I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
Yes, Dorothy, life does have thorns, but they do not have to hurt…..
We spend so much of our lives fearing life. I have spoken to so many individuals who, after hearing some of the events of my life, will say, “Oh, I could never do those things. You are so brave! You have so much courage. Weren’t you afraid?” Was I afraid to travel through Africa, and to live there on my own? Was I afraid when I was pinned down under rocket fire in both Kuwait and Qatar? Was I afraid while on safari when the male lion passed in front of our vehicle? When the gorilla pushed me in Rwanda because he just wanted to play? Skydiving in my seventies? Exploring the boundaries (and finding none) of my own consciousness?
This question has come to mind so often. And I can honestly say the answer is “No – I was not particularly afraid.” Yes, there is the remnant of fear at times, but no real fear unless I am asked to climb high places or to otherwise navigate areas requiring me to climb; ropes and rocks were not my friends. I do remember one young child holding my hand as we navigated a ski slope in one of those cubicles. I did not hold her hand; she definitely held mine because it was scary for me, not for her.
I remember the very first time I realized fear. Up until then, I was fearless. I climbed onto roofs and swam in the deep end of a pool without worry. I rode a bike the first time I climbed on and did it without training wheels. But then came the day I was showing off, swinging a long lumber piece around on my shoulder and another child got in the way. I accidentally hit her with the board, and when I realized what happened, I ran and hid in the upstairs closet, making myself as small as possible. I was pulled out by my brother and dragged downstairs, where I saw the child and her parents. I desperately tried to apologize but it didn’t work; I was beaten quite hard. As I cried, I was beaten further and told to stop crying. I was beaten until I stopped crying. Eventually, I swallowed hard enough and learned to control my tears. I rarely cried after that.
What is fear? Fear is a creation of our own minds. It is our minds telling us we are going to suffer, that we are going to die or our actions will cause irreparable harm to ourselves or others. But fear is an illusion, like so many others. It is an illusion placed upon us by the external world. I remember being absolutely terrified by this incident in my childhood, but I also remember something else: a strong feeling of betrayal by my brother that he would reveal my hiding place and drag me to my tormentors. I was showing off - showing off how strong I was and how powerful. And afterward I was shown I was not powerful. I was just a little child that needed to learn fear of adults and doing wrong.
As I remember this experience, I think about how differently it could have been handled. I certainly learned not to trust. I learned that I was not safe anywhere and my hiding places would be revealed for all to see. I wish I had the presence of mind at that age to have taken the child I hurt to her parents and to apologize for what I had done. But I didn’t, and it took me many years to own up to wrongdoings. I was afraid to assume responsibility for my actions, afraid I would be beaten again. I was not strong enough to fight back, and so I learned to hide my behavior.
This is not an indictment against my parents or my brother. Rather, it is learning from experience. It is learning that we need to handle situations with children in ways that teach them how to admit when they have done something wrong and how to stand in their own truth. We need to teach them how to say, “I am wrong” and then assist them in correcting the situation and moving on.
For whatever reason, we still seem to need to learn that physical punishment is not an effective way of stopping unwanted behavior. I remember giving a child an “F” on his report card during my first year of teaching. He had earned it. He returned the next morning with stripes across his back from the beating he received. This beating did not change his behavior, but it changed mine. I never gave another “F” as long as I taught. I never imagined an “F” was equal to a beating with a belt that left bruises and stripes. I was in my twenties when this happened, and still today, fifty years later, I can see the stripes on his back.
We need to learn how to talk with children. We can help them solve an issue, to figure out how to do better in the future. When we deal harshly with children, we teach them they are not worthy of our love, and we teach them they do not deserve to live. I will work with this hidden message in the near future. I feel it is important to recognize clearly and to hear the messages we give children, whether intentionally or not. Life is a gift, given to us to enjoy. Let us create a world where this is our focus and children are appreciated and loved.
You have turned out to be fantastic woman for what you lived through. What were you beaten with, your parents' hand/fist, stick, or belt? I was never beaten. All my father needed to do was snap an old barber's razor strap to get our attention. My mother was former Military, a Coast Guard drill team squad leader. Her voice was enough to scare you into submission and compliance. Harsh words were my punishment. My First-grade teacher called me a "nincompoop" for having a messy desk. My mother wrote on one of my Report Cards that she guessed I was not as "stupid" as they had thought. She called my "trash" one time, can't remember the incident that led to that. It was believed that I was not College material because I did not read well. I was recommended to be a mechanic and take vocational classes rather than college bound classes. Later in life I determined that I had a Learning Disability as there was a 400-point difference between my Math and Reading scores on the test that you take before entering college. That same 400-point difference was there when I took the tests to enter graduate school. The Federal Law identifying the need to serve Special Education did not exist until 1975. I was out of high school and undergraduate college by 1971, so I never received any help with my disability. I figured the best ways that I learned on my own. To this day, I do not really enjoy picking up a book to read, but I do so on occasion. I will write characters' name down and how they relate to each other or to the story so that I can remember and connect. When I stop reading, or even while I am reading, I have great difficulty remembering what I have read. I am extremely distractable with noise and motion around me when I am reading. You can imagine what it was like sitting in a classroom and being told to read quietly for twenty minutes while the rest of the students are talking, moving, etc. Just as you, Anna, I survived! I graduated from Madison College with a B.S., from Virginia Tech with a M.A., and an Ed.S. from UVA. I had a very successful, and mostly enjoyable, forty-five-year career in the field of Education. Rather, than calling me names, I wish that people had said to me, "YOU GO GIRL!!!!!"