A memory? Or is it a story.
I remember 3rd or 4th grade at Agus Fria Elementary school. My friends invited me to stay at their house. I agreed and th next day we hot on the bus to go to Frankie and George Montoyas.
Did I not tell my Mom? I have no memories of my brothers being around. If I was in 4th grade I would have been 10 years old. I remember suddenly realizing that Mom would be alone on her birthday and sobbing on the bus because I would not be there to comfort her.
We have all these stories of how cruel kids are. Frankie and George comforted me and tried to figure out a plan with me. That instinctive empathy sticks with me to this day.
The weird thing about this memory is that it ends there. I don't know if I got off the bus or their parents gave me a ride home. Did my Mom come and get me? Maybe I cheered up and happily spent the night?
Somehow this memory is connected to working on stomach issues?! I have the frustration that occurs when I put down a good mystery/adventure book before the and can't find it again,or when sadistic director leaves a cliffhanger for you. What happened? Did the boy save his Mom? where was everybody else? Why did this little boy think he was responsible for his mom's birthday?
Having grown up in a dysfunctional household I am paranoid about memories. i come from a family that makes up histories(my version of what happens ,maybe not the others version) so if the memory becomes complete in my mind how will I know it it is real or memorex. This is very worrisome to me because hav have few phobias, but that is one and it is very strong.
One sits on the edge of insanity and watches others slip down that slippery slope into nowhere (see now i am worried about that little extra w that I had to erase in nowhere because spell check warned me about him.Did he feel his death? I am certain it was a he. Well one more little life snuffed out. Anyway my point started out being that reality is slippery and my experience of growing up in an environment where reality changed to fit the story has made me leery of trusting my own memory.
As with shyness the daily battle with that monster in the back of my mind whispering"Are you not lying?!" Or worse like George Castanza "Have you begun to believe your own lies and slip into nutsville?"
So far at the end of the day I am reasonable confident that I am still in he mix of or social reality, although even then I wonder if we are all making up stories and are lost in unreality not even knowing. Something more than the confusion and sense of unreality is the fear that I might be hiding from the fact that I am destructive like I perceive certain others to be. They don't realize it and that scares me because maybe I am like them.
One other thing it is very hard to fight for oneself when you don't believe in you.
Wow all of this came out of not being able to remember the end of a story that I was in. Jeez Or is it Geez?
spellcheck says Jeez is real and Geez is not. Okay.
To end on a lighter note. more empathetic young people. This is a very strong memory because i was a vulnerable young person. I was a 9th grader at Santa Fe Prep. (once again a good supportive experience at that place.) on the soccer team I was defending in our first home game f the season and Ron Ellis got by me twice and scored goals. I remember saying I was to slow and feeling horrible. The team gathered around me and (I remember for some reason especially Peter Bickley, odd because we never rally spoke before or after) told me I was okay and that I would do better next time. They were right Ron was completely frustrated the rest of the game.
I remember a conversation with my friend Laura Lewallen last year where I was telling her I thought that at that time i was close to turning bad. She said that that would not have been possible because I had always been so sweet. I don't know , I look back on a few critical instances in my life like that one at just the right time and I think of Fernando from my elementary school who ended up in jail and is dead these many years. He was sweet too.
Thank you Folks of SFP in the 70's and 80's.
I remember 3rd or 4th grade at Agus Fria Elementary school. My friends invited me to stay at their house. I agreed and th next day we hot on the bus to go to Frankie and George Montoyas.
Did I not tell my Mom? I have no memories of my brothers being around. If I was in 4th grade I would have been 10 years old. I remember suddenly realizing that Mom would be alone on her birthday and sobbing on the bus because I would not be there to comfort her.
We have all these stories of how cruel kids are. Frankie and George comforted me and tried to figure out a plan with me. That instinctive empathy sticks with me to this day.
The weird thing about this memory is that it ends there. I don't know if I got off the bus or their parents gave me a ride home. Did my Mom come and get me? Maybe I cheered up and happily spent the night?
Somehow this memory is connected to working on stomach issues?! I have the frustration that occurs when I put down a good mystery/adventure book before the and can't find it again,or when sadistic director leaves a cliffhanger for you. What happened? Did the boy save his Mom? where was everybody else? Why did this little boy think he was responsible for his mom's birthday?
Having grown up in a dysfunctional household I am paranoid about memories. i come from a family that makes up histories(my version of what happens ,maybe not the others version) so if the memory becomes complete in my mind how will I know it it is real or memorex. This is very worrisome to me because hav have few phobias, but that is one and it is very strong.
One sits on the edge of insanity and watches others slip down that slippery slope into nowhere (see now i am worried about that little extra w that I had to erase in nowhere because spell check warned me about him.Did he feel his death? I am certain it was a he. Well one more little life snuffed out. Anyway my point started out being that reality is slippery and my experience of growing up in an environment where reality changed to fit the story has made me leery of trusting my own memory.
As with shyness the daily battle with that monster in the back of my mind whispering"Are you not lying?!" Or worse like George Castanza "Have you begun to believe your own lies and slip into nutsville?"
So far at the end of the day I am reasonable confident that I am still in he mix of or social reality, although even then I wonder if we are all making up stories and are lost in unreality not even knowing. Something more than the confusion and sense of unreality is the fear that I might be hiding from the fact that I am destructive like I perceive certain others to be. They don't realize it and that scares me because maybe I am like them.
One other thing it is very hard to fight for oneself when you don't believe in you.
Wow all of this came out of not being able to remember the end of a story that I was in. Jeez Or is it Geez?
spellcheck says Jeez is real and Geez is not. Okay.
To end on a lighter note. more empathetic young people. This is a very strong memory because i was a vulnerable young person. I was a 9th grader at Santa Fe Prep. (once again a good supportive experience at that place.) on the soccer team I was defending in our first home game f the season and Ron Ellis got by me twice and scored goals. I remember saying I was to slow and feeling horrible. The team gathered around me and (I remember for some reason especially Peter Bickley, odd because we never rally spoke before or after) told me I was okay and that I would do better next time. They were right Ron was completely frustrated the rest of the game.
I remember a conversation with my friend Laura Lewallen last year where I was telling her I thought that at that time i was close to turning bad. She said that that would not have been possible because I had always been so sweet. I don't know , I look back on a few critical instances in my life like that one at just the right time and I think of Fernando from my elementary school who ended up in jail and is dead these many years. He was sweet too.
Thank you Folks of SFP in the 70's and 80's.
I suspect that many of us sit on that edge of insanity, but that there are far more things holding us on this side of the edge than we suspect. More interpersonal things that are part of those around us and more internal things that are part of our character. After damn near 49 years of this, neither of us has slipped down that slippery slope, because letting go and falling really isn't in our nature. Doesn't make the drop look any less scary, though.
ReplyDeleteVery insightful. For me I see many similarities between me and my sister and that seems to make me a little bit extra nervous. It is true that when I look back at the choices I have made that I feel a little more sanguine about "sanity"
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