"Now I'm a real kid."

Ryan is my younger brother. As a small child, he was the cutest kid ever! He was especially sensitive to other people's needs. Example: If given a bag of skittles, Ryan would divide out the candy to everyone in the room without any prompting. It was as if he realized how much he liked candy, assumed everyone else wanted it as much as he did, and gave accordingly.

Ryan idolized his grandpa. Grandpa Gray happened to be a man of very, very passionate opinions. In expressing himself, he frequently would throw his fist down to the table and yell, "Damn it!" Sure enough, when Ryan was tall enough to reach the table, he'd do it to. I can still hear his little voice wail out the explitive; his small fist, though clenched very tightly, didn't produce the pop that Grandpa's did.

In an effort to satisfy Ryan's desire to "be just like Grandpa," my mom bought him a small pair of size 5 cowboy boots. Ryan grinned his wide-eyed grin of surprise and excitement when he recieved them and was anxious to put them on. He immediately sat down on the floor, pulled off his little boy's sneakers and with some help, put the boots on. He stood up, threw his hips back to get a view of the boots and with great approval exclaimed, "Now I'm a real kid!"

I love recalling this event. I think about Ryan's "little boy" perception of himself, who he thought he was, who he thought he was suppossed to be, and what he wanted. I wonder, how did those boots elevate Ryan (in his mind) to the obviously anticipated event of becoming real, valid, authentic?

What would a pair of Manolo's on my feet provoke me to exclaim? Or to mature the conversation, what would a great job, a home, a family of my own, a triumph, perhaps a failure, a weakness, a disappointment provoke me to exclaim about my authenticity as... well, what is that I most want to be?

These moments in life that confirm authenticity are a strange thing. Because until the time you reach those elusive stations, you are wholy capable of living without them. But then they wake you up to a need that you never realized was so empty. And you're damned to try to live without them again.