If I told you I grew up poor, you might picture Charlie living in a shack and 4 people sleeping in one bed.
That was far from the case.
Nope, I grew up in the same shit box tiny 3 bedroom 1 bath ranch style home, as everyone else of the time
(that time being the late 70s’ into the 80s)
But my home life was unlike any one else’s I knew of, with the abuse and lack of needed things for me being my secret shame.
Mostly because my mother was/is a selfish person, a person that blamed me for her own short comings, a person who hid food and went out drinking instead of keeping her home and caring for her children.
I often found myself staying in the near by woods, comforted by the trees, laying in the earth.
I felt safe there. It felt more like home than in my own bed of fear just across the street in that house.
The sun loved me as it peeked through the trees and warmed my cheeks with its kisses.
The smell of pine needles was my perfume, the rustling of the leaves in the trees all around was my music.
Today as I take much pride in cleaning my own home with the windows wide open, the fresh new Fall air blowing through. I hear my children giggling down the hall, I am glad I am a better person than my mother. I am glad they are loved. That they have all the need and most of what they want. It takes a sacrifice to live like this. To give to them before myself. it is never easy.
I still carry anger for my mother, I hate that house.
But it does not take from my life as some people tell me to let it go, I do not want to forget or forgive.
I couldn’t forget even if I tried for the breeze brings back my days of my home in the woods, among the trees.
I can be having the worst day and a walk in the woods can make it all better. I feel safe there, untouchable.
So I say maybe its magic…