Tuesday, February 27, 2018

All Storms Shall Pass

...and there may be yet another storm on the horizon!

It rained during the night.
Today was filled with beautiful skies and cool air. Cold to us :)

I've been looking over some old writing.  There is a small collection of personal writing.  This is one of them.  It began as an assignment in my Child Psychology course, back in
August of 2003.  I'll tell you more after you read about An Early Memory...    

An Early Memory

           There I am, standing next to my older sister.  I am three years old, she is almost seven.  I feel little next to her.  I feel the difference in our ages.  Of course, I am younger and smaller as well.  And I know it.  I sense it.  Anyway, there we are side-by-side in the dining room of our apartment in California.  We’ve heard the phone ring, gleefully interrupting whatever it is we were doing.  We’ve raced over to answer it, knowing the call would be for us.  It is Tuesday evening at 7:00 PM and our birth father is making the weekly court-ordered phone call to us from New York City.
As usual, my sister speaks to him first.  I alternately look up into her animated face and stare at the black rotary dial phone sitting on one of the two corner cupboards in the room.  I stare at the phone, as if by doing so I may magically be able to see this distant father on the other end of the line.  The hardwood floors feel gritty scraping against the soles of my shoes as I wiggle back and forth, back and forth.  I am happily anticipating my turn.  My breathing comes in short shallow flutters.  I am waiting.  It feels like a very long time to this very small girl.  It feels like forever.  Waiting.  Waiting.  Waiting.
Then, all at once, it is my turn!  Hi Daddy!  I proclaim loudly.  I smell my sister’s warm breath in the just vacated receiver.  I taste my own breath as I swallow some of my excitement.  The phone feels heavy in my small hand.  My birth father responds to my greeting in his barely recognizable voice.  He shares a few more meaningless words.  My wiggling slows and I try to think of something to say.  I am only three.  I don’t know what to say.  After all there really isn’t anything to say to the man on the other end of the line.  He moved out of my life when I was just ten months old and we’ve had practically no contact since.  No contact to build a relationship.  No contact until this briefly adhered to directive from the courts.
And just like that, my turn is over and I hang up the phone.  I feel unfulfilled and sad.  After all, I feel he’s not really my daddy.  He is my sister’s daddy.  I don’t even know him.  As I frequently tell my mother, I don’t got no daddy.  I am three years old.


This particular instructor was not particularly strong, or well prepared.  The class was filled with young college and some High School students.  I felt old.  I felt out numbered in the work ethic department.   Anyway, when our books had not come in, she assigned this paper.  We were told to write about one of our earliest memories, as told through our 5 senses.  My first response (in my head) was I don't remember that far back!  Then, lo and behold, this popped out!  The next week, some of those younger students scribbled on their notepads as the instructor walked around, checking off if you had completed the task.  She did not read our writings.  Nevertheless, it has been one of my favorite pieces of writing ever since.  I was grateful for the assignment.  Usually I let the writing stand on its own, leaving the background information out.  But, this time I wanted to record that here.

Update:  I returned to the doctor and he removed the last of the stitches.
Movin' through the storm
He was going to just remove the last knot, but when he snipped it ➙
the whole thing came right out!
I'm glad there is nothing left in my eye and I am hoping nothing 'grows back' 
(as this condition can).
Let's all cross our fingers for good luck, okay?!!
It struck he remarked in an astonished voice, that he couldn't believe that I could feel this minute occurred to me that:
I'm that patient he must talk about at dinner parties!

Oh my.

I've almost finished my first XX's.
I plan on making two sets.
I worked on some needed to get done paperwork.
And I am still posting and reading others' posts.
Still off FB.

Tomorrow I'll be at work.
May your storms move through quickly and
the aftermath be brilliant.

Photos by NAE ©2018 


Mo Crow said...

Wow! you can remember back to when you were 3, did you ever get to know your father? x fingers your eye will feel all better & work perfectly by the end of this week!

Ms. said...

Too bad that teacher never read the stories and too bad the other students weren't allowed to share theirs. This is a very wonderfully wrought memory dear Nancy. It is so plain and so like a childs meemory. Lovely.

My metaphorical fingers are crossed for you and your eye.
Thank you for your wish that our storms move quickly.

Nancy said...

Mo~ I sure remember the importance of those calls to little me. Nope, never knew him, but I have 'met' my (half)sister after she found my sister and me on FB!! That has been great! Thanks for jumping on board with crossed fingers Mo, it means a lot.

Nancy said...

Michelle~ Yes, in a sense it was her loss. I'm not sure if the other students even wrote something or not. I saw a few sitting near me show her papers they had just finished scrawling out. Sigh. Thanks for those crossed fingers of your...and yes, may your storms move quickly :) xo

Marti said...

May your eye cease causing you pain and may this be the last of this problem. Lit one of my candles on my daily altar to send this hope through the airwaves to you.

Nancy you write with soul touched finger tips that reach right into the heart; so much for your little three yr old self to experience and try to understand.

Nancy said...

Marti~ Thank you. My eye already is feeling better since the stitch was removed. I never knew sewing good cause such grief! Ha
Yes, it took little me a looong time to try and understand. Sometimes I still am. xo

Anonymous said...

I, too, love this memory and how you've written it. There are so many tactile details -- the weight of the receiver, the smell of your sister's breath. Lovely.

Anonymous said...

And, I hope your eye fully heals, soon!!

AKW said...

I am glad you are able to remember so much. Often much more than I remember! I do remember phone calls in the dining room, with the corner shelves. I am happy for your healing and sending positive thoughts as always. xoxo

Nancy said...

Dee~ Thank you Dee, that means a lot. Eye is getting better again :) xo

Nancy said...

AKW~ Aim, I remember some things. I think we remember different things is all. Eye will be getting there, day by day. Thanks :) xo

Peggy said...

I became 3-year-old Nancy as I read this. Time collapsed. xoxoxo

Nancy said...

Peggy~ thank you so much for your feedback and the introduction to the term "time collapsed" paints such a picture. xo