Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Mission Box

Sitting in my seat, swinging my feet back and forth, I stared at the cardboard box on the corner of my teacher’s desk and then back at my hand which held one shiny quarter. It was all I had, and it was for my afternoon juice and pretzel. I sighed as I debated back and forth on whether I should keep it for myself or give it to the poor. The hungry boy on the front of it stared at me, practically foaming at the mouth.

If I don’t give up my quarter, this boy is going to starve to death. This is the message I felt I was getting, and it was a very big weight for a 7-year-old to carry, although it didn’t seem to bother the rest of my greedy classmates. The smell of fresh baked pretzels wafted across the room, diverting my attention to a box sitting on the chair.

Now I know how Eve must’ve felt looking at that apple every day! “I bet it didn’t smell as good, though,” I thought. Just then a snake appeared before my eyes, coiling around the pretzel box. I gasped and rubbed my eyes. It was gone.

Reluctantly, I looked back at the scrawny boy on the picture. “Okay, okay,” I screamed in my mind, “you can have my pretzel!” Geez! I sure didn’t want to be known for all time as the girl who was tempted by a lousy pretzel and lost. I mean wasn’t it bad enough that the female species was doomed for all eternity over a darn apple! I bet Eve was kicking herself in the butt over that.

This scenario was an on-going battle. Every morning I would spend looking at this black & white picture on this tiny box that held so much power over me. Some days it won, and some days it lost. It got so bad that, after running home complaining that I was dying of hunger at lunchtime, my grandmother made sure I had two quarters: one for the box and one for me. This solution contented me for a while, but it wasn’t too long before good ‘ole Catholic guilt seeped in, and I thought how two quarters would sure do this poor boy a lot more good than it did me. My Nan quickly put a stop to that, though.

After scarfing down my peanut butter and jelly sandwich one afternoon and asking for another, my grandmother eyed me suspiciously. “Did you have your snack today?” My eyes darted around the room as if looking for the nearest exit. “I asked you a question.”

“No, Nan. How could I eat that pretzel and drink my iced tea with that little boy looking so hungry?”

My Nan sighed and sat down beside me, “Tammy, there are always going to be hungry children. It’s good that you care about them and that you want to share with them, but we don’t have a lot either. If you can’t make it okay within yourself to just be content with giving one quarter then I won’t give you any. Understood?” Those sad eyes flashed in my head. Thoughts ran through my mind as to how I still had food in my belly where he did not, but, if Nan took the money away, we would both be going hungry at snack time. “Yes, Nan.”

She kissed the top of my head and got up to make me a bigger fatter sandwich with the jelly lapping over the sides. I nearly had to crawl back to school my belly was so full. I smiled the whole way!

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Adam and Eve

Being a stubborn child, I had to test everything. If you told me not to touch the electrical outlet, I would touch it anyway. What was knowledge without the experience? This would pour over into my entire life. This seemed to be the cause of my pain as well as my joy. Gems are most often found after looking under a lot of rocks. I don’t think grown-ups looked at it that way, though. My inquisitive nature was more of a thorn in their side than a blessing.

One day, during religion class, Miss Conrad read to us the story of Adam and Eve. Immediately afterward she asked us what we thought. My hand promptly shot into the air. She looked around the room like she was begging for someone else to put their hand up, but mine was the only one.

“Yes, Tammy?”

"I don’t think it’s true.”

“Well, of course, it is. It’s in the Bible. The Bible is the Word of God.”

Without pause, I replied, “No. Why would God, who is ALL-loving make ALL people for ALL time be punished because of two people’s mistakes? And it’s not like a really big mistake or anything. Eve shared an apple with Adam. Big deal! God wants us to share. You even said that!”

“Yes, God does want us to share. Adam and Eve had all the Garden of Eden to share, except for this one apple. God told them they were not allowed to eat that apple, and they disobeyed.”

I tried to process this and, just as my teacher thought it was safe to move on, I interjected, “What does God care about one dumb apple when they had the whole Garden of Eden?” My classmates laughed.

My teacher, knowing I had the potential to make this an all day discussion, threw in the towel. She asked us to pull out our math books. I raised my hand. She looked away so I waved it real big to get her attention. She turned her back to me. I yelled, “Miss Conrad. Miss Conrad.”

“What is it, Tammy?”

"We aren’t supposed to start math for ten more minutes and…”

“Today we will do things differently. Open your book to page one hundred forty-six, class.” I shrugged. I don’t get grown-ups. They do the strangest things, and they don’t like to answer questions either.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

I didn’t pay much attention to people’s words, but I did learn very early on to be aware of what they did. I noticed people said lots of things they didn’t mean. My dad would say “I love you” and then beat the heck out of my mom or I in the next breath. I was sexually abused by someone I loved and trusted. What did I know, though? I was just a kid. This is what adults did when they loved someone. Right?

So many examples flood my head that it really is no wonder that I stopped listening to the words and began observing conduct. Lies seemed to be acceptable, and honesty a dying virtue. Even in the most moral of characters, it seemed some lies were okay.

Three that I think of easily are: white lies - you could lie to protect another’s feelings, or there was the “what they don’t know won’t hurt them” lie, also very convenient when one chose to fudge truth. Lastly, the one I had begun to perfect was exaggeration. For instance, why say you caught a 1-pound flounder when you could say you landed a 20-pound swordfish? The swordfish certainly does make for more of an interesting story, kind of like walking “five miles in a blizzard barefoot," wouldn’t you say?

It was because of these gray areas and the out right black areas that led me to develop my own way of distinguishing the truth. Motivated by my own need to know, it wasn’t long before I noticed another language that was spoken much more loudly than the verbal garbage that littered my air space. It was body language. Once my attention was drawn to this, I realized I didn’t need to rely solely on words but could tell a lot more by a person’s actions and how his or her body was moving when he or she spoke.

In “Tammy’s World” (an inner place I had come to know in my dreams), I was taught by this Voice how to protect myself by feeling the vibrations of words and people. A person gives off many clues about who they really are, the message behind the words they were speaking, and any underlying feelings or thoughts that may not be conveyed in their verbal communications. In these worlds, I would perfect these techniques, and they would become my “radar,” my inner guidance and map.

As my education in this progressed, I found I needed only to pass by a person to accumulate more information on them that I ever wanted or needed. I could tell if they were happy or sad, angry or calm, or any other human emotion one could feel. Taking empathy to another level, I not only became aware of what they were feeling, but sometimes I would unconsciously take on their moods as well. (It would take me a very long time and many mood swings later to partially unlearn this transfer that took place. I like roller coasters but not the emotional ones.)

Being a child who loved to play games, I quickly learned to have fun with this new skill. Every individual I came in contact with was a new specimen to try it out on and not a living soul was exempt. I would ask questions like, “Why are you sad?”, “Who made you angry?”, “Are you happy because you have a new girlfriend, Daddy?”, “Are you tired because you drank too much?”, and other more poignant inquiries that made some people squirm and others relieved to have someone to pour their heart out to.

I would delve into lives and feelings and found I was more correct in my guesses than incorrect. This led to a sensitivity in me, not usually found in other kids my age. It also made me different, and most kids do not want to be different. I was one of those kids.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Nan


My Nan was a good person with a huge heart, but don’t make her pick you up from school. She was my first experience with religion on a personal, deeper level. I would peek through the crack in her door and watch her as she prayed the rosary. With her eyes closed, she would reverently stroke the beads in her fingers one by one. The words that came from her lips were not mechanical but bathed in love. I don’t think she ever knew I was there, silently and respectfully in the shadows filled with awe and wonder. This was my experience of the word “holy”.

To go in my Nan’s room was not just taking your life in your own hands but like walking into a shrine. Her walls and dressers were filled with crosses and pictures of Jesus; Mary, the Blessed Mother; and many of the saints. Among these items would be treasures we found for her: a flower wilted from time, a “special” rock, ribbons, drawings (or scribbles, depending on whose eyes you were looking with.), and any number of other little gifts that had been given to her.

I was fascinated with her room, and not just because of her goody drawer of all kinds of cakes, pies, and candy either. In a quiet way, I learned more from my grandmother about God and love than I have ever learned from a priest or preacher, perhaps there is something to be said for that.

Many would not consider my grandmother a good Christian lady. She did not go to church on Sundays, except for rare occasions; and she certainly did not parade her religion around like a peacock strutting its feathers. Nor did she agree or disagree with anyone else’s expression of their beliefs, yet there was no doubt in my mind that my Nan loved God.

This is not to say Nan did not take a more active role in teaching me about God. As soon as I had been able to talk, she taught me to say my bedtime prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my Soul to keep…” I think it is a horrible prayer myself. It scared the daylights out of me thinking I might not get up in the morning! But my grandmother insisted I should say it every night, and I didn't dare argue. Although I do think I slipped in a quick "Please God let me wake up in the morning because it can be bad here, but I don't know where I'm going there." While I didn't really believe in a hell, I wasn't quite ready to take my chances since I was often told what a little devil I was.

Nanny would also clap my hands together gently and teach me how to bless myself, but these would be the only outward expressions of religion I would learn from her. The most important lessons I gleaned were about love, strength, compassion, and nurturing. And those lessons were taught to me silently, by example, not from her lecturing me about it. Maybe that is why they were so powerful.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

To Confess or Not to Confess (Part 2)


“I went on the boys’ side of the schoolyard so many times. I got caught on top of Joey pounding his face into the ground,” I rushed on, “and that would be it. Guess I’ll have to say five ‘Hail Mary’s’ this time, huh, Father?” I grinned. Father turned ever so slowly towards me. I swear he looked like the devil himself had possessed him.

“Just what would make you hit another human being?” he said angrily. My grin disappeared.

“He was calling me a baby and a sissy. I’m not no sissy so I showed him I wasn’t.” Father seemed like he was going to blow. He looked up towards the ceiling and then back at me.

“You will say a full rosary and tell Joey you are sorry for your penance.” I gulped. I didn’t dare argue about that, but I sure wanted to. He shooed me off with a few waves of his hand.

“Hhmmph!” I thought. “It was worth a rosary to put Joey in his place.” I glanced back worried that I may have said it out loud, but Father was gazing straight ahead, lost in his thoughts.

A thought came into my mind and I turned back, “Father?”

“Yes?”

“Why do I have to tell you my sins? Why can’t I just tell God directly? I mean, God sees and hears everything anyway so what’s the difference?” Father took a very deep breath.

“Because you are born with sin and thus not worthy to talk to God. This is why you confess through a priest.”

“Oh, then you pass it on?” He nodded yes.

“But aren’t we talking to God when we say our prayers?”

“Yes, but that is not the same.” I didn’t get that one, but I let it go. I chewed on this information for a few seconds while Father stared at me coldly. It gave me chills, and I thought about something else.

“Who do you tell when you sin?”

“I tell God or another priest.”

“If we’re all born into sin then what makes you so special?” I thought.

Apparently, Sister is a mind reader too because she dragged me out of church by my ear and called my Nan, who dragged me all the way home by my ear. I think it was red for an entire month! I must’ve been thinking out loud without even knowing it. Sometimes I do that.

Monday, July 19, 2010

To Confess or Not to Confess (Part 1)


It was not unusual for my questions to go unanswered. Frustration and headaches were common ailments in the people around me. My questions were usually the cause of their maladies. I would talk to anyone who would listen. Ah, who am I kidding…listening on their part was not really a requirement, I would talk anyway.

Another day at confession (we had to go like every month), I swore I saw Father Callahan purposely stall another child until Father O’Reilly was free. I didn’t like going to Fr. O’Reilly so much. He wasn’t very patient. He didn’t even seem to like kids.

I did everything I could to try to wait for Fr. Callahan to finish. I tied my laces twice, as slow as possible, hoping Sister would send Danny instead of me. I didn’t think she would keep Father waiting, but that wasn’t happening.

Sister’s shrill voice snapped through me like someone cracked a whip, “Enough, young lady! Father is waiting for you.” She pointed in Fr. O’Reilly’s direction. I took one last glance at Fr. Callahan, but he quickly looked away when my eyes met his. I approached the older priest examining his silver gray hair, his pale face, and bright red nose. If he had a white beard and moustache, he would’ve made a great Santa; that is, if he ever smiled.

His steady gaze never left the Altar. I sat down next to him, suddenly wishing I was in the line for the confessional (The thing that resembles the inside of two coffins upright and put together with a screen in the middle. Brrrr…gives me the willies. It was dark in the confessional, but at least I couldn’t see his grumpy face.)

“Good morning, Father.”

“Good morning.” he said in a dry manner.

“It’s been…” I thought for a moment, “a while since my last confession.” I noticed his eyes twitch.

“A while? What is a while?”

“Oh, since the last time, Sister dragged us over here.” I really had no editing abilities, whatever I thought shot right out of my mouth without a moments hesitation. Father gave me a not so nice look. I didn’t take it personally; everyone has bad days.

My plan was to unload all my sins as quickly as possible, throwing the really bad ones in the middle so maybe he wouldn’t notice so much. “I hid my brother’s cars on account of him taking my stuff one time. I told some tall tales, but Nan says that’s the same as lying.” Father didn’t even look like he was paying attention so I threw in a bigger one. “I fed my brother mud pies against his will. Well, first I just told him they were chocolate cupcakes, and he believed me!” I snorted. Then it dawned on me, “I guess, that’s, uh, lying too, huh?”

Father nodded without ever taking his eyes away from the front of the church. “Well, I only had to lie once because, as soon as I put it in his mouth, he knew they weren’t really pies. I had to force feed him the rest, but only cause I was still mad over my best doll that he ruined,” I puffed. Father didn’t budge. I looked at his chest to make sure it was still moving. It was. Hhhhmmm…maybe this was going to be easier than I thought. I breathed a sigh of relief and went on.

(to be continued...)

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Attempted Kidnapping (Part 3)

“Nan!” I whined loudly. “Tell Richie to go away. He keeps bothering me.” My grandmother, annoyed at being interrupted while she was trying to get dinner on, tugged on his ear and pulled him clear into the kitchen by it. Ouch!

“Where was I? Oh, yeah. Anyway, they told us they needed help finding the lost prince of Aramon, and my stupid cousin almost fell for it!” I explained to the fuzz that I had to turbo us out of there, but I gave Anne Marie a talking to. I had told her that anyone with any brains knows that there is no prince on Aramon, only a princess. Those bozos actually thought we’d buy it! Of course, if it had been up to my cousin, we would be dangling by our toes in some pod in Nowhere Land, which is where no man or girl wants to go. Trust me on that!

Afterward the good cop/bad cop spoke to my mom and Nan. Since adults like to talk like kids aren’t really there, I got to hear what was said. Nan inquired of Officer Paul what would happen now. Officer Jack snorted, “Not much. We have a description of a maroon car and a beat-up silver spaceship, two Caucasian males with blond hair versus two darkhaired aliens…”

Officer Paul gave Officer Jack a nudge with his elbow into his side. “Ma’am, what my partner is trying to say is that it’s not unusual for children to remember things like this differently. We will alert nearby schools and patrol the playgrounds. If anything comes up, we will be sure to contact you.”

As they were leaving I yelled out, “Bye, Officer Paul!” He turned, smiled, and then, as if he had another thought, came over and squatted in front of me. “You did a great job of protecting yourself and your cousin from those bad men today. You did the right thing.” I beamed at him.

"Thank you!” I replied politely.

They were just about out the door when I yelled, “Hey, Officer Jack, watch out for the dark forces!” I heard him mumble something about watching too much “Star Trek.” What do you know? My dad liked that show, too.