Drop by drop the snow pack dies, watering the arid lands below. |
Write an interaction between yourself now and yourself at a younger age. It can be holiday related if you wish and use dialogue or not. Let me set the Scene: It is Christmas Eve and everyone in the family is gathered around a traditionally decorated Christmas tree. Most of the present under the tree are wrapped in red and green, gold, silver or Christmas decorated wrapping paper except one lone present. That one present is wrapped in Happy Birthday wrapping paper. My 62-year-old self is looking at my first grade self. My first grade self takes the gift wrapped in birthday paper from under the tree. After she takes her birthday gift, then each one of her three siblings take a Christmas wrapped gift. Then one-by-one, starting with the birthday girl, each child unwraps his or her gift. My first grade self is not smiling despite the fact that she just received as a birthday present the doll she asked her grandmother for. “Don’t cry,” my 62-year-old self says, “the others won’t understand why you are so unhappy.” “It’s my birthday,” my first grade self replies, “why can’t my birthday be special like their birthdays. On their birthdays, they get to unwrap their birthday gifts without anyone else unwrapping Christmas gifts.” “Sweet heart,” my 62-year-old self says, “they weren’t born on Christmas. You’re parents are only trying to be fair by letting them unwrap Christmas gifts. They don’t understand the importance of having a birthday that isn’t shared with anyone else or another holiday.” “I want to be special,” my first grade self says, “I’m not special, if my birthday isn’t special. It would be different if I was a twin, but I’m not. I’m me, no one special with a special day all my own. And don’t tell me I’ll understand when I get older.” “No, I won’t because the memory hurts me as much at 62 as it does you as it happens. It still hurts, but at 62 I understand what my parents were attempting to do.” “What are you going to do about it at 62 that I can’t do in the first grade?” “I’m going to forgive my parents and my siblings their lack of understanding.” “What good will that do?” “It will free me to become closer to my brothers and sister!” “How does forgiveness free you?” “It allows me to let go of the hurt and it allow the wound to heal.” My 62-year-old self, smiles at the perplexed look in the first grader’s eyes, “I wish you could learn to forgive at your age and not spend your growing up years reliving the wound.”
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