Not Built Like That

This is Day 5 of the May "Open Write" on Sarah Donovan's Ethical ELA.  

Today,  Kimberly Johnson references the book by Marlo Thomas, The Right Words at the Right Time and suggests we think about when someone's words have inspired us. I immediately remembered something my father shared with me, when I was 12 years old.

Not Built Like That

Dad heard my muffled cries

in the middle of the night, and

squeezed in next to me,

on the bottom bunk,

to hear what was wrong.

He responded with conviction and comfort,

“Oh, hon, that will never happen to you,

you aren’t built like that.”

I knew instantly, he was right.

This one miserable month,

when I was twelve years old,

I witnessed both

my mother and her mother

break with reality.

Hallucinations,

delusions,

mania,

full-on psychotic madness,

followed by

911,

ambulance,

hospitalization,

sedation.

By day, I was strong.

In the middle of the night,  

as the frightening images replayed,

I crumbled.

I knew,

I was next.

Grandmother,

mother,

daughter.

Only daughter, me.

Yes, I was next.

I knew.

I had solved an enormous,

terrifying puzzle

in the middle of the night, and

Dad convinced me 

my solution was wrong.

The dots did not connect.

Consoled, I went back to sleep, and

this sweet reassurance lasted

years and years,

until I was a parent myself, and

I realized,

with both understanding and appreciation,

Dad couldn’t possibly have known

I wasn't built like that.

Right words, right time.

Scents of time

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Morning routine on autopilot - I opened the bottle of moisturizer and squirted a couple drops on my hands, rubbing my hands together, and then rubbed the cream onto my face. Oh. My. Goodness. I am immediately back in time, more than forty years ago, teenage me, in my grandmother's house. There we are, the two of us, in her bathroom and she is showing me how to put on makeup. Oil of Olay lotion is the first step, before foundation...I spent a couple weeks with her, the summer after my grandfather died...just the two of us, together, day in and day out.

Isn't it weird that a simple smell can take you back in time?

I have used this face lotion for years and years, because my grandmother recommended it, and because I'm a pretty simple person really - I just need a face lotion, and don't need to debate it much. Might as well use the lotion that my grandmother recommended years ago! 

I wondered, what was different this time? Why did I immediately think of Grammy, instead of staying in my early morning fog? I looked at the bottle - ah..."normal skin." I have for years and years been buying the "sensitive skin/fragrance free" version. I goofed and bought the normal skin version. 

There must be a perfume in the normal version.

What a fun mistake...I can see her, my Dad's mother...dressed impeccably, makeup on, hair beautifully styled and colored. I admired her energy, her self-care, her exercise and diet. She was meticulous about maintaining her weight, keeping the same size as when she was a teenager. I loved that she worked full-time, a saleswoman in a carpet store...so different than my own mother, who was mentally ill, and never had a job or hobby or outside interest.

She was SO different than my mother. 

This may be her greatest gift to me, allowing me to see another model of a woman - and therefore allowing me to imagine finding my own way, which, ultimately, has touches of both her and Mom, with sprinkles of unique thrown in. 

She tried so hard to 'feminize' me. 

That day, in her bathroom, she showed me blush, mascara, eye liner, lipstick, tweezers, nail polish...on and on, the lesson went. We talked and laughed and primped and posed in the mirror. 

She was so surprised that I wasn't "doing my face" every day, but that just wasn't my thing.

I wonder if Grammy would like 'old me'? 

I liked things plain and simple and still do. Back then, I loved wearing cut-off shorts and my brother's hand-me-down shirts; she tried to 'soften' me, suggesting dresses and skirts.

I still prefer pants and shorts.

I never wear lipstick.

I loved how much she loved me - her granddaughter.