Forgetting

In the movie Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts plays Vivian Ward a strangely (for Hollywood) self respecting, frank prostitute, an immoral woman with a heart of gold, not so much a heart for gold. She said, "People put you down enough, you start to believe it...The bad stuff is easier to believe" Remember "Sticks and stone might break my bones but words will never hurt me?" I have concluded that to be the sour grapes response of a very very injured person. I would rather have had my bones broken.

I was raised by a good (seemingly mismatched) pair of parents, but what child does not think that? My mother is a mostly quiet, lovely, cute little woman. She was strict, has high expectations, works hard and picks her battles. She fights endlessly for her family against staggering odds and stands by her man, stood by him even when everyone told her to leave him. My dad was a type A, short tempered, cute little man. He too was strict, still has high expectations. He likes things just right and when they were not so one learnt how short his fuse was. His explosions were loud and damaging, they got the desired response though; people did what he wanted how he wanted. He loved money and all it could buy. Picked more battles than she and fought them with fierce determination, tenacious as a bulldog. Fair and ruthless in his dealings. They both knew poverty well. Money was a big deal for them. They valued hard work and results above everything (my opinionated view). Then Jesus found them.

I left home eight years ago. When I left my parents were becoming older, mellower people whom God was teaching not to provoke their children, but to nurture them in the fear of the Lord (Ephesians 6:4). They were not yet there, so my memories are filled by pain tainted images of malformed people. I had begun to notice the change that was occurring in their persons and in their union, and I missed out because I chose not to trust in it. It is easier to keep away those that hurt you than to believe and embrace their change. The man who at one time spent Sunday nursing a hangover after an early morning home rousing row now spent the afternoon in the yard with his wife a liter of Coke and biscuits (cookies...may I add, they giggled a LOT!) Money was still very important, and it was all I spoke to my father about. When I called home, I talked to mom about life and people, I talked to dad about grades and earnings. Until one summer I called and told them I would not go looking for a 'steady' job, I would keep doing odd jobs. Their response was, "Do what makes you happy, your joy and peace of mind are most important to us." I was shocked! Now, six years later my parents say they love me and though I feel a tad awkward, I tell them I love them too. They love and cherish my wife like (more than!) their own child.

They rarely provoke us (my siblings and I), we speak now of our childhood as of bad dreams. It still hurts when we think of the pain, oh how it hurts. It does not hurt all the time though, it used to, but not anymore. The bad stuff is easier to believe. Easier to remember. And because trust is slow to build, we sometimes treat them like ghouls, but quickly repent. They have changed, and so should I.

I will keep forgetting.