THE CRAZY LADY NEXT DOOR

August Bonus Email + Voiceover

Image: Caleb Woods/Unsplash.com

Hello, Dear One:

As I begin to identify themes in my life, it is clear that one theme of my early childhood was parentification.

“Parentification occurs when a child is regularly expected to provide emotional or practical support for a parent, instead of receiving that support themselves. The role reversal of parentification can disrupt the natural process of maturing, causing long-term negative effects on a child's physical and mental health.”- the interwebs

So, this month I am sharing a potent story from my childhood that illustrates this concept. If you would prefer to listen to the story, simply click Article Voiceover at the top of this post.

Also, um, it dawned on me that I missed our July bonus monthly email due to being in Albuquerque wrapping up The Living School. It just slipped my mind with all that was going on. Thanks for your understanding. I’m sending out this August bonus email earlier than usual since I missed the end of July!

I’ll keep this section short as I am about to share a longer story with you, as promised. This story will ultimately be edited but that work is for a later time. I think getting stories out of my body and onto the page is the priority right now.

Thank you for your continued companionship and support here. Writing is such a solitary experience, yet knowing you are here with me reading early drafts in progress is a comfort and encouragement to keep going.

xo Mary

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A STORY TO SHARE IN PROGRESS:

THE CRAZY LADY NEXT DOOR*

I am nine years old and I am walking home from school by myself with my red parka zipped up tight. The yellow and orange leaves hide some of the seams in the sidewalk and I am careful not to step on them. I don’t want to break my Mama’s back. I like my walk home from school because I get to be by myself and take my time.

Now and then when I’m walking home and I get scared that some man in a car might slow down and offer me candy and try to trap me in his car, I look for one of those signs in the front windows of the houses. It is a picture of a white hand on a black background and it means that if you’re a kid and you’re in trouble, you can run right up to that house for safety and they’ll take you in. You’ll be safe. Those signs make me wonder about who lives there and how they might take care of me if I had to run up to their door.  It gives me a warm feeling inside.

Today, like most school days, I stop at Miss Helen’s house next door and pick up my little sister Charlie Belles until Mama gets home. And then, once she gets home, she sends me over to fetch the baby while she starts making dinner. 

Our house is on the corner of Glencoe Street in Denver. It's a blue-gray house with white shutters and it’s our best house yet. I have my own room that used to be a garage, with a fancy white canopy bed and green dotted Swiss coverlet that Mama picked out as a surprise after we had that flood at our old house that ruined everything. My poor dolls with their sad, stained faces where the water line came up to their eyebrows. It was a terrible sight to see all my dolls floating in that dirty basement water. But now I have a bed that's prettier than I could have ever imagined.  It’s the first new furniture I’ve ever had and it makes me feel like a grown-up. 

Miss Helen’s house, just to the right of ours, is a dusty red brick with faded black shutters. There’s only our driveway separating her front yard from ours. Until that night when the space between our two households grew dark and frightening. Her house did not have one of those safety signs in her window. Maybe that should have been a clue.