A RAD CONVERSATION
Is anyone out there. I mean, really…is anything floating in the celestial cesspool called the universe that answers to a divine goodness?
Very funny. I’m laughing so hard my face hurts as much as my heart.
Do you remember your year in kindergarten?
Only remnants. I remember telling Mrs. Wick(ed) that I was tired of doing the alphabet because I already knew it, and walking out of the room. I remember that every kid in the class blamed me any time they didn’t want to admit guilt and she eagerly punished me for their crime. I remember the slender bamboo canes we used when dancing and I remember being in a closet. But that’s all I remember about the darkness. I don’t remember feeling fear. I don’t remember if I hid from her, or if she locked me in there as punishment.
It’s like digging my hand into a drain full of slimy crap. I remember some kid pointing to me saying, “she did it!” I remember being thrown onto a concrete bench so hard I was stunned at the force of it. My classmates laughed, not an atom of remorse among them. Did I mention this kindergarten nightmare resided in a church and how much I hated most of the people in that wretched excuse for hypocrisy?
This is but a step toward your final destination. What did you come to this mental spot to tell me?
My mother witnessed her cruelty, not the physical torture, but the mental games. She arrived in time to see me get to the front of a line in a game I loved, not understanding why Mrs. Wick took the ball from me and sent me to the back of the line again. The strange thing about it is…I don’t remember any of that, only the laughter of those around me, a sense of disconnection, hating every day I was forced to experience the mental, and possibly physical, hell called kindergarten.
Did you know that the people who bounced back from the experience of being in concentration camps during World War II had little memory of it? The amnesia helped them to go on with life and not dwell on the horror.
Did you know there’s a condition called Reactive Attachment Disorder? It happens to children as a result of social and emotional neglect. They don’t form healthy attachments when the people who are supposed to love them abandon them mentally or physically. I may not remember much about kindergarten, but I guarantee that it changed the course of my life. Tell me, whatever you are, if there’s reincarnation, what sick bastard thinks the amnesia of a former life helps a person understand why they’re going through pain in this one?
You’re doing what you always do when you can’t, or won’t, understand.
I’m doing what I always do when people who don’t deserve the pain lose their loved ones, or the remnants of their lives when their computers are stolen…or unjustly lose their jobs. If there’s love in the universe, why are good people forced to face the consequences of other people’s actions just because someone bigger needs a scapegoat?
Go ahead and let out your anger. Tell the world of your pain. But remember that the people who weather adversity the best aren’t the ones shouting “why me?” to the universe. They’re the ones who can still look up at a starry night sky and appreciate the beauty when the world around them is crumbling into dust.
I tried looking at the stars tonight. All I saw were a bunch of white blurs. It reminded me of my life.
Would it help to know that there are more important matters in the universe than your eyesight?
It would help to know that the people who steal, kill, abuse and torment have the opportunity to experience a Karmatic explosion of payback, and know exactly why they’re being tortured. It would help to know that life doesn’t have to be agony for good, kind, caring, loving people whose only crime was to give to others. I can’t believe that any higher power would sit back and watch as innocent people endure mental and physical agony…unless the entire universe is nothing but a kindergarten class and Mrs. Wick is still in charge of who gets tormented.
She had a brain tumor.
She responded by finding the smallest puppy in the litter and kicking it when she was mad at the world.
Do I have to remind you of the definition of free will?
Take your excuses and stick them in a black hole! Free will is the excuse a higher power gives for allowing crap to fall on the heads of those who deserve it and more so on those who don’t.
The people you’re worried about will be all right. They’re going to come through this and they’ll be better for it on the other side.
That’s as believable as one of Mrs. Wick’s promises. I’d like to have a sense of humor when it comes to injustice, but that ain’t gonna happen.
All I ask is that you have a little patience, overcome your head-first method of trying to save the world, stand back, and watch the good people surrounding you move heaven and Earth to make a difference in the lives of those you’re worried about. Have a little faith. At the other side of their dark tunnel is something better.
I’ll think about it as soon as I change my shirt. I feel like I’ve fallen into a pool. I’ll need a ton of water to replace the fluids expelled from my eyes.
You’re smiling. Are you feeling better?
I think all those kids in my kindergarten class grew up to become politicians.
Glad to see your sense of humor is returning.
“Reactive Attachment Disorder”–wasn’t familiar with the term, but understood the concept. Could this be almost the same as PTSD?
My wife grew up with an alcoholic father. He physically and mentally abused her mother, and the rest of the family. I found it difficult to understand why she had no memory of childhood Christmases.
There are still good people out there. They’re not shouting–calling attention to themselves. My theory–as long as the good folds still outnumber the bad folks, we’re in good shape.
Staying ahead of the game involves not letting the bad things define who we are. That’s my two-cent pseudo-psychiatric advice for the day.
You had a Mrs. Wick for kindergarten. I had Mrs. Plant. Your memory is remarkable. I mainly remembered graduation–still have my diploma. How far would that get me in the job market?
It was during the fifties. We took naps in the afternoon. Had snack time. Lined up for Salk polio vaccines. Somewhere there’s a kindergarten class picture.
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Can you see it? Some guy walks into an office. They ask for his diploma and it says “Graduated from kindergarten.” That sounds like a dumb and dumber plot.
I remember the vaccinations at school, and taking the oral vaccine.
My dad, his sister and 2 brothers had a father who drank on the weekends. He was vicious, often driving them out of the house with a knife when Lantana, Florida, was a wilderness (they were ages 2 to 8). My aunt (2nd oldest) married a guy 20 years older when she was a teenager, just to escape the squalor, and after moving out, every home she lived in was squeaky clean. Children of alcoholics either become alcoholic and/or psychopaths (like my dad’s youngest brothers) or are among the walking wounded (like my dad). My aunt was one of the strongest women I’d ever met. She never touched alcohol, always had a smile for us and had a big heart. For my father, the spectre of their father’s cruelty loomed over them for the remainder of their lives, while my uncles embraced it.
Maybe script for Dumb & Dumber III? My wife, her sister, and brother were among the walking wounded. The second son committed suicide due to emotional and substance abuse problems. I never met him. My wife stood up to her father and even thought her first marriage failed, became stronger for it. She raised three determined young women (my step-daughters).
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She’s lucky to have met you. When it comes to marriage, I can tell you from experience, the one(s) that come before are great teachers that prepare you for THE one. 🙂
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Ah, yes…..kindergaraten, a German word signifying torture for some children. Every day for two months, I would grab my coat from the closet and try to escape down the hallway. They caught me every time and delivered me to the corner I had chosen to sit in, away from everyone else. I just observed the class, finding the activities boring. Then, came Christmas time and the others were circled around the piano while the teacher played and they sang, “Oh, Tannenbaum!” I liked singing and decided to give it a try. The teacher, Mrs. DeGrau, a pretty woman in her thirties but with the disposition of a neo-Nazi used to tell us to lower our heads on our desks and take a nap while she took one, too. I think she finally gave up on me and assigned me recitations by heart and the lead in a kindergarten play. Amazing how we remember those early days.
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It certainly is amazing what we remember. It’s not the day to day boring stuff — Usually, it’s the pain and the joy.
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