My Graduation Party PTSD

As the calendar turns to June, it can only mean one thing: High School Graduation Party Season. It’s a time of year that brings forth a bit of PTSD in me.

When I graduated from Garden City West High School High School (Go Tigers! West is best, East is least!!), my folks threw me a party. We had a picture board (highlighting my senior year afro which should be the reason for my PTSD, but it’s not), a trophy display (second place in the cub scout pinewood derby, among other similarly prestigious achievements) and cake (Sam’s didn’t exist then. My mom and Dunkin Hines provide the cake). It was a grand affair. But my brother, Fred, was unable to attend  because he was a poor seminary student in Kansas City at the time. 

Fred, too poor to travel, but not too poor to help me celebrate, sent a singing telegram from a guy dressed in a gorilla costume. Nothing says, “Happy Graduation” like a singing gorilla, right? Instead of just some stranger dressed as a gorilla, I thought it was my brother, Fred, in the gorilla costume. I thought Fred had lied about not coming home in an effort to surprise me on my happy day.

Now for the PTSD: At the sight of the singing gorilla, not thinking it was a stranger but Fred, I ran and jumped into the singing gorilla’s arms. Once in the gorilla’s clutches (PTSD alert), I quickly realized that the dude singing with the spicy burrito breathe was not Fred. It was a stranger. I was in his arms and like the song from that era, the one-hit-wonder Sérgio Mendes’, classic, Never Gonna Let you go; I thought the gorilla was, in fact, never gonna let me go. He kept singing and singing, all the while hugging me with a King-Kong-like grip. 

If you know me, you know, I am not much of a “hugger.” I hug Karla, that’s about it. I wish I were a hugger, I’m not. Hugs aren’t bad. They are fine signs of affection. I just can’t bring myself to doing it very often. It’s odd. It’s weird. It’s a societal faux pax. For this I blame the gorilla and his never-gonna-let-me-go grip. I’m not sure if I’m afraid of never being let go or never wanting to smell that spicy burrito breathe again. 

Here’s the good news, even though I might not be a hugger, our Heavenly Father is. Like in the prodigal son story, when the boy returns the Bible says, “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him” (Luke 15:20). Our Father is waiting to embrace us. He wants us in His family. No matter where we’ve been or how far gone we are. He longs for us to be home with Him. Best of all, Paul wrote: For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39). In other words, our Father never lets us go (and He doesn’t have spicy burrito breathe). Praise the Lord!