This page was last updated on May 12, 2001.
I have a confession to make... I float. It's very slight and hardly perceivable. I floated the day I was born. I think my doctor was a floater, for how could he keep silent about such a thing? Surely I don't remember if I was born with tears in my eyes or with my eyes full of curiosity and wonderment, but somehow I do remember floating.
I floated into my mom and dad's arms, into my grandma and grandpa's arms too. I wonder if they all noticed. Maybe they thought I was just unusually light. As I grew older, I began to walk. Truthfully, I just learned to move my legs as if I were walking. After all, walking is what everyone else was doing. I fit in by simply moving my legs in rhythm with everyone else's. As a child, I floated along Hooper Avenue in South Central L.A., "running" around with all the older kids That's where my parents owned a small mom and pop market on the corner. One day, I was squatting by the street curb in front of the store, fascinated by the leaves and trash rushing into the gutter. I must have floated a little too close to the busy street, because I remember a middle-aged black lady stopping her car, rolling down the passenger window, and then scolding me for playing too close to the street. I think she was confused by my floating, but her sweet compassion kept her focus on protecting me and she quickly set aside the unusual vision.
My dad sold the market after it was held up a few too many times, and my family later moved to Dewey Street in what is now Korea town. I floated there too. My dad became an accountant, and my mom helped out at her aunt's hot dog stand. With our own market gone, we then had to shop at someone else's market. I remember the kindness of the white-haired lady who worked at the corner market. My brother and I used to pick up a few goods here and there for my mom... bread, ketchup, mayo, and the like. We later felt comfortable enough to go on our own to buy candy or potato chips for ourselves. I remember the lady's shoes were very unusual. They were spotless white shoes, laced up on the side and not down the middle. She walked very slowly. I'm sure she was in pain, but she always greeted me with a smile. Something about her presence made me float just a little higher. I would get a little embarrassed each time, but I just kept moving my feet in rhythm with my brother's.
I later became brave enough to float to the store by myself, craving those greasy, yummy potato chips. I must have been no older than five at the time. I would scurry through my mom's sewing drawer, looking for anything that looked like money, grabbing anything round and shiny. Round and shiny... that's money, right? Each time I walked into the store, the old lady would smile and say "hi." Without having my brother's stride to follow, I must have appeared awkward moving my legs a little out of sync with my forward motion. Without hesitation, the old lady would slowly walk over to the steel rack and help me pick out just the right chips. I handed her my money, and she would sweetly say "thank you" and pat me on the head. She knew I floated, for surely I bounced from her every pat. She knew, and yet she never reacted as if I were different or strange.
One day I entered the store to find an older man working behind the counter. I remember his balding head crowned by slick brown hair. He was intensely watching me as I looked up and down the potato chip rack, searching for just the right chips. His piercing, suspicious eyes made me feel nervous. I couldn't reach my favorite chips on the upper rack this time, so I settled for a brand I didn't recognize on a lower rack. He walked over to me, and I thought he might offer to help. As he stood by me, I felt my feet touching the ground. That made me feel even more nervous, so I quickly handed him my round and shiny coin to pay for the chips.
He then quickly blurted out as he grabbed my bag of chips, "This isn't money, this is a bus token! You can't buy chips with a bus token!" I was shocked and scared, so I quickly ran out of the store. That was the first time I can remember what it felt like to run with my feet actually touching the ground! Geez, I've been paying the sweet white-haired lady bus tokens, and she never said a word. I never saw her again after running out of that store, but I won't soon forget her kindness and her gentle pats on my head that made me bounce.
I guess I'd better jump ahead to adulthood or this confession may put you to sleep. I don't clearly remember the day I stopped floating. I guess it was a gradual thing, especially as life became heavier. There are so many things that bring on that heavier load-- heartbreaks, stressful jobs, health issues, loss of loved ones, and loneliness... to name just a few. My dad, who passed away last year, was a floater too. It's amazing that throughout my entire childhood I never knew. I only discovered this in adulthood and purely by chance.
About seven years ago when my niece Michelle was about three, I heard Michelle laughing in the front yard of our home in the Miracle Mile. I looked out the kitchen window to find her playing with my dad. She said to him, "Jump, Grandpa! Jump!" I then in awe watched my dad fly over the four-foot-wide flower bed as if in slow motion from our driveway onto the grass! Michelle laughed again with such joy. I've never seen my dad act so happy and childlike. I was shocked. My dad was such a quiet, humble man, who didn't like to stand out. I guess he never was comfortable being a floater. I think maybe that's why he liked to quietly sit in his living room chair and read the paper. His feet appeared firmly on the ground at all times. Possibly my dad stopped floating after he witnessed the death of his older sister in the Hiroshima bomb when he was a child. It's sad that I may never know. But I was happy to have discovered that my dad was a floater too. Suddenly I didn't feel so alone. That image of little Michelle reminding my dad of his ability to float is one of my happiest memories. I miss my dad.
Why confess today? Well, I've been a "walker" for so many years now, I've forgotten who I truly was. But today I remembered, and that is what I wanted to share. Today I was shopping in J-town for a mother's day gift for my grandma. The weather was great. It was a warm, sunny day, and I was lucky to have discovered that there was a Kid's Day festival going on in the quad by Second Street. As I walked by all the colorful booths and the happy kids with their parents, I could hear a lady with a sweet voice singing children's songs on stage. I knew something felt odd, and yet very comforting. I began gliding through the crowd. I was walking at a relaxed pace, and yet my movement felt a bit quicker and unusually light. The smiles and the laughter propelled me through the crowds.
I then stopped at the corner booth to buy a cold drink. I asked the young man working behind the counter for a Thai iced tea. His helper, a pretty girl with dark hair with a touch of highlight in it, handed me the drink... and then it happened. As soon as our eyes met, I started to lose my balance and began to fall. I wasn't falling down though, I was falling UP! I looked like an uncoordinated idiot as I hurriedly tried to grab the booth's frame and then the counter. I quickly pulled myself lower and tried to lock my shoe under one of the booth's legs. She was extremely patient as she watched me try to regain my footing. I then introduced myself and tried my best at small talk. Through all of this stumbling around, she never once batted an eye. Her nonreaction was very, very kind, and for that subtle kindness I am truly thankful.
It turns out I've met this girl before. She's a friend's friend's girlfriend. (Shucks!) She couldn't remember when or where we've met. She thought we recently met at a wedding. I knew how we actually met, but I was too embarrassed to tell her that I remembered meeting her over a year ago in an encounter that lasted no more than a minute. We met on the corner of First and San Pedro, only a block away. I remember. That is the truth. It was nice meeting her (again), and I told her so. Then I tried to float away from the booth as smoothly as possible, uncontrollably moving my legs in such an exaggerated way. I felt like Howdy Doody and was just hoping she didn't see the strings.
That funny little encounter reminded me that, yes... I float.
And now you know too. I've been walking too long, and I need to learn
to float once again. God has given me this gift to float, and I've learned that there are special people out there who can somehow
magically lift me higher... but only I can teach myself how to move forward
with grace and ease.
~aKiRa 5/12/01