Memory
My earliest memory is of standing in my crib in nothing but a diaper and crying as loudly as I could so my parents would come into the room. I can remember my father coming in. I didn’t understand anger but I knew he was not friendly and I knew he was not happy. My hands were clutching the smooth rail of the crib and I had to balance myself on the spongy mattress. I had worked really hard on crying very loudly and I thought I had done a pretty good job because I was successful in getting him to come so why was he so unhappy? He started yelling even louder than I was crying. This made me stop for a second and try and figure out why. Was he misunderstanding what this was all about? Did he think that what I wanted was a yelling game? He was confused. I didn’t want yelling. I wanted to be picked up. My mother had already made numerous trips into my room but she didn’t get it either. She would start to get it and pick me up for a second but then she would lay me back down and go away. Why would she do such a strange thing? Being in the crib was my whole problem. Now that he was there why didn’t he just pick me up? I couldn’t let go of the railing to reach out my hands so I bounced up and down even faster. But again he was confused because all he did was turn my body sideways and put me down on the mattress. That was all wrong. Then he left and started back up the hall. I quickly pulled myself up so he would know that was not what I wanted and realize he had made a mistake. But it was too late, he was gone and I had to start all over again. Crying and yelling. How many times was I going to have to do this before they got it?
Tides
Acrylic Image Construction 26″ x 23″
For the Art of Hospice Exhibition and Auction
Celebrating Twenty Years,
A butterly-themed art exhibition