In The Beginning

When I was a little girl, I was your typical tomboy. I ran around barefoot, flitting here and there, romping across the grass, and digging my toes into the deep and rich, cool earth. And yes, I tried to dig to China, imagining the earth actually opening up, at the exploits of a tiny determined hand, gripping a tiny spoon. I needn't say how that venture turned out, but yes, I did once retain an adventurous and spirited Heart, that knew no limits or boundaries.


And I climbed many trees. I loved to climb those trees, especially when the wind was blowing and the boughs were gently swaying. There was nothing that I loved more, than being at the very top of my world, scanning the view, as far as my eyes could see, and feeling the warm breeze, blowing upon my innocent face.

I spent many nights, on the flat of my back, gazing into the wonder of the skies, counting each star as it appeared to my naked eye, until I could count no more. And I always wondered what was way up there, where I could not even begin to see, with my naked eye.

I still recall, to this very day, the first time that I felt a oneness with the infinity that lay beyond human visual perception, as I was rapturously transported through what seemed like time and space. It was more like jettisoned, for I seemed to actually zoom into the vastness of where my eyes could not see, and I seemed to have no ground below me, suddenly everything was boundless and limitless and I wasn't contained on a parcel of earth beneath my back... rather, empty space. I felt as light as a feather and somewhat intoxicated and in awe, this was out of my control, for this was all new to my senses. In that moment, I felt the totality of us all, with all that is... and seemed to know the remarkable infinity that we exist in. It was as if I was lifted up from my limited scope and somehow shown the tininess of what mankind is, compared to the rest of the Universe. For the first time, I began to wonder, what, exactly, humans really are, and how ugly and strange we must appear to other creatures... a bit of a stick with dangling parts and and odd mix of features.
It seemed, to me, that we were nothing special, just an oddity in the mix of Creation. I was anxious to know more, and share my revelation. I must've been all of 10, maybe 12 or 13, years and experience get jumbled together. Quickly, I found that there was no one around me, who had ever wondered those same thoughts, or felt those same things. It was a thought tucked away, to where forbidden thoughts go, lying dormant in some "don't ever bring it up again" place, lest I receive those same blank stares and the discomfort of stammered words. It was disheartening to have a conversation of such an interesting topic chopped off, because there was no one to go the distance, because no one wondered, along with me, and no one really cared.

I grew up in the south, in a very small town. It was the sort of upbringing, where I was made to sometimes 'pick my own switches', and I'd better pick a good one or they'd be sure to. A good one usually meant a few leaves dangling off the end of the branch, just for good measure. The switch was placed in a high spot, above the kitchen door... but not so high that we couldn't get to it and gently break it in the center, so that it wouldn't switch properly when the emergency arrived. Of course, all that accomplished was a short stall and the picking of a new switch, for the occassion. I can now laughingly remember running in circles, around the dining room table, rolling down the legs of my cut off jeans shorts, to cover up as much flesh, as possible, before the switching began, and the highly agitated frustration of my mother, who was chasing me. There were also hairbrush spankings, and the occassional hand spanking, which probably hurt them more than it did me. Maybe that's why they always said, "I don't wanna do this, but I have to, and it's gonna hurt me more than it does you, to have to do it." Once spanked, I was made to go sit in a room by myself and 'think about' what I had done. There was much sniveling and snotting going on, in the early years. I can honestly say, my dad would always come back and showered me with affection. He never left me to think that he didn't love me. When I was older, receiving those spankings, the tears were gone, replaced by anger and attempts toward warding off the physical punishment.

I sprang from roots that had limited formal education, my dad having left school in the 9th grade, to help support his family, his father having been killed in a gun fight, over land, when he was a very young boy. My mother graduated high school and married my father,at age 19, moved to South Georgia and became the wife of a share cropper. She would later lead my father out of the South of Georgia, back to Carolina, where a brand new 'bomb plant' was opening up. There they'd work, till they retired.

I grew up in roots that were highly doused in religion. It was expected that I would grow up and marry, remain at home and raise kids. I wasn't taken seriously, nor was I encouraged to think for myself, grow strong from it, and become independent. I was taught that I didn't need a high education, in the field that I desired to study. The sort of high school diploma I would obtain was chosen for me, as well as the course of study that my father was willing to finance, in college. The reason for everything was, "because I said so." Maybe that's why, when my children were growing up, there hung, on the kitchen wall, a picture of a brown hen, wearing an apron, with two or three yellow biddies gathered around her, as she was vehemently saying to them, while pointing and shaking her little wing tip at them, "because I'm the mommy, that's why!"

I was taught to be a racist, though I never was one. I can still see my father and I sitting on the front porch steps, and recall him trying to justify his reasoning, with scripture, when he found out that my boyfriend and I had a black friend, that we went out with, in public. "Even though we know there is nothing wrong with it," he had said, "others may not, and we wouldn't want to be a stumbling block in someone elses path, and cause them to stumble, with their judgement." I never bought into it. I can still see him tearing up the picture of my black girl friend, and stomping on it, when he discovered that there were actually black catholics, who went to the private catholic school he'd sent me to, one year (no, we weren't catholic) in order to avoid the unavoidable segregation of our schools. That picture was the end of my years in private catholic school. I feel it is important to say, now, my father is no longer a racist. It is possible to grow wiser, in years... in fact, it is possible to change.

My teenage years were strict and stern. I wasn't allowed to be involved in any school activities, only those involved with church. How I longed to take ballet and guitar, try out for basketball and cheerleading, be a particpant in the art club. It was a very limited life. Some of this was because my father was so strict, part of this was because no one wanted to sacrifice the time to carry me around to those activities, at the end of a work day. These days, I understand more of my mom's stress, having lived my own stress, with controling men, like my father; however, I can truly say that I did all that I could to enrich my own children's lives, while they were growing up. I can't say that they lived a perfect life, because of the fuckupedness of the relationship between their father and myself, but they had chances to make choices... and they know what love is. In fact, when asked if they thought I spanked them too much, they laugh at me and say it never hurt, at all. It didn't appear that way, however, when I was holding onto their arms, trying to keep that rear end in just the right spot, while I spanked with my hand. Ouch! Yes, it did hurt me more than it did them. And it should have.

Of course, I rebelled, when I was old enough to get away with rebellion, in the form of, "they don't know what I'm doing and they aren't going to know!" Sweet Freedom! And, I never finished the course of study my father had chosen, for me, because I was enjoying my sweet freedom. Sometimes, freedom has it's price, as well, in the form of unsound decisions. It still remains, however, that I had a very hard time in anatomy class, because I found it very difficult to dissect animals; thus, began skipping those classes. And, it was very heartbreaking and distracting for me to deal with the sadness of the nursing home, from which some of our nursing classes were held. And, let me not forget to mention the fact that I had a very hard time locating a pulse, from time to time, which is not a good thing, when some one elses life is in your hands! I can hear the teacher now, angry as a nest of disturbed hornets, chewing my ass out for failing to realize that the pulse I had written down, for an elderly man, would have meant that he was, most likely nearly dead, if not entirely dead... and I had alerted no one! The fact was, his pulse was not that low, afterall, as her own pulse taking would show, but I could not feel the pulse, properly. That fact would come back to haunt me, later in life. Did I mention that it's not wise to put someone else's life in my hands?

Part of my freedom was won, in the form of ditching nursing school... and part was won, in an ill chosen marriage. I wasn't allowed to work, the entirety of my high school years, so I much preferred the freedom that a job gave me, than taking a course of study that I wasn't really interested in, nor particulary suited for. I much preferred the freedom that I obtained, in marriage, than living under the roof of a controling father.

I wasn't ready for the world, because I hadn't been prepared for the world... only protected from the world. And I had not been taught true justice, in the world... only the injustice of control and indignation, limitation and stagnation. I hadn't been taught to think and reason, I'd been taught dictation and obedience. I became the black sheep, because my Heart and Soul knew there was more... and I wanted more. I just didn't know how to get it.