" Another story, please mommy
just one more". " My kids pleaded as I put them to bed. Of late my
childhood stories have become the subject of interest and I enjoy sharing
them.
Set at a time and upon a continent so
far from their own surroundings, I wish for them to see me, see me as a child,
one amongst several in the joint family, where food was rationed and toys were
rare, and I want for them to know that despite what they imagine that I was a
happy child.
Earlier that week a neighbor had
casually mentioned that the home that we are currently living in once belonged
to a Sudanese basketball player. "He was about seven feet tall,” she
mentioned causing me to imagine him bending his head in the basement. She told
me that he didn't know how to use the micro oven and had put his food into the
trash compacter instead and in a state of panic had knocked on the neighbor's
door for help. I laughed at this story, with her, at her and at myself.
After all I too had grown up not
knowing a lot of the comforts taken for granted by my children. Upon
researching him on the Internet I discovered that he sent almost all of his
earnings back home to help many, many people. A generous soul that
provided a doorway to a new life for many!!
Coming back to the dimly lit pink
bedroom, with the princess drapes, warm comforters, an assortment of stuff
toys, a row of American girl dolls and closets full of clothing. I mention to
my children that I had only two or three sets of clothing growing up. They look
at me in surprise. "We washed them everyday", I continued, "so I
never needed any more than that".
With that comment, my story for the
night steps out just like that.
Once the elastic on my underwear
snapped right during lunch hour at school and my underwear kept slipping, we
wore dress uniforms and I was convinced that it would fall off at some point. I
was just in kindergarten and I was terrified of my convent teachers and
wouldn't dare mentioning it to them. So I went to my sister instead! She
too felt the deep shame of my predicament and dragged me hastily to a stall in
the bathroom, trying desperately to fasten this slipping garment. But the
school bell rang and she had to leave! So I put my hand in the pocket of my
uniform dress and held my underwear up with two fingers and cried silently in
shame. It was to be playground time soon after math and I searched my tiny head
desperately for a good excuse to miss it.
Once inside the classroom, my anxious
mind did not spare me any quiet or rest. I could not stop imagining all kinds
of outcomes, all in which I would be further shamed. I put my head down on the
table for naptime and cried silently! Suddenly I found the light!! There
was a huge rubber band on the floor below my desk! God put it there! I picked
it up real quick, slipped my skinny legs through it and fastened it upon my
underwear. I stood up, and removed my hand slowly out of my pocket but not all
the way out just in case my plan failed. But it worked! I stepped away from my
desk confidently, ran to the playground and played without a care.
I remember that day as vividly as one
would remember a miracle!
On the way back home, my sister
congratulated me on my quick thinking and my mother was mortified when she
noticed that I continued to use that rubber band on my good underwear as well,
"just in case!"
With that my story ended. My kids
laughed their head off at this story and were still smiling as I tucked them in
and kissed their heads.
I so… badly want for them to know that
happiness is not about things you have but it’s about not having people who
care and love you. I so… badly want for them to be able to laugh at themselves
and have people with whom they can share their stories. I so… badly want for
them to know that they will be all right, no matter what happens!
But sadly I cannot teach them that!
Some lessons have to be learnt from your own life.
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