Ok, I'm gonna go digging. But it's gonna be brief and I'm not happy about it. I figure if there is so much emphasis on the activity there may be something I'm missing by not participating. So, here goes. Returning to my childhood home is my version of being sent to hell. Not sure I believe in the literal hell, so this is definitely my version. I remember pretty white curtains with blue flowers in my bedroom (which I shared with my sister). The walls were a pretty blue that was painted over layers of old wallpaper that was peeling in spots. There was a big hole in the ceiling in the kitchen area, rending it unuseable, especially during a hard rain. You had to pass this area to get to the washer and dryer. The floor was so bad that the neighbor girl literally fell through the floor up to her knees one morning before school. Embarrassing. And that was just the physical reality. My childhood experience, including the home, was not as difficult as many, but something no child should have to experience. It's why I worry about the slow progress of remodeling in my current home. Does the lack of trim as we wait for the next phase embarass Bennett as I was embarrassed? I hope not.
I don't remember admiring or envying other girls in my teenager years except for the semblance of normalcy that allowed them to carry themselves with an assuredness I'm still not sure I possess. It was never about their clothes, or houses or vacations. There is something about the lack of worry for the basic things in life that guarantees success in social settings and the general world. This is something I remember as I deal with my students every day. Many of them are in much worse situations that I was. What I do know came from that long buried experience is a sense that I would have a very different life. In many ways I have succeeded. While it has meant relinquishing my childhood faith, loss of close family relationships and a bumpy journey down my path it has also given me a strength of character and purpose that I don't know I would have had otherwise.
I'm still not sure that this excavation was necessary. I drove through my old hometown with my husband and son yesterday, probably giving me the courage to proceed. It's the first time I can remember not getting sick to my stomach as I drove through. I was able to point out old friends houses, where I went to school, the little league park where I spent so much time. There were some good things. But the good thinks occurred while I was pretending that my reality was that of a normal small town girl. I even created my good times based on belief of what could and should be. There is a resilience in the hope that my younger self carried forward that I continue to look to for inspiration. If Seigfried could do it, I guess my journey was not nearly as difficult. Hoping that you're excavation reveals a beautiful tile mosaic you didn't remember existed. I'm still looking for mine.
Grateful today for:
1. A sister who can relate (even if she doesn't want to excavate either!)
2. A glass is 3/4 full perception of life (I'm more than a little polyanna at times)
3. A husband who can whip up dinner while I'm finishing coursework I had forgetten was due.
Well, I nearly skipped reading this one, just to avoid the excavating bit. But I was pleasantly surprised by the good memories the questions prompted. I remember making cherry pies (each of us kids getting our own "mini" pie), camping at Mio every summer with family, doing crafts with my grandma when we spent a few days at her house, summer days in Mall's pond. It was nice to be reminded of the positive things we did, that were rarely about things and mostly about spending time with great people. I am so lucky to still have most of those people in my life! And amazing memories of those who have passed away.
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