I remember the dust, the heat and the rusty smell of an endless September afternoon. My face pressed against the old screen wire on the swinging door to the back porch. Dark green paint chipped off trim and onto the scuffed, swayed floorboards. I stared at the cracks in the floor and at the spots in that old linoleum strip – worn down to black shadows of a forgotten design.

I had to stand up on the ancient toolbox to see into the wringer-washer and the deep sinks my sister and I used for our weekly wrestling match with a mountain of laundry. Storage cupboards lined the back of the porch. That swinging screen door took center stage as its squeaking song and slamming drumbeat orchestrated open and closing cycles.

I remember waiting for someone to come home from school to play — feeling left out, alone and forgotten in a world of big girls and grown-ups.

Some of my earliest memories revolve around a hard core of guilt. I was guilty, at four, of major crimes. I was never sure of what they were, exactly, but I knew they were bad, and I was convicted at least twice a day.

I am intimately familiar with corners. Walls meet, embrace and change direction, perfumed by smells of old wallpaper, oil-based enamel paint, and dusty greying rugs… “Margie, go stand in the corner. You’re a bad girl.” “You’re a little hellion.”

Voices echo in a corner. You can hear your own voice, real good too, if you hum to yourself or even whisper. It helps. You don’t feel so alone.

I don’t recall ever planning a crime. I loved fun, adventure, daydreams, and pretending, which must have somehow gone astray. I had lots of questions, (“What’s wrong?”), and few good answers, (“You know what you did.”).   What is a ‘hellion’ anyway? It felt like a very bad thing to be … me.

When company comes, if you’re still in the corner, you can feel the heat, from your own red face, bouncing off the walls. And did you know you really can feel eyes when people stare at your back? “… She’s a little hellion, that one.”

I met my father when I was eight years old. He was a very big, very handsome stranger who smiled and invited me to sit on his lap and give him a kiss (which, of course, I didn’t want to do because a good girl doesn’t make up to strange men).

It seems funny how he shrunk into a plain looking, middle-aged man as I look back on that meeting. I remember he was with a pretty lady. She smiled but didn’t’ speak. We didn’t see each other again for several years – and then only twice more before he died, when I was 40.

He was a ‘question-mark-man’ to me, and the hook, on that punctuation mark, was piercing. Where did he come from? He wanted a kiss; does that mean he cared? Some people have said I was kind of cute, for a girl. Couldn’t he find any interest at all, in knowing me?

I discovered that I had a criminal mind. I liked to dream too much; didn’t take life seriously enough. I didn’t work hard enough. I liked to play too much, and laugh too much, and I didn’t have an acceptable answer to “…why can’t you be more like your sister?” I never knew that she faced the same question.

I had a warped sense of justice. I thought that secrets were for keeping, and that you shouldn’t get into trouble for things you said in your sleep, or be found guilty of crimes like running away, or falling in love, if they only happened in your dreams. I thought that punishment for those offenses (although as sure as morning sun rise) was unfair.

I thought that clouds were beautiful and that anyone, with any sense, would know that laying on your back, looking up at the moving pictures – was art appreciation, and never, never wasted time.

I thought laughter was music of the heart, and that music was the voice of angels. I thought fun was a wonderful thing, and that it could also be a part of work and decency … I didn’t know it was a crime. I still don’t believe it.

I thought that love was the greatest gift of all. I still do. Of course, it’s best when actually given away. I have been blessed. I have been loved. I am loved.

Nearly seventy years have passed since my early guilty verdicts. I have a greater perspective now. I have learned the crime and punishment framework of childhood was not so much a result of earned consequence, as it was the product of one heart locked into a personal prison of insecurity, loss and, perhaps, a warped, misguided hope that wounds of its own abused inner child, might be comforted by such displays of power over others.

I have learned forgiveness is my way to freedom. I have also learned not to throw away buried treasures. In the midst of blame, guilt, and pain – there was also love and laughter, adventure, and delight. I know that cloud pictures truly are beautiful. Bonds of sisterhood, forged in fire, are strengthened. Fun can be woven into the fabric of work and decency. Play is healthy and acceptable (even necessary). And fresh donut holes, secretly offered by ‘Pops’, the baker (with his sly smile and eyes full of sparkling affection), to a child who was forbidden to even touch the donuts, were testaments of acceptance, compassion, fair play, and love.

Testaments of love are priceless, and imperative. God’s greatest commandments are to love. These provide the silken threads that hold us together, and have the power to mend our broken, ragged tapestries.

I have been blessed with love. My Lord loves me – not because of who I am or what I’ve done, but because of who He is. I am never truly alone, even if it sometimes feels that way when I forget that I am a child of the King. He promised to never leave or forsake me. We’re as close to a heart to heart conversation as my next whispered prayer.

I met the mortal love of my life, and spent close to fifty years learning what it’s like to share a heart with someone who ‘gets’ me, enjoys my laughter, encourages my opinions and independence, and dries my tears with compassion.

I have had a lifetime of love. I am blessed with kids, grandkids and even a great-grandchild … all surrounded and held in love.

My sister-bond, and those with my brothers, remains – increasing in strength and value. Court is adjourned. I am free, to be me.

If you’ve come from a dark or unforgiving place – look for the light of love. Know, without a shadow of doubt that you are surrounded and held by that embrace, even if you, or others, don’t think you deserve it. There need be no condemnation.

When weather permits, go stretch out on the grass or in your lounge chair, and look up at the extravagant moving art display in the clouds above you, or play peek-a-boo with the stars as they come out – and keep that sense of wonder about the beauty and mystery involved. Seek out the laughter of children. Offer your own, to join the chorus. Dance to the music within or around you. Find someone to love. Reach out and re-connect with the good in your world.

One episode of a TV show called ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’ spoke of the need for good editing of memories. He advised: ‘… Keep the good stuff. Leave the ‘not-so-good’ scenes on the cutting room floor’. I also recommend that we heed the words of an old song (offered by Burl Ives’, on You Tube) …

“As you go through life, make this your goal – watch the donut not the hole.”

 If circumstances make you feel you’ve slipped into a painful hole, and it seems the donuts are un-fairly forbidden, or out of reach – remember, holes must be cut from the center, to give the donut it’s shape. Also, (as my childhood experience proves), the holes (too) are delicious when served with love … and powdered sugar.

Blessings, Love and Laughter,

Marge

IF YOU ENJOYED THIS POST PLEASE SHARE THE LINK: www.margaretlalich.com

SUBSCRIBE: To receive post notices automatically – fill in the SUBSCRIBE box located on the top right side of this page.

PLEASE SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS in the Comment Section at the bottom of this screen (scroll all the way down the screen).