Saturday, March 12, 2011

The Navatsyk Thighs

"Did you want them that big? Your thighs, I mean," a good friend asked three years ago. The Navatsyk thighs are both an ethnic blessing and curse that have followed me since sophomore year of college - incidentally, the same time I discovered the satisfaction of late night pints (both ice cream and beer). Earlier this year, when I claimed they were a hereditary trait, a guy asked if Polish people really had big thighs. I was taken aback, because I have never had to defend my thighs but rather accept them for what they are - sixteen inches of sweet, muscular girth. After this week, I am assured my thighs are not the problem, but rather the guys questioning their legitimacy.

For those of you who avidly follow my blog, anxiously awaiting each new post, you will remember that I struggle with the idea of volunteering. This sentiment is probably attributable to my capitalist mindset that requires a tangible result to imply success - namely, a pay check. In my defense, since I worked most of my life, I have never had ample time to fully commit to a certain organization, especially if I was dedicated myself to other extracurriculars, ie Thursday nights on Coventry.

Although I moved to Virginia for a job, ultimately, I know that was simply a means to bring me here. The Lord has other purposes, which I am attempting to navigate throughout my transition. One of these purposes, I believe, is volunteering. Around the turn of the new year, I applied to an organization that focuses on the underprivileged of Charlottesville. The programs reach out to inner city youth through tutoring, after school programs and small youth groups.

I am happy to say I have been an active volunteer for nearly two months. Each Thursday, three other leaders and I gather a group of 10-15 high school girls, eat dinner, share a brief message, and facilitate a craft or game. When I began, one of the leaders warned me of the degree of difficulty and commitment. Because of their background, she said, the girls do not trust easily and may take some time before they welcome you.

As it is, I sometimes wish the girls would be a bit less open with me. Perhaps it is my bubbly, somewhat flaky personality, my loud laugh, or my affinity for dancing in the car, but whatever the reason, they feel comfortable discussing serious issues with me. I believe that everyone can relate through common human experiences such as joy, insecurities, struggles, and hope. In the case of high school girls, boys consume the majority of these thoughts, although the trend does not seem to change much with age.

In my attempt to counsel the girls, I am very open about my shortcomings, with the hope that by seeing others embrace and work through imperfections, they can do the same. I exchange letters with one girl each week, and since she is currently struggling with that horribly awkward stage of transitioning into high school and dealing with boys, I commiserate.

This past Thursday, Mirakle offered me encouragement in her letter, stating that a man would one day love me for who I am because I have everything a guy could want. What qualities are those? She listed a couple generic qualities such as my humor, beauty, and character. Specifically, though, my desirable qualities are my "ghetto booty, thick thighs, and I got it all in the right places."

Needless to say, I am seriously reconsidering my strategy on pursuing guys. I may be able to name my child Maleek, after all.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

A Small Tribute

Twenty-four years ago, on March 5, 1987, my brother, Stephen was born. I have often thought how convenient it would be to have an older brother, as the idea of hanging out with his friends and inadvertently falling in love with one appeals to me. Currently, I cannot justify dating a friend of my younger brother, Philip, even if they did recently come of legal age - I think I should at least wait until they can buy me drinks.

Stephen's story is one that portrays the faith, strength and unconditional love of my parents. It speaks to not only the mysterious ways in which God works, but also to His provision in times of desperation. His story, however, is not for me to tell. I have only the lingering memory of the night he died and his teddy bear to serve as reminders of Stephen's life. Had he been born a perfectly healthy boy, my parents may have decided that four children completed the Navatsyk household. As it was, they had two more, and while they were finally blessed with a boy, they also were blessed with me - admittedly, I am at times less of a blessing than others.

Family has been on my heart lately. Perhaps it is because I visited home last weekend, and immersing oneself in an environment after being away requires adjustments. More than that, though, I have discovered since leaving how valuable the support of family is, and the importance of having security in that. I would like to dedicate this small musing not to my older brother, although I know he strengthened my family in his short life, but to my three older sisters, who have undoubtedly strengthened my life.

In a family that spans fourteen years, relationships among siblings will inevitably look different. Being eleven years my elder, Julie and I were the most distant during childhood. Still, I have lovely memories of traveling to Chicago, decorating her condominium for the holidays, shopping on Michigan Avenue, and relaxing movie nights completed by vast amounts of chocolate and deep dish pizza.

I always looked to Gail, the self-proclaimed "socialite" for guidance in regards to boys, fashion, and eye makeup. I loved going shopping with her, following her around each store, holding prospective merchandise, and helping decide which items were most flattering. I sat on the kitchen counter weekday afternoons, listening intently to each nugget of high school drama she brought home. Indeed, I believe her tutelage proved effective, as I won best dressed in high school, had a boyfriend, and received multiple compliments on my eyes.

Lydia and I were the closest growing up. I joined her in many life stages, including her sixth grade rebel years which consisted of walking on our roof despite parental reprimands and listening to Alanis Morisette. Philip, Lydia and I had a multitude of adventures including bonding as Goobs (our exclusive family in the Figi islands), dance parties to Wyclef Jean, spending summer nights on Lydia's floor, and outrageous film production.

As the years have passed, my relationship with each of my sisters has evolved in its own way. Lydia and I remained close, and I went to her for comfort and wisdom in many situations. I looked forward to my trips to visit her in college, Washington D.C. and Philadelphia, as they were always full of laughter, silliness, reminiscing and new excursions. We have kept the Goob tradition alive and had a rooftop ceremony to knight Lydia's husband a Goob prior to their marriage.

When Gail graduated college, I was beginning high school. Soon after, she married her high school sweetheart and moved across town. The house in Burlington holds dear memories of watching the Bachelor, eating overly salted/buttered/cheesy popcorn while watching movies on their big screen, summer nights on the back patio, and pretty sundae bowls holding decadent treats. Since marriage, Gail has also brought two beautiful children into the world, and to be near home in their earliest years was a blessing I will always cherish. As I went to college and experienced the promising beginnings, turbulent roads, and sometimes heartbreaking ends of relationships, it was comforting to know I had a friend within forty minutes. The Hewitt house was a small oasis, whether I wanted to work out, play with my niece and nephew, or simply hang out on the couch and listen to Mitch berate the female tendencies of the conversation.

In the most recent years, Julie and I bridged the decade gap that separated us, as we found common ground in our love for traveling and marketing, as well as both being single. Two years ago, we took a small vacation to Mexico. Sitting at a French restaurant discussing life over a delicious three course meal, I saw our relationship really cross the line of the bond of sisterhood to become a dear friendship as well. She has been there to commiserate about boy troubles, advise me through the job hunting process, encourage me through various struggles with Christianity and chat about sophisticated, adult topics such as music, fine beer and college sports.

Despite our strong relationships, being the youngest of four girls, it is easy to see yourself in their shadows, to continually feel the need to prove that you are not merely the "little sister." The truth is, though, that I will always be the little sister.

More than that, I would not be where I am were it not for my three older sisters. Lydia's love for God and strong conviction inspire me to give myself to others and work to improve my own walk with the Lord. Her free spirit has always helped me embrace my inner-weirdo and be shamelessly unconventional at times. Gail's strength in her marriage and her sacrificial motherhood serves as an example of how a God-honoring family should look. Realizing the effort it requires may be part of the reason I am not currently married, although other factors such as my half-hearted hygiene and occasionally slacking appearance probably also contribute. Her guidance regarding relationships with others has prompted me to take a stand where otherwise I would have remained complacent. Gail's voice, as well as her husband's, is constantly in my head as I enter the weight room, tennis court or other fields of competition. Seeing Julie live away from home and answer to various family members about being single has given me strength to do the same. Her constant drive to rise above mediocrity in the workplace while doing what she loves gave me the boldness to pursue a career that may not ultimately bring me back to Chardon. I aspire to live with the confidence, passion and integrity which I have seen in their lives.

While it seems counter intuitive to me, maintaining close bonds with family requires effort. My sisters and I have vastly different personalities, and at times, relating with those differences strains the relationship. However, it is working through those issues that enables us to laugh together, cry together, and have honest discussions, knowing that, ultimately, they will only bring us closer.

My favorite memories will always be those spent with family, whether it is a night out, vacations, playing with the Hewitt children, or laughing at the kitchen table. Greater, still, are the memories of those moments where my family has been there to guide and challenge me. So, on this day, a day when family is always a bit closer to my heart, I would like to thank my three older sisters for their humor, graciousness, wisdom, and friendship.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Side View Mirrors

I am beginning a new segment to my semi-weekly blog: product brainstorming. If someone is intelligent enough to transform my million dollar ideas into reality, I will only demand 70% of royalties, a gracious negotiation. Today’s idea: tinted side view mirrors.

I was not privileged enough to have an SUV when I came of driving age. Interestingly enough, as time went on and my driving record developed, my father continually downgraded my leased vehicle. Initially, though, I had a four door coupe, the Nissan Maxima. The trend continued, and I currently drive a low-riding Pontiac G6, Maleek.

Before delving deeper into my latest product enhancement, I will answer two inevitable questions begged by the previous statement. The G6 is a two door, not a four door, although by no choice of my own. My father asked me which I would prefer, and while I contemplated which would be the more prudent choice for my future, he decided I should buy the two door. I am thankful for his initiative, as I do look fairly fly in a sports car.

As for the name: I recently decided I love that name, but realized that unless I procreate with a black man, I do not feel justified naming my baby boy Maleek. Following this logic, I need to purchase at least three more cars so I can name them Malachi, Jamal, and I-ea (pronounced eye-dash-ee-uh). I could also marry a black man. Regardless, since the most prestigious item I possess (next to my teal boots) is my vehicle, I decided to name it Maleek.

Maleek and I were chatting on my way home Sunday, when our conversation was rudely interrupted by a truck riding my bumper. Annoying? Yes. Cause for road rage? Perhaps. The worst part of our encounter was that due to his towering height, the headlights shone directly into the sideview mirrors, rendering Maleek temporarily blinded. No car should have to stare directly into the harmful fluorescent rays emitted by bullying vehicles. If it is possible to tint the rearview movie, heat my seats, and start my car from a mile away, surely someone can provide Maleek with necessary protection. This way, our discussion pertaining to the strategy of maintaining consistent, comfortable temperature in the car does not have to take a back seat to the burning of our retinas.