I have had a memory come up quite a bit lately that just won't settle down and leave, so I feel like I need to write about it and give it the attention it is obviously asking for. This one is not a repressed memory; I've always had it. I haven't dwelt on it throughout my life, but as it's come up this time I'm struck by how strongly my needs were disregarded as a very, very small child. I was clothed and fed and kept clean, but my parents were completely out of tune with me emotionally and when it came to me needing to express myself or tell them when something was wrong.
I am the oldest of six children; there is me, four brothers, and my sister at the very end. My father enlisted in the U.S. Army during the Korean war and ended up making a career in the military. When I was born he was in O.C.S. (Officer Candidate School) in Ft. Lee, Virginia and was in various trainings after that so they relocated depending on where the trainings were. When I was about two he was sent to Viet Nam for a year, and my mother got pregnant with my first brother when she met my dad on leave in Hawaii. I was one month shy of being three years old when he was born in Pueblo, Colorado. My dad was then stationed in Okinawa; he went ahead for a time while my mother moved back to the general area they were from when they met with me and my brother while my dad got things settled and got a house on base in Okinawa.
Somewhere with all those moves there was a day when we were first moving into a house and there was unpacking, etc. going on. A neighbor lady came over to introduce herself and she and my mom were talking as they were unpacking in my parents' bedroom. There was a full-length mirror leaning against one of the walls and I saw that my little brother was crawling towards it. I saw that if someone didn't pick him up or move the mirror, he was going to get hurt. I tried to get my mother's attention but she and the other lady were involved in what they were talking about and hadn't noticed what was going on. My mother didn't want me bothering her while she talked. I was frantic about my brother getting hurt, so I ran over to the mirror and got in front of it to block him just as he got to it and the mirror shattered. I knew when it broke that my mother was going to be furious with me. The noise got the ladies' attention and my mother's first reaction was rage as she ran over and picked up the baby. She was furious that I ran over to the mirror and it broke. Getting after me for running in the house and endangering my baby brother. It wasn't until the other lady said, "Oh my gosh, she's hurt," and I looked down to see there was blood spilling down my front that my mother thought to see if I was okay. The other lady kind of took charge and moved me to the kitchen to clean me up. I had two huge gashes down the middle of my stomach; I still have the scars. This lady was really nice to me and because of the way she was reacting, my mother's reaction towards me softened. She was more solicitous and asked if I was okay. I still remember how genuinely kind and concerned the neighbor lady was, and that she was really worried about me. I remember how gentle she was as she started cleaning me up, and I remember that that reaction was new to me. I knew I was going to be in trouble. My mother's first thought was not to see if I was okay. She was inconvenienced that her conversation was interrupted and furious that her mirror was broken, and it was my fault. I was punished for running in the house and breaking the mirror, and I was never given the chance to say that the reason I ran over there was so the baby wouldn't get hurt. I protected the baby, got hurt in his place, and was then punished for what I did. All I needed was for her to understand WHY I did it. I needed her to understand that I was not a bad girl.
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