NaBloPoMo prompt for today:
What is the most important lesson you learned as a child, and who taught it to you?
We were playing softball on the front lawn of the McDonough’s house one summer afternoon.
I was about nine. I was up at bat. I swung the bat hard without checking ; the younger brother of my friend Maureen was right behind me, and I hit him in the head.
Other than a bruise, he turned out to be alright. I, on the other hand, kept beating myself up over the whole episode. I was cringing with misery.
Maureen confronted me. She jabbed her finger at me and declared: “Stop feeling sorry for yourself!”
It was as though she had doused me with cold water.
I WAS feeling sorry for myself; I indulged in that quite a bit, young as I was.
I’ve never forgotten that lesson, though it took me until after high school to let go of the reflex.
After all these years, I still catch myself at it , but I remember those words.
Vincent Van Gogh Facing Eternity ( he must have had trouble with it, too)
I remember this observation by D.H.Lawrence:
