Next christmas, I was excused from driving with Jim and the others for the lights. Instead I got to help my mother get the gifts. We went to the mall, where she was managing a fabric store, which would have made a great storage place had the gifts actually been there. Instead we went down to one of the unused storefronts, to a room filled with garbage bags full of wrapped boxes and a woman checking things off of a clipboard. Mom pointed out the bag with our name on it, and signed for it. As I carried it out to the car, she explained how the Angel Tree worked... and how we'd gotten our donated anonymous gifts for several years running. She really hadn't known what was in that box; she'd had no way to know. It was just what someone had picked out for "Boy, 10yo."
Late one night, after a musical in my junior year, I was walking with Tara from the theater in the hallway that passed by our school's gym. One of the basketballs had rolled into the hallway; I picked it up to get it back into the gym. I stepped just inside the door, bounced it once, and then tried my best jump shot. I didn't have a chance of making it - I was well off the court and shooting from the side so the backboard was just a line. I'd already started to turn back to Tara when I heard the *snap* of the net and saw her mouth drop open. "Wow. Why aren't you /playing/?"
For letting a holiday get ruined by a bad gift. for not putting two and two together sooner; I knew how much money we didn't have. For knowing my mom sacrificed her pride (among so many other things that I didn't recognize at the time) and got rewarded with childish ingratitude. For taking so many of the wrong lessons from that day.
You were TEN. You were a very bright child, but you were a CHILD. When adults don't behave like adults, it does not mean that children have to behave like adults
( ... )
I hope that you can work through this stuff, so that you stop carrying it around. Putting it to bed is an important thing, I think, but to do that it's going to be a long road of processing and retelling, reframing, forgiving yourself.
I know the usual advice is to work through these things, but in my experience sometimes all I can do is let it wash over me, feel miserable for a while, and then keep walking. There just isn't anywhere to PUT this big bag of pain.
Be gentle with yourself.
(The icon is not meant to mock you; when I feel like life is out to get me, I'm often struck by its ridiculousness.)
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Next christmas, I was excused from driving with Jim and the others for the lights. Instead I got to help my mother get the gifts. We went to the mall, where she was managing a fabric store, which would have made a great storage place had the gifts actually been there. Instead we went down to one of the unused storefronts, to a room filled with garbage bags full of wrapped boxes and a woman checking things off of a clipboard. Mom pointed out the bag with our name on it, and signed for it. As I carried it out to the car, she explained how the Angel Tree worked... and how we'd gotten our donated anonymous gifts for several years running. She really hadn't known what was in that box; she'd had no way to know. It was just what someone had picked out for "Boy, 10yo."
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Late one night, after a musical in my junior year, I was walking with Tara from the theater in the hallway that passed by our school's gym. One of the basketballs had rolled into the hallway; I picked it up to get it back into the gym. I stepped just inside the door, bounced it once, and then tried my best jump shot. I didn't have a chance of making it - I was well off the court and shooting from the side so the backboard was just a line. I'd already started to turn back to Tara when I heard the *snap* of the net and saw her mouth drop open. "Wow. Why aren't you /playing/?"
I told her the truth. "I hate that game."
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Be gentle with yourself.
(The icon is not meant to mock you; when I feel like life is out to get me, I'm often struck by its ridiculousness.)
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