Growing -up at Sixty-Eight.

There were lots of events and people of the earlier part of my life, awkward, unpleasant and even some painful that I had forgotten, blotted out of my memory. Those were memories of those things or actions of people that do leave you with a bitter taste in your heart, a lingering sadness of the betrayal, rejection or injustice. As I went on in life, somehow I had relegated those memories to some far corners and time had obliterated their memories.

For the great majority of my life I had become a happy guy, jovial, fun loving, able to shrug my shoulders to some of the inevitable bumps in life.

All that came to a screeching halt when during a trip to France, the place where I was born I came in close contact with some relatives that started reminiscing about events from my childhood. There intents were charitable and they did not know that most of the events for which they were telling me how much they fell sorry for me at the time had been relegated to the catacombs of my memory. The floodgates opened and all that caustic memory came back in a huge flow and then resentment showed its ugly face. I dove into somber and sad period of speculation full of “What If “and melancholic speculation of what could have been without the rejection, the benign neglect, lack of affection or support or just some coaching on what life was going to be. Then resentment showed his nasty, grotesque head. People that I have classified as close relatives but without a great feeling of closeness became in my memory monsters from which I wanted no contact or intrusion. The memory of those who had passed away became a source of nightmare. Melancholy and bitterness took over.

Then, little by little, the storm subsided, reason took over and after long period of meditation or self analyses one day the reason for all that inner-drama became blindingly clear: I had forgotten the actions, reject, neglect and injustice. I had buried them if a somber and far corner, away from my consciousness but they had festered away from my consciousness. I had forgotten indeed, but I had also forgotten to forgive.

With that new light on this issue I revisited all those memories and step-by-step I discovered a new truth: Those responsible for all those nasty and troubling memories were not monster!

They were, on their own, victims themselves. They were not acting with malice against the child I was, they were only doing the best with what they knew and understood of life and the circumstances they were facing on their own. There was no dark design in their actions. Their upbringing together with he despair of their country being humiliated, the rough treatment that was imposed on them during the occupation of France in World War Two, had broken something inside them that they could not put back together. So, one by one I started to forgive, to kill the bitterness and resentment. Some of those people are gone and I truly forgive, understand and extend compassion for their suffering. I have a harder time with some of those still with us, but I try to understand their circumstances, I am beginning to forgive, although with the wisdom to try to avoid an exposure to their way.

Little by little the lead cape is lifting and with it come a bright light warming my heart.

I know that I will have now and for ever a new optic and understanding of the way I am impacting the life of those around me.

I also know that I have gained in the process a greater love and an enormous debt of gratitude for the people who accepted among them the troubled adolescent I was and showed me what life is in a warm, loving and accepting family of caring individuals.

Life is much better under that light.

The Venus of Henry

She came to us on a crisp winter day with all the Pumps and Circumstances of the United State Postal Service. Riding in a Box of the finest cardboard from her exotic country, adorned with the most exquisite fine silver duct tape and the most refined clear packing tape. Inside in an elegant compartment made of the rarest recycled box of a refurbished blender, resting on a bed of the finest popcorn, she was reclining on pillows of rare air-filled bags, reading the Concrete Book of the Wisdom of the Ages. In the most gracious and elegant way she came out of the box and then sat for a while on the Grand Patio under the watchful eyes of the Great Guard. Squirrels and chipmunks, doves and finches came and marveled at the rare sight. There was a current of great pride in the whole population. Finally we would not have to feel lesser than Paris, it’s Louvre and their Venus of Milo! The Venus of Henry was here! Splendid in her entirety, more complete than the poor mutilated Venus of Milo. Our Venus was indeed complete, limbs, warts and all. Her grandiose chest was displaying the Sacred Hieroglyph that a wise and savant passing beagle deciphered to the crowd. All marveled at the bold value of the message: “I Love Chou!” Truly King Henry was a Fine Artist and his muse Julie an Amazing Inspiration as well That was one of those days that generation will remember as a glorious day in our Land and it was good. And the people were grateful!