Little Me

I was pondering the other day what I was like as a child, and I suddenly had the thought, "I wish I could travel back in time and give that little girl a big hug, and tell her that everything was going to be ok."

At the moment I was having these thoughts, I was remembering a time during my parents' divorce when I was hugging my dad as he was dropping me off at my mom's house. He was going away on business, and I told him I wanted to stay with him and that I didn't want him to go. I could see that he was torn, even at such a young age, but he told me I needed to be with my mom, and that he'd see me again soon. I remember he picked me up off the ground and hugged me very tight. With my head rested on his shoulder, I saw my mother watching us from the window at the front door, and I immediately felt guilty. I tried to wriggle out of my dad's grasp because I didn't want my mom to see that I missed my dad. I didn't want her to get angry and yell. I remember going inside and crying because I also felt guilty for hurting my dad. I had seen the hurt in his eyes as he left. And that's when I had this thought; this strong desire to reach back into that memory and hug that little girl as she cried, and tell her that she is loved and that it's not her fault. I would explain that mommy might try to say that daddy is a bad person, but not to believe it, and to always believe that her daddy does love her. I would wipe the tears from her little face and fix her mussed hair and explain that she will go through some hard times, but to always remember that she has great worth and value, and that one day she will grow up to be a really cool person.

There was another time I thought of that still makes me angry to this very day. When I was in first grade, a girl in my class named Nicole told the teacher that I had spit on her. This hit me out of the blue when they confronted me about it, as I didn't do it and had no idea what they were talking about. I don't even know why this girl said it. I barely knew her. I recall being so angry that they just believed her and convicted me of the offense without any real evidence at all. I can see myself now, sitting in an empty classroom, sobbing my eyes out while everyone else was out at recess. Even my mom didn't believe me, and eventually I had to write an apology letter to this girl for something I didn't even do. At the age of six, I couldn't understand how the world could be so unfair. I laid my head on my desk, and I cried and cried until I pretty much passed out. If I could, I would travel back to that empty classroom, wrap that little girl in my arms, and tell her that I believed she didn't do it. I would give her a tissue, and as she blew her nose and wiped her tears, I would explain that sometimes people say things that aren't true for no reason at all. Sometimes people are bored, or jealous, or just plain mean, and they hurt people that have done nothing to them for their own entertainment or satisfaction. I would have told her to stand up for herself, maintain her innocence, and refuse to write an apology letter, consequences be damned.

The last memory that flashed through my mind was from a time when I was about seven and my grandparents were visiting for Christmas. We had a nice dinner, and I remember my grandpa was stealing food off my plate, which he and I found hilarious, and my grandma found irritating. My mom had left the house to run an errand and my grandmother started to clean up the dishes. I don't remember her and grandpa arguing, but I do remember that, all of the sudden, my grandpa cornered grandma at the sink, grabbed her around the waist, pinning her against the counter and said, "I'll give you something to really yell about Margaret, when I break this plate over your damn head!" I can still see that gray dinner plate with dandelions on it hovering in the air above the sink, poised over grandma. My sister and I were frozen on the other side of the kitchen, just watching it all unfold, dumbfounded. Grandma was screaming, and she yelled at my sister and I to call 911. We remained frozen, just watching, not knowing what to do. I think my sister did grab the phone, but as soon as she did, grandpa released grandma and mumbled something like, "Oh for Christ sake, I wasn't really going to hit her," and he stomped off down the stairs. If it were possible, I would appear there in that kitchen, kneel down in front of that frozen, silently sobbing little girl, and taking her hands in mine I would explain to her that grandma and grandpa had some problems in their marriage that had nothing to do with her. Grandpa simply lost his temper, as we all do sometimes, but he expressed it in a bad way. I would tell her it's not her fault, and that grandma and grandpa love her very much.

I think there are memories like these for all of us. Memories that are so strong and still so painful. It makes me so angry sometimes that no one told me the things I needed to hear at those times. No one explained anything, and I was just left to wonder what I'd done wrong. I grieve for children that are going through exactly the same things. It literally makes me sick to know that there are children out there that are feeling what I felt: children who witness abuse, verbal and physical, children who go through messy, spiteful divorces, children who are subject to bullying. I see them being screamed at in malls, walking by themselves to school, or being eulogized on the news. It makes you wonder how their lives would have been different if someone had cared enough to love them, and explain this sometimes terrible, unfair, and confusing world we live in.

It's odd to think about the fact that the little girl in those memories, and the person I am now are indeed the same person. God is good, and he continues to heal me and help me understand everyday.