One of the things I have learned in my life and tried to be
constantly aware of, is the impact I can have on other people. It amazes me
that sometimes something so random and ordinary for one person can be an
unforgettable, life-changing moment for someone else. Such a thing happened to
me when I was eleven or so, and the details, which I am sure have been all but
forgotten by everyone else, are seared in my memory. On the surface, it was
nothing major, nothing monumental, but it changed me in a way I still don’t
truly understand.
I have written a little about spending a major portion of my
childhood with my mom’s violently abusive second husband, Rich. My days were
spent living in constant fear of being hit, kicked, slapped or punched. For
years, I had bruises and cuts and welts on my arms and back and legs. I refused
to wear shorts, refused to change clothes for gym class. I was constantly being
told I was nobody and that I would never be anyone. I was told I was ugly,
stupid and should never have been born. I was made to feel and believe I was
not worthy of anything in this life. And not only did I quickly start to
believe all the negative things I was told, but something inside me knew to
never tell anyone about what was happening at home. I don’t know how I knew I
was to keep it to myself, I just knew it was my issue to deal with and I felt
so completely alone. I would hide it in public, hide it from everyone and while
I was always told I was so cute and sweet, inside I felt shame, rot and decay,
the very feelings that would lead me to almost end my life at fourteen. As an
adult, I would be diagnosed with and worked through Post Traumatic Stress
Disorder due to things that happened, a lot of which I don’t even remember.
When I was younger, my mom’s best friend was a woman we
always called Aunt Lori and she was the kind of person that just radiated joy
and who would actually look at you when talking to you. I always loved being
around her and in her house, there was just such a feeling of, well, something I
didn’t feel anywhere else. Aunt Lori and her husband had just one child, two
years younger than me, and they would spend their weekends having great
adventures waterskiing or riding ATVs out in desert. They had a life I knew I
would never be a part of. And then, for some reason, they invited to go with
them for a weekend away. I had never been in an RV before and thought I would
explode from excitement as we drove out to Salton Sea with the three-wheelers
in tow. They were just doing their normal thing, but I was escaping and it was
heaven.
We got there and spent the weekend in the sun, climbing on
rocks, looking for coyotes and just having an amazing time. I couldn’t remember
the last time I had fun without the knowledge of the drama and violence that was
sure to follow. Most of all, I felt safe. Maybe it wasn’t that I felt safe, I
knew that I was safe. I felt seen. I knew I was not “cool” like they were. I
could not drive my own three-wheeler like their son could, but I was never once
made to feel anything but welcome and accepted. I had never felt accepted
before, certainly not just for being me. I didn’t have to do anything for it. I
could have stayed out there forever, but the weekend drew to a close and it was
soon time to head back.
When we got back to their house, Rich came to pick me up and
the reality of my life came smashing back. I got in his car and left without
saying goodbye or thank-you. Lori called my mom to make sure I got home ok as
suddenly I had just gone missing from her house and I was told by Rich and my
mom how ungrateful and selfish I was, how I didn’t deserve to do nice things. I
felt so guilty about it for the longest time. I didn’t mean to leave like that,
I just didn’t want Rich contaminating that perfect weekend that was and is
still one of the best memories I have of my childhood.
Over the years, I lost touch with Aunt Lori. I just wanted
as much distance between my adult and child selves as possible, both literally
and figuratively. There were too many painful memories for me and when I would
go back to California to visit, there were areas, whole cities, I would avoid.
Just the thought of driving past them on the freeway would make my heart race
and my palms sweat. But I never forgot that weekend, or the fact I never said
thank you. I was worried Aunt Lori was upset at me and felt like I took that
trip for granted. So many times in my head, I rehearsed what I would say if I
ever say her again.
Over thirty years later, we got back in touch and I was able
to explain. She had pretty much forgotten all that, but more importantly, she
was just was warm and kind and happy and accepting as I remembered. Those
things came across in our increasingly longer and personal mails on Facebook
and then in person when we met face-to-face just a couple of months ago.
I am telling this because it was one of those times when
someone was just going through their life and they were kind to a little boy
for no special reason, not knowing the impact it would have on his life. Statistics
say that I should be an addict, abusive, in jail or perhaps even dead, but that
weekend, a tiny seed was planted. One that hinted that maybe, just maybe, I was
more than what I was experiencing in my life, more than what I was being told
on a daily basis and that just maybe, there was another life out there waiting
for me. It would be years before that seed grew, but it was there and that has
made all the difference in the world. Aunt Lori is not the only one, I have
been fortunate enough to have and still have many people like that in my life, but
she was one of the first.
When I am with my nephews or niece, I hope I make them feel
as I did that weekend. I hope they look back and realize that I not only see
them for who they really are, I accept and love them unconditionally and
completely. I never want them, for even a moment, to think they are less than
perfectly worthy and enough, just as they are. I try to remember that all my
actions and words, no matter how insignificant I think they might be, can
change the course of someone’s life. It made me smile when one of my nephews
told me that when he is an uncle, he wants to be just like me. Is there a more
awesome or humbling compliment?
