Saturday, June 26, 2010
Good afternoon, everyone. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, or should I say, it was. It sure is heating up now. I got dressed and went out to do a little shopping for myself. Got a couple of house dresses for days like today when the cable guy is coming and it's too hot to stay fully dressed, some new slippers, and a couple new skirts. It sure is nice to have money to spend when I feel like it. When I smoked, I found myself living check to check. By the way, July 4th will be my one year anniversary.
"What does not destroy me, makes me stronger."--Wilhelm Nietzsche
You know, ever since the other day when I posted about my mom, I have been racking my brain trying to remember things about my dad... and all I was able to come up with is the boy's toys I would find under the every Christmas and the following little tale.
A country girl, I used to love catching tadpoles with my friends. Sadly, most of them did not fare well in captivity, but I had one who was doing so great; he was actually beginning to sprout legs. He was my pride and joy. One night, I had gone to bed...leaving him on the back porch as I always did...and when I got up in the morning, I was devastated to find the jar smashed in pieces on the ground, and my little fella was dead. My dead, the alcoholic, had come home drunk the night before and knocked the jar off the porch. Oh, how I cried for my special little pet.
I remember that my parents were pretty mean to me that day....my mom more than my dad...who was sort of hanging his head. I was told to stop crying, it was only a tadpole...and that if I kept on crying, I would be sent to my room...and...I was sent to my room. I was only a little girl. Couldn't they have seen how much I was hurting? But, that is what happens when you grow up in a dysfunctional family and these are some of the rules you learn to abide by: Don't talk, Don't feel, Don't challenge, and in my family, Don't think. Or, Do as I say, not as I do. I bet most of your have heard that one.
What I have come to realize is that the reason I have so few memories of my dad is because I never really knew him. He was there, but he wasn't there...pretty much a stranger to me for as long as I can remember. He worked all day, and at night, either went to the neighborhood bar or drank his beers in his room. No family stuff...he and his little fox terrier. They were inseparable, those two, and sadly, he gave that little dog far more attention than he ever gave his daughter. If only he had shared...perhaps I would have something more than a tadpole to remember him by.
"Love is what we are born with. Fear is what we learned here. The spiritual journey is the relinquishment--or unlearning--of fear and the acceptance of love back into our hearts."--Marianne Williamson