First day of 7th grade, 1955. A giddy day! All the girls are furtively checking in with each other: Did your period start yet? Yes! (much quiet applause and excitement); Are you wearing a bra? No. (oops…). Definitely a less than stellar report. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s spring 1953. I’m 9 years old and in the 5th grade at a Christian grade school. Because I did 3rd and 4th grades in one year, my classmates are a year older than I am. Right now my teacher, Mrs. Wilson, is making an announcement to the girls. “Be sure you bring your signed permission slips with you tomorrow.”
What permission slips? What’s she talking about? My classmate tells me it’s for the film. Read the rest of this entry »
Moving from California to the Deep South marked the end of my early childhood. Though I wasn’t yet sexually aware, I was already carrying a heavy load in my 7-year-old female body and spirit. Because we didn’t have room in the car for extra luggage, I left behind more than I wanted to. I also brought things I didn’t want or need. Here’s what I’ve unpacked from my suitcase as of today. I have no doubt there’s more. Read the rest of this entry »
Summer 1951
I’ve been wanting to write you a private letter for a long time. Mother and Daddy won’t let me send you letters they haven’t read first. They don’t want me to tell you anything sad or anything about money. But I’m not going to show them this letter. It’s just for you. Read the rest of this entry »
Is there a better question? This past week I searched for an answer to ‘Where is my Mother?’ But I couldn’t find one; I kept getting mired in unfathomable complexity. Yes, Mother was a complex person, especially in contrast to my father. But I needed to find another approach. Read the rest of this entry »
A Note to Mother
I still wonder where you were when I needed an advocate, a safe listening ear, a cheerleader and a comforter. I also wonder why you thought I would be able to deal with my father without any help from you.
Since you’re not here anymore, Read the rest of this entry »
I wish I knew. As a child I asked her to tell me her story. Sometimes she gave me bits and pieces, but she didn’t seem to think her story was very important. Especially if that meant talking about how she felt when she was growing up. Besides, there was always another baby in her arms needing attention. Read the rest of this entry »
she sits silent
focused and determined
not to eat
A Short Story
Suppertime, early in the 1950s
Sister #3 sits in her high chair Read the rest of this entry »
This episode in my life was a smelly, rotting stench in me all the way through school, college and my first years of marriage. Even after I told my husband about it, I still smelled the old man regularly and without warning. It was a living, breathing, stinking rotten nightmare.
Despite this, I never wrote it down or reflected on what it reveals about me, much less about my relationship to my parents. I simply tried to put it away and let the past be the past. Done. Over. Finished. Time to move on. Read the rest of this entry »
Some things are just plain wrong. No grand theological framework, no appeal to the Bible, and no wisdom of the church or its elders can ever make them right. Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 