When we all enter this life, we are given two certitudes. One, a mother – a person to whom we are bound by an umbilical cord – and someone who with any luck, loves us and takes care of our needs. Two, a donor to the genetic composition in the form of a male – and one might hope that we could call them father- who lent himself to your inception. These are the two basics. All else is gravy!
My entry into this life was fairly uneventful—for me anyway! I was born in a blizzard and after twelve hours of labor, I decided to make my presence known. My mother was involved but asleep. Back when I was born, twilight sleep was the preferable means of delivery. So, she slept while the room of professionals cleaned me up. My father was at work and was informed of my arrival via telephone. I’m not sure how timely this was, but I was told that bets were being placed regarding my arrival and that he lost!
I remember some of my childhood. Wonderful adventures with my neighborhood friends, wetting the bed for an inordinate amount of time, babysitting my sister and brothers, getting in trouble for the actions of my younger siblings, being hot in the summer and cold in the winter, and loving school. These are just glimpses into the day to day of my younger years. But, the one constant in my memory and upon which all my vivid images are based is the time I spent with my grandmother. I was fortunate. I spent most summers with her, and my aunt who lived around the corner, in a town two hours drive from my home. These were the most wonderful times—cozy dinners, learning to set the table, shopping as a big girl walking down Broadway, the main street of the town, staying up late, and listening to the cicadas as they sang their summer songs. I lived through the mumps, chicken pox, and measles at my grandmother’s house. I had a gigantic bed (in retrospect, it was merely a full size mattress, but huge in comparison to my twin at home) and all the pillows I wanted. I had popsicles for dinner, as long as I said “I have had my excellent sufficiency” – lisp and all – to the delight of my grandparents! I danced for them in my grandmother’s lingerie, as they sipped their 5:00 p.m. bourbon and water. My life was full and wonderful.
I thought that nothing in the world was more wonderful than my life. I envied no one. I only realized that this might have been a dysfunctional existence much into my adulthood. I think that when this realization came about, I began to look at my day to day and see it as the dysfunction that it was – my norm. What an amazing moment that was….and after much soul searching, I have come to accept it for what it is and relish the excitement of living in this way. I like to be dysfunctional. I like the excitement of never being able to predict behavioral patterns. Boredom is an emotion I never suffer.
So, as I begin my journalistic endeavor, I start by the thought that my life might be of interest to someone. It might bring a smile to someone and laughter to their lips. At the very least, it might cause them to nod in agreement and “get it”! What a great deal of excitement this might cause in the ordinary person’s day. And, by the way, what is ordinary? What is normal? I’m not sure any of us is normal. And certainly, no one is ordinary….by choice! So all of you exceptional people, laugh with me, for this will be my solace when the key of D becomes the D minor portion of my sonata!
No comments:
Post a Comment