"Especially rich are incidents and images stored away that you aren't sure ever actually occurred; dreams or stories someone has spoken of so many times that they're engraved as past realities"
The above is a quote taken from deAnn's post about this writing exercise. I copied it here because it speaks to what I want to write about. So...here goes...I remember being a child, probably about 5 or 6 yrs old. My father sang in a Barber Shop ensemble. He had the most amazing tenor voice. I used to think he was the best singer in the whole world. I remember, and still picture it in my mind, when he used to sing me to sleep every night. I do not recall what the songs were then, but I do remember a song that he used to sing to me when I was older. It went something like this "little eyes I love you, little eyes I love you, love you in the spring and in the fall, little eyes I love you, little eyes I love you, love you best of all" I can still see his face when he would sing in a whisper type voice. This would be a really sweet story...if in fact...it were true. Unfortunately, its not. After years of telling this story, over and over again, I was confronted by my sister and brother and told to stop telling lies, "our father never sang you to sleep, he was never home". I was fortunate enough though, when I was an adult, to be able to confront my father with this "vision" and he confirmed my fear, that it was all made up...by me. Although this was tuff to hear, at least he told me the truth and took some responsibility. He had no way to explain to me though...how I could..and still can by the way, see this vision so clearly and also to hear his voice. I have determined that since this was a great comfort to me, it must have been God himself, there is just no other explaination. I have other memories from my childhood that I wonder from time to time...was that real? What I have determined is...it doesnt really matter. The memories that I have from alot of my adult life are a bit blurry sometimes, but what came from living a childhood of made up stories, it taught me as an adult to really pay attention to everything, so that my reality isnt in question. I do still, struggle from time to time with other people who want to question my reality, it has caused me to be more aware and more contemplative.
For Everything There is a Season
8 years ago
2 comments:
This is deep, Jane. And very very thought provoking. My mind and heart are still trying to digest this and apply it to memories of my childhood. I often think I must hoave created a false reality as a child too, to cover up the ouchie things. Do I still do this as an adult? Hum...great blog. Loveya, deAnn
This was a really great post - I was so moved by the story of your father singing you to sleep, it must have been real in some way for you to have been able to tell it in such a moving way. Sometimes it's just better to remember things the way we would have wanted them, since we can't change our past anyway. Thanks for sharing!!
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