I've been trying to think of something fun to post this week, so you wouldn't all think I'm a perpetual downer, but thus far I've been fairly down and unable to. They say writing is therapeutic, like a long run, it kind of helps get it out. I've been kind of wanting to talk about this to someone since my counseling session last week, but so far the words haven't come out, even in email. I'm not allowing comments on this post and I hope none of you think badly of me for that, but this one is just for me, because some things have been slowly eating away at me since that session and it may help to just write it out. Thank you for understanding.
I was asked, "what's your first memory as a child." "I don't know" was my automatic response. Think about it, just sit and try and think of the first thing you can remember. I'm not sure if this was an attempt to bring up a happy memory or not. What's your first memory? I was young, small enough that I still went to the bathroom in my pants sometimes and it was cold out, maybe fall or early spring, I don't know, but the ground was cold and I was naked, my brother was naked and we were being chased in the backyard, getting spanked and sprayed with a cold hose water by my father, because one or maybe both of us had an accident. We ran in circles, trying to evade the hose and the smacks, but I can clearly recall seeing the outlying red of hand prints on Mike's back and butt while I was running. That's my first memory. I keep trying to remember something else, something before that, but nothing is presenting itself from the depths of my memory. I remember more though, things I haven't thought about for a very long time.
I remember being in the bathtub, sitting there and being asked something and perhaps I responded smartly or said the wrong thing or was being a brat, I really don't know, but I was taken out of the bathtub and smacked several times with the belt. I remember being a bit older and I don't know why, but my father had a big pot of cold water and kept throwing over my head to get the shampoo out. I remember saying it was really cold. I remember getting yelled at an not knowing why. I remember he was sober then. I always recalled the alcohol after and even before my mother passed and it was forever a well, he was an alcoholic, that's why he was mean. He was sober. I remember good things too though. I was falling, off a board at my grandma's barn loft and my feet had all ready come off and I was grabbed by this big hand and pulled up. It was my dad. I have a lot of happy memories, they're not all bad. I remember watching my mom fence (she took fencing at the local college), watching and doing Tia Chi with her, sitting in her friend, Sue's house, where there was a sky mural on the wall and meditating. I remember canoeing as a family with my brother and father in one canoe and my mother and I in another, I remember long bike rides next to my mom, hikes and water skiing. I remember my mother asked for a new pair of running shoes a week before she died. I remember she used to stop and give the local (there was only one at the time in my small town I knew about) homeless man food. I remember she laughed a lot and she loved me. Happy, my mother knew how to make people happy, how to be a good friend and she loved easily.
So many good memories and yet the haunting words echoing in the back of my head this week are: he was sober.
I was asked, "what's your first memory as a child." "I don't know" was my automatic response. Think about it, just sit and try and think of the first thing you can remember. I'm not sure if this was an attempt to bring up a happy memory or not. What's your first memory? I was young, small enough that I still went to the bathroom in my pants sometimes and it was cold out, maybe fall or early spring, I don't know, but the ground was cold and I was naked, my brother was naked and we were being chased in the backyard, getting spanked and sprayed with a cold hose water by my father, because one or maybe both of us had an accident. We ran in circles, trying to evade the hose and the smacks, but I can clearly recall seeing the outlying red of hand prints on Mike's back and butt while I was running. That's my first memory. I keep trying to remember something else, something before that, but nothing is presenting itself from the depths of my memory. I remember more though, things I haven't thought about for a very long time.
I remember being in the bathtub, sitting there and being asked something and perhaps I responded smartly or said the wrong thing or was being a brat, I really don't know, but I was taken out of the bathtub and smacked several times with the belt. I remember being a bit older and I don't know why, but my father had a big pot of cold water and kept throwing over my head to get the shampoo out. I remember saying it was really cold. I remember getting yelled at an not knowing why. I remember he was sober then. I always recalled the alcohol after and even before my mother passed and it was forever a well, he was an alcoholic, that's why he was mean. He was sober. I remember good things too though. I was falling, off a board at my grandma's barn loft and my feet had all ready come off and I was grabbed by this big hand and pulled up. It was my dad. I have a lot of happy memories, they're not all bad. I remember watching my mom fence (she took fencing at the local college), watching and doing Tia Chi with her, sitting in her friend, Sue's house, where there was a sky mural on the wall and meditating. I remember canoeing as a family with my brother and father in one canoe and my mother and I in another, I remember long bike rides next to my mom, hikes and water skiing. I remember my mother asked for a new pair of running shoes a week before she died. I remember she used to stop and give the local (there was only one at the time in my small town I knew about) homeless man food. I remember she laughed a lot and she loved me. Happy, my mother knew how to make people happy, how to be a good friend and she loved easily.
So many good memories and yet the haunting words echoing in the back of my head this week are: he was sober.
