To my family: This is how my mind remembers. If you remember these moments differently, please, don’t tell me. I want these precious images to stay “Mine”.
I’ll be seeing you.
In every lovely summer’s day.
In everything that’s light and gay.
I’ll always think of you that way.
I’ll let you decide if, Billie Holiday or Frank Sinatra, is singing “I’ll be seeing you”, through your imagination.
The Movie~ Annie. There was popcorn. Daddy taking my hand to lead me down the isle. Trepidation about heading into that “giant”, darkened room. Sitting almost at the front. My seat kept folding up on me. Daddy’s leg angled to hold my seat down. His smile in my direction as the movie began… The sun’ll come out Tomorrow. Just gotta’ hang on ’til tomorrow. There’ll be sun….
The Spanking~ Let me start by saying: I totally deserved it. Back story – I was in school, so 5-6. I had learned scissor safety that day. After arriving home, I was playing with one of the little girls my mom did home daycare for. We played “Barber Shop”. What began with the scissors from the play dough set, quickly advanced to real scissors. Taking my turn first, I proceeded to “trim” the beautiful, thick, straight, long (down to the small of her back), golden head of hair before me. I didn’t cut the back. I went after the perfect bangs that sat just above the eyebrows. I snipped. I know I took a couple spots down to the roots. The rest, left all jagged. A perfect Picasso of bangs. Little Girl then took her turn. My hair, as always, was in the fashion of Pig tails. No, she didn’t lop off a pig tail. She cut right along the part. Down the center of my head. As a result, I had an awkward mo-hawk for months.
So, where does my father come into this tale? Just as we were being called to come out of the play room, because little girl’s parents were there to pick her up. Our artistry was being discovered. My father walked in the door from work. Just as my mother was bending me over her knees and raising her hand for the first swat. Of course, I wailed! Second swat. My father tearing across the room. Third swat. I was pulled from my mother’s lap. Sheltered in his arms. When He saw why I was receiving this punishment, He kissed my forehead. Then, made me stand in the corner for a time-out. I tried to not stand in the corner. Tried to follow him as he retraced his path, back across the room to my mother. Who was still so angry, she was crying. He wrapped her in his arms and held her, all while firmly remanding me back to my corner.
I do not intend to make my Mother out to be an abusive person. In fact, I only received two spankings, that I remember as a child. This little story isn’t about the spanking. Nor, is it about my father “rescuing” me from the spanking. The part that is important to see, is the genuine love and support, he showed my mother. It is the model I use to support my own husband. I “deal with the drama”,if I can. Then, ask how I can help him.
Wouldn’t the world be a better place if, when we see someone struggling, we simply asked what they need? How can I help?