I need a bucket list. I’m a person for whom a pending project is key to sanity. The last big project I had is done. I know that parenting doesn’t ever really end, but we’ve gotten to the point where those boys o’ mine are raised. And despite my unintended efforts to ruin them, they’ve turned out to be such rockstars. So now what?
Historically, I’m really bad at bucket list making. A real life judge even told me so.
She was the first of my trifecta of weird bucket list tasks. “Have a beer with the Judge.” She was the presiding judge of our Dependency (CPS) court. I became a social worker to help families. But when you’re involved with families like we are, they can have a tendency to not see your help as helpful.
In court we had a designated chair in the front of the courtroom. I affectionately called it the Time Out chair. Sometimes in that chair vile and untrue things were said about you. It’s hard separate out that the lashing isn’t really about you. I wanted to turn to the judge and say “that’s not me. I’m a nice person who’s trying hard.” So after several years of this, I decided I wanted to have a beer with the judge so she could know I wasn’t the monster I was reported to be. It was a joke of mine for years.
Then…!
Watching the Colt .45s baseball team is a fun summer activity. Got there one night, and saw that the first pitch was being thrown by our judge. She stayed for the game and I creepily stared at her. They look so different without their robes on. They have legs! She was with people, one of which I sorta knew. And, she was having a beer! It was all accidentally falling into place. I’d never talked to her outside of answering her questions in her courtroom. I wasn’t sure I could.
It was the 3rd inning before I mustered up the courage. I’d ran over the words in my head several times. Do I start with “your Honor”? If I call her by her name, will a hole rip open in the time/space continuum? I’d prepped to be looked at with confusion, or maybe to be pepper sprayed. I’d spent a LOT of time in her court room, but I wasn’t sure if she’d recognize me.
With all the grace of a 7th grade boy asking a girl to dance, I shuffled my way up the bleachers. “Uh,…hi?” I paused waiting to see if I was to be taken down by agents in sunglasses and suits. She “hey”ed me back (It’s going okay…keep going Adams). “So, I’ve got this weird bucket list where I was someday hoping to have a beer with you so know I’m a normal person.”
There I was, vulnerable in the presence of a hero. I had no idea what to expect. “That’s a pretty lame bucket list, but okay.” Her response was more perfect than I could’ve imagined. She added that there better be a picture or “it never happened.”
Maybe I should’ve capitalized on that opportunity in a different way. Maybe I should’ve tapped into that brain trust and she could’ve helped me come up with better bucket list ideas, because the next two were equally questionable. Those stories deserve their own time though.
Thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 