the pictures capturing the aliens and big foot while people hiked through the woods

I have another particular viewpoint of the end of the line which stemmed from my days in elementary school.  After a workout on the green fields where we played baseball or soccer or on the playground swinging across the 'monkey bars' or spinning on the metal merry-go-round.  Notably, these types of playground equipment are now banned and replaced by colorful plastic types.  I bet we had more fun!  And I know we got more cuts and scrapes and learned a few more life lessons on the cement playground.  Afterward, the teacher would line us up at the water fountain.  She would pull the hands of an aggressive classmate off the other more timid one as they fought to be first in line and send, usually a boy, to the end of the line.  And, it was usually one of the more popular boys I might add.  There were many times the popular children in school got special treatment.  Especially, if they were more attractive than others with their good looks or entertaining behaviors. 

Coming from a family of six siblings, I grew to like being last, standing calm while I watched the other's performance of chaos and the adults became flustered or angry with them.  Faces grew red and overheated, especially in the summer months, while sweat poured from every one of us.  The girls dresses clung to our legs and the boys' polo shirts were drenched in sweat.  I can remember watching; waiting as the line got shorter and my opportunity was fast approaching.  The teacher patted each child on the shoulder when their time was up as they thirstily sucked the cool water into their parched mouths, licking their lips and wiping the remaining drops with their arm as they scurried off to their seats in the classroom across the hall. Some would put their mouths over the spigot or put their heads in front of the water stream. Such innocence and basic fundamentals were learned and so refreshing.  

To this day, I will wait patiently while others strive to be first and get in front of others; racing-always racing against or for something I cannot comprehend.  What I have learned is there are times it is best to stand back and observe.  And, to stand with the most popular boys in my class.  To take in the coolness of the running waters all alone and savor the last few seconds of silence and maybe get a little more time than all the others at the drinking fountain with the teacher.  A bit of time to bond in a way the others lost the opportunity but, I alone, would appreciate.