Being dropped on my head may have changed my perspective

a lesson from the playground

The first time I remember being scared that day was when the words were waving around on the page - they just wouldn’t sit still. I asked the kid in front of me where we were in the story, and he pointed. I put my finger on the page to hold my spot but as soon as I looked down those pesky words seemed to jump higher.

My heart pounded.

It was almost my turn. We were reading aloud to the class and, befuddled, I kept running my eyes around the page of a story I had read many times. Me! One of the best readers in Grade 5 (that’s Canadian for fifth grade) could not understand the words. What the hell?

Me, at the lake, admiring the gorgeous ice sculpture which, thankfully, did not fall on my head. 📸J Swallow

My heart pounded.

My turn was coming. Those words kept wiggling about, not keeping their position on the page, and when I glanced up the windows were a little wobbly too. Was I drunk? No, I wouldn’t be drunk in English class for about five more years so that wasn’t it.

My heart pounded.

My beloved teacher had picked this day, the day of the dancing words, to be away. At the front of the class stood a teacher who didn’t know me. She didn’t know that I was an A+ reader and a good little student, she didn’t know that when it was my turn, I always knew what to do.

My heart pounded.

The teacher who was not mine sent someone to walk me to the office because I didn’t know the way - even though I had gone to that school since kindergarten. I didn’t know my phone number to call home, just as I didn’t know where I lived (our house was across the street from the school).

My heart pounded.

I couldn’t tell my mom what happened because I didn’t know and, in those days, the school didn’t make an incident report. I had to ask if our house had a bathroom because I needed to go but didn’t know where it was (we had a small house, and I had lived there almost my whole life.)

My heart pounded.

He was size-extra-large, that boy who grabbed me while I was trying to scramble away. Back then they would hold a kid back and called it failing (Brutal!! Do you think if a kid skipped forward a grade they called it succeeding?) Because of this he was big, and I was not, which made it easy for him to swing me around, way up high.

I’d always felt bad for that boy. He was a huge guy with the unfortunate luck of having the same name as one of Canada’s most notorious serial killers. Even though I did not want him to pick me up and swing me that day I don’t think he meant to drop me on my head, put me in the hospital with a mild brain injury, or get suspended from school. It was an accident but by the time I got back to school it was too late to tell anyone that.

This story could have had a different (worse) ending for me than just one night in the hospital, but it also could have had a different (better) ending for that boy. What if any of us involved in that situation had been able to suspend our judgement of a large boy who was older than his grade, who didn’t seem too bright but was likely very misunderstood. What if we would have actually listened to his story and seen him for the child that he was rather than always casting him as the bad guy.

What if?

Almost every minute of our day offers an opportunity for us to suspend our judgement, to widen our perspective and allow a little space between what happens and how we react to it. May we take the chance to question our thoughts, to say to ourselves “What if this thought, what I’m thinking about them, is not 100% true?”

In this time of world events that shake our foundation and leave us wondering what could possibly happen next that we never would have seen coming, may we do our small part by walking softly through the world with less drama and opinion. May we remember that everyone has a story we cannot see.

Thank you, Dearest, for being here with me.

xoxo Donna

P.S. Hey Sweet Thing, Valentine’s Day (for those who acknowledge it) is coming up. First, I want to express my love to you for your presence in my online community. Sure, it’s internet love, I get it. BUT NOT TO ME. To me, you being here is my reason, my purpose, my passion. It’s a big deal and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Next, keep in mind Honeybun that for the vast majority of the population Valentine’s Day is a bunch of BS. Do not believe Hallmark and all the marketing. There are a kazillion people feeling lonely, sad or simply laughing at the commercialism and ridiculousness of it all so you are not alone. If you honor Valentine’s Day may it be done with a sense of joy and a sacred knowing that love is all there is.

Stay awesome and remember that internet love is shown with likes, shares and subscriptions.