A Round of Applause for Love

I have this funny cartoon that goes on in my head and pops up like Garfield's bubble, especially around Valentine's Day. It goes like this. First frame: Everyone is walking around wearing their hearts inside-out. Second frame: From each person's heart hangs a retractable extension cord, and it seems everyone is searching desperately to plug their extension cord into another person's heart. Third Frame: With trepidation, they approach others and try to plug in to that person's heart, only each time they plug in, the cord snaps right back. Last frame: after walking around and around and unsuccessfully plugging in to other people, they finally get the picture, and pull their plug out just a little bit and plug it right back into their own hearts. Moral of the cartoon: You are your own power source. Your love comes from within. I learned this lesson early on, when I was perhaps six or seven years old.

When I was a child, we lived in a small beach community where the houses were built fairly close to each other. The man who owned the house behind us, Mr. Woodman, lived alone. He was well over six feet tall. He had a lone curly sprig of hair that jutted straight out of the top-center of his shiny, bald and misshapen head, and on the sides were indentations where forceps had made their marks. His ears were disproportionately large and his nose was bulbous red, and off-center. To make matters worse, one eye looked directly at you while the other wandered off somewhere to the left. I never knew which eye to follow. People shunned Mr. Woodman because of his presence. His gait was lopsided and his smile was one-sided due to a long-lasting case of Bell's Palsy.  He was the only loan officer in our one-bank town, thus, people had to be nice to him. I was always nice to him. I was too young to understand his role in the community, but I knew I adored him.  Every morning, our paths would cross as he walked to the bank and I walked to school. He would always stoop down to my level and ask me how I was and what I thought I'd learn in school that day. If I'd see him later on, he'd ask "What did you like about school today?" or "What didn't you like about school today?" or "What would you change about school today?" To this day, I find myself asking those three questions and can tailor them to just about most things. 

Mr. Woodman had a secret that I'm guessing only a few knew. Since our homes were so close together, I could hear him get ready for work in the morning; the squeaky closet doors, the click-creak-click of the medicine cabinet, and the rush of  water in the bathroom sink. Every morning his routine would be the same. Squeak, click, water rush, then these words would belt out of his crooked mouth "Bob, I love you!" and applause. Yep, applause like clap-clap.  I felt bad for him knowing he had to tell himself that he loved himself because no one else loved him. Then, I got to wondering if all adults did this? Was this something I should be doing? One morning, I went into my own bathroom, climbed up on the toilet seat, open and closed the medicine cabinet, turned on the water and then said "Nancy, I love you!" and I stood there and applauded myself! My mother rushed in asking me what I was doing. She had heard Mr. Woodman's words every morning as well and thought I was being a clown. I had tears streaming down my face because I loved Mr. Woodman and would never make fun of him. She assured me that Bob had found a way to feel love for himself since he didn't have other people to tell him.  The "applause" my mother told me, - the clap-clap I heard, was him splashing after-shave on his face.  I'm certain it took years for me to process Mr. Woodman's message, but I secretly went into the bathroom every morning after that, ran the water and whispered "Nancy, I love you."  And, still do so to this day, applause and all. Guess I'm pretty well plugged in thanks to Mr. Woodman.