Before you continue reading, I would like you to know that you are entering painful territory, this is a story about my childhood, bare to the bones, explicit and painful.
You have been warned
About how this moment
Will affect you in the
Someday, with hope of…
Someday, when I am dead and gone, there is hope that you will remember when I told you all these stories about me. There was a reason for all this mess, and even all the metaphors. Stories’s where I cried and made you a midget’s worth of sad about that criminal background when you laughed with me at “my” story, I hope.
Someday, I also hope that you will remember that I was molested by a teacher in a place called Gethsemane. I hope that you will remember the name Mr. S, and how in 5th grade he played hide-and-go-seek in the dark with me every Sunday for months. I hope that you will remember that he touched me in the public swimming pool when my tiny little body was clinging to the side of the wall. I hope that you will remember that in the exact moment of public penetration to my body and mind, I was looking for my brother to be Jesus and save me from the suffering. All I wanted in that minute of a moment was my brother. No one was there to save me.
I even hope that you will remember Pastor S, and how he knew his teaching staff was hurting little children before our family knew. I hope that you will remember that Pastor of a Principal, and how he wanted to protect the body of the church instead of the body of this One or that One. He did not care until my Dad roared like a lion after I had the courage to speak up.
I forgive that teacher. I forgave that man. I will forever forgive all those men and women at Gethsemane. Every single one of them.
Someday… I even hope that you will remember my Uncle Carl and that story about how he died when he was 40 from multiple heart-attacks and after living a “bad” lifestyle. I hope that you will remember that while my older brother and I had the opportunity to go to the hospital and even to say goodbye to Carl before that last heart attack, I wasn’t at the hospital because I was an emotional kid and no one wanted to see me cry.
Someday… I hope you will remember that I was the cryer, and that I use to feel that it was my fault that my brother could not go to the hospital with the rest of the family. Beaten and bruised by our own parents, physically and psychologically, we were all hurt in some way or another. I hope you will remember that I felt scared in my bedroom every night with little control over when my mother or father was going to spank me again and again. I hope you will remember the stuffed animals who rescued me from that fear, and how I cowered in my room lonely and depressed contemplating suicide at the ripe old age of 13.
I forgive my parents and family. I forgave them a long time ago. I will forever forgive all those men and women who watched or felt the enormous sadness and did nothing. Every single one of them.
I hope that you will remember how I was a professional crook, repeatedly. I stole those pencils in 5th grade from that store, only to return 10 years later to put money on the counter for those silly pencils that had “Stephanie” stamped on every one. I could never use those pencils without feeling crazy guilty anyway…
I hope that you will remember for me, and that you will shed a joyful tear at the forgiving release of all these stories that are worth nothing to me anymore.
Someday, too, I hope that you will learn to trust that I respect your widgits, digits, and midgets of stories. I hope that you will learn to trust my heart, which filters itself though my tongue or my fingers, all of which may need to be removed if I keep saying the things that may have hurt you too. Maybe? Who knows…
Either way, someday I hope that you will remember me. Someday, I hope that you will forgive me too. Then, I hope that someday you will love me, again and again and again and again. Loving your sweet friend with every gorgeous memory of all these laughing meditations that we shared where I said some crazy s*** about my past and even cried about it a little.