Gary’s piece about missing the adulation from the March group, but then not really needing it hit a chord.
As a child I was to think of others, look out for the underdog, notice who is in the corner feeling shy. But not to coat myself in a boundary that preserved my own safety and security. Not to attend to my own need for attention and adulation. Resolving that conflict has been a decades long project.
It is a bright sunny day on my 8th birthday and my parents have planned elaborate games for my party. As preparations are underway, I stand at the kitchen door looking out on the lawn counting how many people I have invited and how many presents I will get. I make the mistake of announcing the number to my mom who swirls from her tasks at the sink.
“You should be thinking of your friends having a good time NOT what presents you will get!” I am engulfed in shame.
I am told to invite the entire class, leave no one out, not even Trudy Perry who is NEVER invited anywhere. She is pleasant enough. I think a bit slow and has finger nails bitten down so often that the skin around the nail is thick and coarse like the bottom of feet when someone constantly goes barefoot over brush and dirt. I feel the depth of that habit, the pain that drives her to a form of self-mutilation. She is tall and lanky with an uneven gait as she lumbers up the hill to join the group, wearing neatly pressed pants and a boy’s button-down shirt. I am glad I invited her and glad she came although I don’t pay any attention to her. I am dealing with discomforts of my own. I am showered with presents but not supposed to enjoy them.
I wish I had known Trudy better, learned her story. I wish I could say that we connected in some special way. What were her parents like? Did she have special needs? What was the gem hidden in that awkward body? There is always at least one if not a multitude. That is the gift of noticing the shy one in the corner, the one who often mirrors my own awkwardness. Our lights can find each other.
I hope Trudy had a good life.
I love the image of that child counting how many guests=how many presents....so innocent
ReplyDeleteI like the description of Trudy, the girl who bites her fingernails, and how it's like a form of self-mutilation, which it is.
ReplyDeleteOur lights can find each other...a revelation we achieve only through age and experience. And oh boy do I relate to that birthday party! With mine...if there were games my mother would not allow me to win because I was the hostess and it was more important that the guests have a good time.
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