I don’t remember the assignment. Were we studying California? I can’t be sure. But the speed at which I raced home from Washington Elementary, (well, the bus went at it’s normal lumbering yellow pace, but my mind was feverishly blurring) to build a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge, reflected the certainty of my need to cross over.
The size was already established. I found only one piece of plywood in the shed that divided our lot and Dynda’s empty one. Did I ask for permission to use it? I hope I did. Anything found on Van Dyke Road seemed like community property, so I put it in my rusted wagon and went back to our basement. Since the Tech School renters had moved out, I used the downstairs kitchen for making things – anything. I wasn’t allowed to use a saw, this would have to be the size. I went upstairs. Put a chair in front of the cupboard where my mom “hid” the chocolate chips. Passed them over. There was art to be made. I opened the thin cupboard beside and pulled out the off-brand roll of tin foil. It was probably only minutes, but it seemed a lifetime, with feet dangling over the kitchen floor, that I worked to release the foil from its own jagged grip. Once freed, I ran back downstairs and covered the entire sheet of plywood. Crinkled it like waves. With neither a mask nor a drop cloth, I spray painted it blue (also found in the shed). There was nothing left to do but plan my argument on how my mother should drive me back to town after just driving home from work. I had already made a list. Popsicle sticks. Glue. Wire. Red paint. I watched the second hand on the clock.
Once released from her nylons and having heard my plea, my mom drove us back to Ben Franklin and purchased the goods. It took me an entire week to finish. It was too big for the bus, nearly three feet in length, and almost as high, so my mother once again had to drive me to school. Nyloned or not, I never heard her complain.
I suppose we received grades, but that’s the thing about art, the real joy comes in the doing. It was my first bridge. I have been building them ever since. Word by word. Heart by heart. Day by day. Seeing it yesterday, The Golden Gate, I was reminded, the only reason I am here today, is my willingness, my eagerness, to cross over to the beauty that lies ahead.
It’s all about the choices we make. We can choose to stay or to cross over. We are offered these bridges as gifts. It’s not always easy to dare to cross over, to get through, to get beyond… but it is a choice. So many rivers to cross. And with one step, we choose… we decide to love, to be loved… we decide that we are actually worthy of the giving and receiving… we choose to live… and we cross over… we cross over to the beauty that lies ahead. What a journey!
