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Spiritual Guidance: For the love of Lightwell
Of the redeeming traits of Fox Van Allen, it is his unusual ability to sense the migratory paths of arctic terns within a 500-mile radius that has led to his success. Fox Van Allen can also boast that when he cooks an omelet, four out of five of them are not burned. Fox Van Allen also writes the Wednesday edition of Spiritual Guidance. Unfortunately, today is not Wednesday, and instead you will have to contend with Dawn Moore, a young woman whose super powers include predicting upcoming traffic junctions by suddenly feeling worried that she missed them, and an immunity to skunk spray. Dawn Moore writes also about healing for discipline and holy priests. When I was in sixth grade, everyone made fun of me. I'm not quite sure why, as there was nothing particularly noticeable about me at the time. I was very average: quiet, didn't get straight A's and looked about as ridiculous as everyone else at that age. For whatever reason though, I got picked out among the throng of students to be the kid who gets stuff thrown at her in the dressing rooms, has trash shoved into her locker and is called all sorts of names that none of us actually knew the definitions to. The oddest thing about it was that the students who harassed me most were people I didn't even know. I didn't know their names, had never talked with them and only had maybe one class with them -- so it's not like any of them knew anything about me to justify what they were doing. At this point in my life, the only guess I've got is that making fun of me was the cool thing to do at the time. Nowadays, I'm not sure if making fun of me is still the cool thing to do, but regardless, the reason I bring up the story today is because I'll be talking about Lightwell. Don't see the connection? Well the way I see it, Lightwell and I are kindred spirits. After all, Lightwell is the kid no one wants to be friends with, out of fear of suffering the same ridicule by association. Lightwell is so unpopular it doesn't even get the chance to be picked last in gym class; instead, the teachers have Lightwell sit in the office and do worksheets, since the last time they let it play with the other kids they found it collapsed behind the bleachers with a bloody nose. Well, Lightwell, I love you. I see past the trash talk and the ridicule. I see you and your individuality. You haven't given up, and I haven't given up on you either. So today, I'm going to try and make everyone see what I see in you. Mon chéri, je t'aime.
