Memento Adulescentia - Concerning diaries and fathers

 Undine in the Doorway

Someone asked me why the name of the blog is "Every seed and leaf." and I debated on whether or not to post this as it is one of the more personal things in my folder, but decided it couldn't do much harm.  Perhaps I'll look at it from a different perspective and be able to make some good changes to it. 

1999

Christmas Eve

Fayetteville, NC.                                

I am seven going on eight, sitting at the kitchen table, writing by the dim glow of Christmas lights and the great tree in the family room, and pinecones burning in the fireplace…  This is how the first entry of my first diary began.

Life was flawless.  It was golden.  Each day was a blessing, each breath of air a miracle, each bout of laughter a shining lantern in the dark.   I had two older brothers, a mom, and a dad.  The dad was kept busy much of the time with work, and in his absence we flourished.   His vacancy was like a warm cozy chair anybody could sit in, passing the hours of the day in peace.  When he retired, we found that vacancy suddenly filled.  It was filled by a new element in our household- one that threw us all off balance, like a rock causing endless ripples on a placid lake.  The ripples of his coming home never subsided; they continue on deep inside each of us, my brothers, my mother, and I.  His force lives on not only in my genes, but in my memory too.  He is a wrinkle that will never lay flat, a jar that refuses to be opened, a weed that won’t keep out of the garden, that keeps coming back to choke the life from every seed and leaf…

The first memory I hold of him is fear.  The last memory of him is that of indignant anger.  Everything in between is not much different.  I do not know how my mom married him, but thank god it was her of all people that ended up being my mom.  Where he was a tyrant, she was a democracy.  Where he was blind, she understood with a glance.  Where his hand dealt pain, hers was the soothing hug that healed us after.  She was a magician, he was a soldier.  She was an artist, he was a con artist; a thief that made off with my childhood and never gave it back. 

But not all clouds hold rain, and not every diary entry of mine was filled with rambles about my dad.  As a matter of fact I chose to omit him from my diary as much as possible.   He had little place in my heart, and therefore had little place in my writing.  So despite having just been screamed at for some stupid thing or another by the man himself, I began my very first entry with as free and light a heart as any other little girl had.  Thus…

HI!  My name is Mary Ann and this is my diary.  Also my brothers are SUPER dumb!  They are!

This is so GOOD!  Christmas morning is coming!  And tonight I will go downstairs and wait, and see if there IS such a thing as Santa, because I don’t believe in Santa ONE BIT.  My mom and dad, well just my mom, says this when we don’t do our chores: “that’s one less present!”  I’m tired of that!  I already found where the presents are anyway.  They are under my parents’ bed.  Not really a good place.  Eh?  Hey WHY DO I HAVE TO CROSS OUT THAT MY BROTHERS ARE DUMB!  It’s MY DIARY so nobody should be reading it anyway!!!

And it's been a bloody roller coaster ever since!  I'm on my fifth diary, as of now.