I’ve wanted the opportunity to write each week something I’ve discovered about myself, life, others — and do it consistently throughout the months and year. I notice I write the majority of my posts on the weekend when I have time to think, time to process; so I’m calling this post Week’s End, to signify a different kind of prose. This post will be personal, perhaps a little more serious, and something from my heart. That’s the goal. I’m not sure it will be of value to anyone else, but myself.
This week I learned I have a desire to stay connected to my roots, my family and my descendents. Several years ago my grandchildren gave me 100+ questions on small strips of brightly colored paper which were supposed to help me write my history. I half-heartedly gave it a try, but quit after writing perhaps a handful of responses. I felt like they were invasive and too personal to be writing down or saying out loud. I didn’t want anyone to know how many mistakes I made growing up and into adulthood. I was ashamed and embarrassed, but the more I thought of it, perhaps my children and grandchildren can learn from the mistakes of one old grandma.
So here we go [reaching into the giant 2 gallon glass jar with the apothecary lid].
Question 113. Tell about your teenage social life, your friends, dances, movies, dating, outings, church activities, etc.
[See, I’m just saying.]
I’m not proud of the way I behaved as a teenager. I dated way too early and too seriously. I didn’t have a good relationship with my Father so [looking back] I can see how I sought the approval of the male gender. I often dressed like a tramp and acted like one. I subsequently got pregnant at the age of sixteen and pretty much messed up my life and my baby’s.
I know this kind of behavior contributed to breaking my parent’s hearts and shaming my family. My only hope is that others who are at this stage of their life will actually learn from my experience and not date until they are older, double date with good friends, come home at a decent hour and be honest with themselves in all their activities. I pretended that I believed since I didn’t feel love from my dad that I needed to find ‘love’ somewhere else. But it’s been a whole lifetime of sorrow and regrets.
Ok. On a lighter note I learned something else this week. [See how uncomfortable that made me?]
Tracy and I were heading to town to have one last shopping binge and as I turned on the heat in the car I noticed a sickly sweet smell coming from the engine area. As I turned up the heater, I noticed it becoming stronger and stronger until I became quite worried that her cats had climbed up under the hood near the warm engine and had dragged some food out of the garbage to eat there. It smelled like cookies or cake or something that was getting increasingly more warm. After about five minutes of discussing this with Tracy I realized I had just put on some lip gloss called Cinnamon Sticky Buns and I was smelling my own lips as the car got warmer.
Demented. I know.