The bar of assertiveness. |
Cold wrapped around me early on in life, the cold of shyness, of doubt, of second guessing. A shrinking violet to be sure, a skinny boy, afraid, unable to look anyone in the eye, even when I became an adult, and even when I joined the military. No matter that death threatened at eight years old, when penicillin became my mainstay for one solid year, and this thirty six pound hospital survivor regained his health. Yet, the eye contact eluded me, as did the sureness associated with most fledgling lads embarking on those teenage years. I admit some of it was in the genes; I would see Dad in bipolar throes (back then it was less understood), but it would frighten me to see Mom have to put him in the shower to “snap him out of it.” Yes, it was an unsteady house, a fragile house, a house longing to be a home, but failing instead, failing as an ice cube fails to remain solid in the kitchen sink in June. I knew somewhere there was a bar of assertiveness, a bar that lessened the doubt, the second guessing, the self-incrimination and even the self-loathing. Turns out it was higher than I imagined, higher than I could have dreamed I would ever reach. Trauma helped raise it, like Vietnam, like so many wounds. Both good and bad have gone into the now, wherein I hold onto this bar, sigh with gratitude and soak in the wonderful and interesting sights. Oblivion seemed, at first, inevitable. Now, however, I long for life’s treasures at this new height. 40 Lines Writer’s Cramp Merit Badge Winner 7-4-16 |