Finding Peace
This article was originally published in the Winter 2010 newsletter.
So this is my story. It’s not pretty. It’s actually kind of ugly.*
* For the sake of those involved, their names have been intentionally left out.
Everybody always says to start at the beginning. But the problem is that I don’t remember when the beginning began. You know that stage in life when you start to remember things? And gradually you begin to remember more and more? It’s supposed to be in, like, grade one or something? Well, my memory starts in about grade five. I have a very faded recollection of my childhood before then. I just don’t remember a lot. I do remember some of the big things though. I remember the day I forgot my stuffed animal, Penelope, outside at recess. She was an ostrich and when I realized I had left her outside, I ran out to see that a stray dog had found her first and thought she would make a good chew toy. I remember the day I was warming up before baseball, and I looked away for one moment and went home with a shiner. I remember the day that I tried tiger stripe ice-cream for the first time. I remember the day I got my first detention.
I also remember the day my dad left. I remember the day my best friend told me it was my fault that he left. I remember the day I cried to him on the phone, begging to know why.
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