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I can remember when I was a child. Everything took on the characteristic of happiness. All of my days seemed bright, and the only stress that would occasionally plague my soul was the anticipation of a spanking. Tears were rare, but I was often troubled by the slightest divergence from the moral standard I had set for myself. Conditioned to think that if I was bad I would go to hell, I would try my best to be good and do good. My moral character was constantly being exercised. I would create a superset for myself. Abstain from a lie: push-up. Maintain my integrity while taking a test: pull-up. Obey when my parents or my grandmother told me to do something: sit-up. My moral character grew, and I was becoming perfect…. I was becoming saved. The preachers words would resonate in my head. Be good. Do good. And forget the cliché’s. Maybe that’s how some of my peers felt as they sat and listened to children story after children story. After all, we were closing in on the age in which the call for us to walk down the isle and sit center stage was no longer applicable. We were supposed to be growing up, but I was still touched. This was supposed to be cool, but I was in no rush. I knew I would be young forever. I never liked hearing the old folks talk about youth. Youth was only delegated to certain people. I was born young. They were born old.
When I was young, I was good. When I was young, I did good. I did not take for granted the words that I heard in church. Often perplexed by the sinful little humans that surrounded me, I would ask myself why these kids did not want to be saved. I was a kid, and I wanted to be saved, so I was good. I did good. Everything was so easy. Puberty was unheard of, and my hormones were in good spirits. I just liked to be outside. I just liked to run around and burn off all the energy which caused a great deal of inattentiveness in my class of life. You see, I was oblivious that time was passing and that I was getting older. I was unaware that I would soon have an affinity for computer screens and obscene things. But I would always spill the beans to mother because of my conscience. It was because I was holy and into all that pious nonsense. It’s such a shameful thing, but I would soon become a teen.
I remained oblivious that time was moving and that I was getting older. I guess I never deemed it possible. I would often hear older people talk about life and the stress it can bring. What the hell are they talking about? They must be doing something wrong. Tighten up. I continued to make judgments as life continued to make subtle moves on me.
High school…
“We are praying for you and your family.” What is happening? What went wrong? No one told me what hospice was. In fact, I was relieved to see her in our worship room when I came home from school. The plethora of hospital visits were beginning to get to me. Plus after weeks of silence the doctor finally said there were signs of improvement. I was young however. I didn’t know life was making moves. That room would soon be void of life and the equipment that was only meant to ease humans to their grave. I would soon see tears from my mothers eyes for the first time. Things were changing. I was aging. I was born to be young however. I was born to be young.
College…
By this time, I should have been well aware that life was moving on me. I knew I was getting older, but I was born to be young. I knew that she could have an immense effect on me, but I continued to be touched. So I touched. But I was supposed to be perfect. It’s just something would always convince me that it would be worth it as I’d unearth hips and kiss lips. I had long strayed from the moral standard I set for myself when I was a child. I realized was growing old. I realize I am growing old. I always believed that I would die slowly, but life is moving fast. My mind often fishes around in the past hoping to renew it as the present….
Times is moving, and things are constantly changing. I always thought that I was born to be young. Then l grew up.
This girl learned to love pain. She was no sadist, but she did learn to embrace pain. After all, she had been conditioned to be that way. She wasn’t the strongest kid growing up, although she had a big heart. She wasn’t the smartest kid in the class, although she had a fierce determination. For most of her childhood and adolescent life she lived by a simple theory. “Be kind. Keep quiet.” It was those two principles that keep her self-esteem from being lowered even more by her peers. If she was quiet enough, she wouldn’t draw extra attention to herself. If she was nice enough, she could dodge a couple of jokes. This worked for the most part. She was never required to face herself, so she became complacent with having the dirt as her neighbors and friends. Her parents did not challenge the misbelief’s she had about herself. In fact, some of the harmless jokes they made about her contributed to the accumulation of some of her insecurities. Life for her was no harder than life for any other kids her age. There were no traumatic experiences to be discussed nor cried over.
Middle school…
The insecurities that flourished for the majority of her life were finally challenged. She could no longer hold onto the insecurity of having wickedly crooked teeth. Her braces fixed that. She was no longer handicapped, unable to sprint more than a few feet before passing out. Her persistence and determination in her exercise regimen had strengthened her lungs. She could for miles at a time now. Facial scares that were acquired during her childhood began to fade away due to years of proper treatment. She began to dress well, and she steadily began to become somewhat fashionable. Physically, she transforming into a very pretty girl. Mentally, nothing changed.
High school…
More guys started to notice her. Her figure began to accentuate, and her face cleared from puberty. She looked like a totally different person, and guys were not hesitant to tell her how attractive she was. Then she got a boyfriend…and got hurt. Then another boyfriend…and returned that hurt. Then one more boyfriend…and got scarred. This was nothing new to her however. She got to the point where she was used to feeling low. She would pray for things to get better, but deep down inside she seemed to contradict her prayers. Although she said she wanted to get better, she was so accustomed to feeling down. She was almost content with inhabiting ground. She was the dirt those above her treaded upon. She was the mud that those living in the clouds rained on. If there ever was a time she was happy, she would anticipate the pain of sorrow because had grown to love it. A true masochist.
We may stay afloat in our sorrows or swim in our victories. -thepositivendeavour
Just Some Thoughts... 