I have a memory of my Dad that is so important to me, and it makes me realize even more how grateful I am to have had him in my life...I think it represents one source I had that made all the difference as I tried to climb out of Nmother and Nbrother damage.
I had struggled so hard in school to be accepted and liked and failed miserably. In second grade I was so eager to participate and be liked. The teacher (I found out later) was an active alcoholic who LOATHED my mother (who taught 1st grade in the same small school). She loathed my mother's prim goodiness to the point that she would start humming The Old Rugged Cross when Mom walked by. I had no idea of these things, except to sense that for some reason this grownup lady really disliked me, and it was the first time in my young life I'd been disliked by an adult (other kids, I half-expected, because of my brother's behavior). But not the TEACHER. (I worshipped teachers on principle, as both my parents taught).
Anyway, this teacher had a ritual of writing a Privilege Message on the blackboard. Every morning as the class filed in, some lucky/good student would have a message. E.g., Fred, please carry a message to the office for me. Susie, take these 2 library books up to the library. Understand, for 7 and 8 year olds, this was a BIG DEAL! They'd puff with pride and carry out their duty. I was just barely six and tiny, but BOY, did I want a message/duty. And she knew it too, because I was so transparently eager.
So one day, the blackboard said, Hops, come up to my desk for a message. I HOPPED from my seat and eagerly went up, little heart all pumping with joy...and she glared at me and said (loud enough for the class to hear): "You have an Unsatisfactory in Conduct, because you talk too much. Now take this home to your parents."
I didn't even understand the word, but I understood her tone. I was crushed. When I got home I was so sad I coudln't even talk. My mother took one look and, at least bless her for knowing her limits, said to my father, You'd better handle this. Dad took me to the living room, put on a stack of the gorgeous symphonies he knew I loved as much as he, and just pulled me onto his lap, wordlessly. I will always remember sitting there in his arms, maybe crying a little, but mostly just knowing that in that silent embrace, offering me the comfort of music (the only emotional language he really could use, but we had that in common) and his arms, the rough scratchy wool of his jacket, and his quiet attention to just me (no papers or books) while we sat there for a long long time.
I was still a sad little girl, but that was a moment that affirmed for me that I truly was loved. And I wish for every sore heart here that each person here had had at least one parent or loving relative who had touched them with kindness or responded to their pain with a gesture of love.
I send spongey shoulders by the ether, for what they're worth, they're here.
(((((((((((((all-a y'all)))))))))
Hops
