Here I Am: Lessons Learned.

When I look back in my life, I understand that in every circumstance I was never alone. Either something or someone was guiding me, even during the hardest of times. This was especially true when I was young, then very much feeling alone and without great support. Now, years later, with the advantage that comes with experience and much reflection, I realize that I was never really, absolutely, alone. Somehow, even in the worst of times, the person or persons I needed showed up, and at the right time to make a difference. Fortunately, I have always been a good listener, and I have applied the learning I was fortunate to receive at every step of my journey. Early Years My first memory I recall has me standing on my father’s feet, dancing to loud music. Was that the day my mind truly opened to this world? I remember going around and around and feeling dizzy, in awe, dancing, moving easily with the rythm. My father was a real character. He loved life and was always doing fun things with us, his family, I am sure my brother has his own happy memories of those much too brief time with our father. But, as my sister was a baby when my father died, unfortunately, she doesn't have those memories of him. If I close my eyes and focus on my childhood memories, I go back to the house we lived in. Though I would then have been only two or three years old. I remember the big hallways, heavy doors and huge furniture (furniture so big that I couldn't climb into bed, and had to get a stool). Everything in our house now seems to have been big and heavy, No surprise, given my then-age. The sink faucets were out of reach for me, I couldn't get a sip of water on my own. As for the cabinets, I was unable to fit my hand around the handle to open them; my hand was much too small. I remember lining up for candy. The candy ceremony happened when dad came home from work, and he was the only one with a key for the cabinet that contained the treasured loot. We knew when he was coming home. “Biddu”, our shaggy black and grey dog, would run around and around the house seconds before dad opened the door and loudly announced his return. Our routine was always the same. Right after father showed up, Biddu would rush to be first in line for the candy. We had no chance to out-race Biddu. I remember the hallways 'doubling' in size every time I ran to the cabinet, always losing the race to Biddu. Nobody, not even my brother who was (and still is) bigger and faster than me, and able to open the cabinet doors with only one of his hands, could beat Biddu. By the time I got to the cabinet, Biddu had already got his treat. If I tried to get ahead of Biddu, he would peel back his teeth as if he saying “don’t you dare take my spot". Yet, he never bit any of us, though for me his sneer was enough to wet my cheeks with tears. In the end, I had to accept being either second or third in line, my placement depending on how generous my brother was that day (my baby sister was not part of the race). I also remember being carried on my father’s shoulders as we came home on Sunday evenings after either having had a full day of fun at the park or from visiting our grandparents. I was so tired I could no longer walk and would fall asleep on the bus. When it was time to walk the rest of the way home, I would cry and dad would place me on his shoulders. Great memories! Yet, I remember that my crying was required. If I didn’t cry, I had to walk (like a “big girl”) the three blocks from the bus stop to our house. Funny thing, now looking back, while my baby sister must have been there she is not anywhere to be found in my earliest memories. Perhaps I had inadvertently chosen to ignore her, as she was not part of the 'candy line-up'. As well, she was too small to be carried on my father’s shoulders. Another possibility comes to mind. It is possible that I have difficulty recalling her in those early scenes of my childhood bliss because she was my 'competition' from the day she was born until my maturity. Likely, in the walks to and from the bus, she was just bundled up and put in a stroller. She definitely was in my blind spot, then, leaving Biddu and my older brother in the recalled scenes of my very early life.