I is i
Age 3: “I found a bug! Look! Look! I found a bug!”
Question from adult: “Is it alive? Is it dead? Get it out of the house, NOW!”
I hide my treasure, alive, in my tiny fist, and put it under my pillow. I will take care of you, little bug, and play with you later. I have learned to “sneak.”
Age 5: “I can write my name! I can count to 100 and say all the letters!”
Adult: “Of course. Why do you think you go to school? Just wait. It gets harder.”
I hope my teacher is still proud of me.
Age 6: “I am afraid. There’s a monster under my bed that I saw on TV -- it is under my bed! Don't turn off the light, PLEASE! I am scared!”
Adult: “Don’t be ridiculous! There are no monsters. Go to bed. NOW! Quit being such a baby!”
I learn baby is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. I lie awake, fearful, and say no more, ever, about being afraid. The words hide inside, below the surface where no one else will know—but I will.
Age 9: “I got the baby to quit crying for you, Mama, so did I do okay?”
Adult: “Just leave me alone. You don’t begin to understand how hard it is to be a parent. And keep the noise down so he will stay asleep.”
I learn best efforts don’t necessarily a happy Mother make. I do them only to avoid repercussions now for not seeing they need to be done.
Age 16: “ What kind of career do I want? I want to be a medical doctor and missionary to India and change the world! I want to spread the love!”
Adult school counselor: “Be practical. You’re a girl. Teach. Be a nurse. Be a secretary. Marry well and have kids. So what do I put down for your college and career choice?”
Me: “Okay. I will be a ballerina.”
Adult School Counselor: “All right. Go back to class. Next.”
I learn it doesn’t matter what I want. Dreams are for others. I learn they don’t hear. Ballerina? Unless ballerinas can dance in the tops of trees they climb—whatever.
Age 19: “I will not lose anymore friends to a senseless war in Vietnam that they get drafted into to foster a stupid ass political agenda!”
Establishment: “Put your damn sign down, quit protesting, and go home you stupid hippies and flower children! This is real life! War is war. Keep it up and you will be arrested! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Get out of here!”
I learn in a group, I can create change, answers. I learn my voice can be heard as one among many. I learn one less former classmate will die in Nam and government needs to “grow up” and be FOR THE PEOPLE. And inside I feel good.
Age 21-35: “I am a mother! I will defend my children! I will not let narrow minded people make my children feel insignificant or less than due to bigoted, misogynistic cultural ‘norms.’ Every human has rights! Every human has worth! Every human, animal, tree on this planet should be respected, but more, loved and cared for!”
Society: “Will you just shut up and accept that this is the way life is. Are you crazy enough to think you can change the world? What the hell is wrong with you? Nothing will ever change. You are poor, a single mother. You have no future. And love will not change a damn thing. So shut up!”
I refuse to shut up and go away to make them more comfortable in accepting the status quo. Material things are necessary to exist with food in stomachs, shelter from the elements, clothes to wear. Poor? yes, monetarily--but Nike’s will not kiss a scraped knee, soothe a broken heart from the first rejection of a crush, console a small heart over the death of a beloved animal. LOVE will change things! The Jordache jeans, Air Jordan tennis shoes, riding around in a Porsche are nice, but it is the LOVE that feeds the spirit. No, I won’t shut up and I will love.
Age 36-55: “Why do injustices go on? Why am I feeling so lost and confused? Why do I wind up the bad guy, the black sheep? What have I done wrong? Why has integrity become a take it or leave it item? Why am I hurting so for others to the point of crying when I see abuse, hear hateful words, see children walking with heads down, having already given up at such a tender age?”
Society: “Accept it. When you can’t deal with it, walk away. It’s the other person’s problem, not yours. Be rational. Quit being so sensitive. Just get over it. Hunger? Poverty? Abuse? Destruction of our planet? Animals abused and killed? Homeless youth and elderly? LGBTQ? Sickness? LET IT GO! Just WALK AWAY AND LET IT GO!”
I see. I hear. I feel. And I know—I has always equaled i. Still I hurt.
Age 67: i am tired. And that is not a typo. It is intentionally a lower case i. I used to fight. I was smart enough to maintain in the household I grew up in to survive. I left and hit the streets in protest against war sucking up friends and sending them back in body bags. It worked to protest. I was empathetic and pragmatic at the same time. Find the source of the problem and knock it out of the park so peace and love could prevail. But the “why” questions never stop.
Definition of “I”: ninth letter of the alphabet; ego; self.
My truth: We all start out with a capital I—finding ourselves. As children we are not flaunting our “I” but rather trying to express ourselves and grow into our world. “I found a bug!” Super great discovery that in the world of a 3 year old has never happened before and is astounding! And so it progresses. WE, society, the great disparity in the economy, war, politics, schools—all of it—will systematically whittle down the I until it becomes the i. So my truth is if i want my i to be seen and heard, I will write. I will share my truth, my discoveries, my hopes, my love and empathy. Some will have a voice in painting, some in music, some in politics and rallies, some as healers, some as leaders, and some—in writing. I am older. I hope wiser. I have fought, I have acquiesced when forced to, and I reflect on Vietnam and know things can change. I want my “i” to become an “I” again. Integrity starts with an i—my truth is I have to count and SO DO YOU!
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