IN  NEED  OF  A  STRONGER  VESSEL. . . .

In my early growing years,  there was always much to overwhelm me.     Things just never seemed to be what others said.  When  they remarked on the lovely family living upstairs in the two family house on the edge of the playing field,  I believed them because it never occurred to me not to.   Their furnishings were to my child’s eyes  neat and clean and the kitchen curtains were white and stiff when the wind came in through the open window.    Krista  dressed like I did  and I was happy to have her as my friend.  And she served Ritz crackers at our make believe tea parties.

A box of crackers was not common in our house.   They were gone before the box was properly opened.  But in this  civilized family,  crackers were snacks and not considered real food.  Food at our house   was bought by the bushel such as apples.  It seems bizarre,  but in those days my mother made a dollar stretch to do the work of ten and I know she would never ask for anything..  My friend Krista and I were on her  upstairs porch that day.

Krista’s mother was generous with her daughter’s friends.  The crackers came out for the tea party.  I cannot remember if Krista was a classmate or  a friend.  But I was determined we were going to be the best of friends.   Everyone said they were nice.

There we were, scrunched up and giggling as girls do when Krista’s father came onto the porch.   Her mother was at the other end and when her father came out, he didn’t go near her mother.   She said,   ‘You are late, aren’t you?’  And he whispered something which I did not hear but then Krista’s mother said the words that made me cold.  ‘Let me smell your breath.’ And my world crumbled like the crackers on our crumpled sunsuits.    I don’t know where I learned this but I knew it was hurtful.   I watched with a sweaty body  as this grown man went over and opened his mouth.  I was ashamed for him and I knew what ashamed was.   I knew I had seen something that was private.  It was like listening at a closed door.  I could not know what but  I reacted in a way that showed me scared.   I knew it was a big thing in their lives.  I knew that much even though I was still in play clothes.

I don’t know whether I just ran  home.  And the budding relationship between Krista and I  never blossomed.   I could not face her,  not knowing what to say  to handle the situation.   I presumed she was hurt  and ashamed.   It did not occur to me that she was already an expert in handling this.  It was only as I grew up that it  became part of my knowledge that people have different heads.  I thought people all alike,  slower or faster, but not so different.   But alas,  different.

Krista might have grown up thinking that all wives asked their husbands to ‘let me smell your breath’ and it might have been as natural as Ritz crackers at a tea party.  She probably wondered why I ran away and to explain why I ran.  She probably thought my manners were no better than my brothers’.

When we met on the street, the heat rising in my face  was hot.  I was asked to hold a big secret in a bucket too small.    It probably was common knowledge but not mine.  And I was too frightened to say anything. They moved away.  Krista and her family moved away.  It was a small happening.  In retrospect all happening in the larger context of our lives are small.  But at the time to us, big. When illusions are shattered, it hurts, to be sure.  And with the loss of each one,  we hopefully build a stronger vessel.  Perhaps we should all think of ourselves as Potters.

All families have problems.  And I have not yet found one like Dick and Jane and Spot.  When I watch children playing their games of Let’s Pretend I think it is good training for them.  To imagine events and to dismantle them with ease will give a good grounding in a world that is determined to dismantle all illusions.  In the beginning, illusions are constructed to ward off pain. They dress up the hum drum affairs and add a bit of glitter to our lives.  And most people go along with the games.  But some never give them up.   They need them to simply live their daily lives.  I have never been good at games.  In real games I was the last one chosen and everyone knows what that means.  Simple words and simple deeds are enough meaning for me.  The beauty of it all is the love that supports   life.  The human condition being what it is,  I marvel at the compassion that runs with love to replace illusions that our frailties dismantle.  And if love is an illusion,  then I am guilty of hanging on for dear life.

But I need to say, now at this time,  please forgive me, Krista.