Anne says “Write at least one page per day”.

A page of prose, just for practice.  Keep on writing, keep on writing, keep on writing.  Ok, that’s cheating but I’ve still got a long way to go.  Anne Lamott said I should do it and that’s enough for me, but she didn’t say how to do it exactly.  Well, she may have said something about using memories but I don’t remember exactly.  Ho boy, I’m in trouble.  

This brings to mind a line from STATION ELEVEN that I love dearly and hits deep: “I remember damage”.  By the way, I started a new paragraph and I’m not sure if that’s cheating because it creates a blank line with no words.  Oh well, on we go.  What damage can I remember?  

The first thing that comes to mind is when I was four years old and we were living in Knightstown, IN.  We had some people over from church and there was an adult male who I really adored for his warm smile and encouraging tone towards me.  I think he was a bit older than my Dad.  We were in the front living room on a couch with other kids, probably his kids, and I had the honor of sitting on his leg like a bench as funny things were being said, people were laughing,  and I was in the sweet spot of feeling loved and accepted.  And then it happened.

I unexpectedly let out a four year old’s fart which surprised me because I didn’t feel it coming.  This man’s expression went from warmth and humor to anger and disgust in a split second as he lifted me out of his lap, “Oh you stink!”.  It was so sudden and so shocking I felt tears welling up and I ran out of the room, devastated.  I just couldn’t believe he would respond like that.  I’d never even seen him frown before.

Maybe this was my first experience of the loss of innocence in a wider world.  Sure, I knew my Mom yelled and was upset with me A LOT, but this man was something different or so I’d believed.  Some time later as an adult I told this story to my Mom and she said “Well, you did fart in his lap”.  But even so, I think about how I would have handled that situation and I’d like to think I would have made it into something humorous; something that would not have embarrassed the child or made him feel bad about himself.  It’s important to keep in mind that young children are emotionally fragile to a great degree and look to us adults to embody a kind of goodness, positivity, and stability in the world, not going off half-cocked.

So that was a memory and one of several pre-kindergarten ones.  I’m still writing and the bottom of the page is getting closer but not as close as I thought it would be after sharing that memory.  Do I need to find a second memory?  How about the time I was three and our back yard flooded with about two inches of water?  The grass stood up straight with the  support of the water and made the most peculiar of sensations on my chubby little feet as I walk-waded through it.  I could see the sky and the trees reflected in it like a giant mirror laid out flat.  It was magical, but this was also the house that held a scene of horror and it was a house we did not live in very long.

It was a summer’s day and my Mom’s Mom was visiting us.  They were going to take my older sister to the store with them and I wanted to go as well.  I was at the end of the hall in the bathroom when I heard the front door close and realized I was being left behind.  I finished my business as quick as I could and then threw open the bathroom door and ran down the hall as fast as I could.  I made a hard left at the front living room and barreled towards the glass storm door.  I hit it hard with both hands and instead of it opening  the glass shattered and I flew through it and landed on the concrete porch.  They came running back to see what had happened and found me sitting there amongst the broken glass with my arms cut and bleeding.

So that was that and this is this: one full page of writing under my belt for today.  And now that I think of it there are numerous memories of me getting hurt growing up from any number of ill-conceived actions and misadventures, but that is writing for another day.  

One page!  Done!  Thanks to Anne Lamott and “Bird by Bird” for helping make it so.

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