My mother returns from a school conference with my second grade teacher and I am tremendously eager to hear about it. My enthusiasm carries a secret: I am Miss Shervy’s class pet. I know because she pulls me onto her lap when reading stories aloud to the class, or correcting papers at her desk. I know because she puts her arm around my shoulders and is quick with a smile. She shows an interest in my school work and calls on me when my hand goes up during class. I don’t know what I’ve done to bring about her affection, but I like it.
“What did the teacher say?” I ask Mom, braced for good news.
“I told her you were lazy.”
Stunned as if by an assassin’s bullet, the words deliver a fierce and unexpected wallop. Shame and confusion broad-side my small frame. Lazy? Is that true? Does Miss Shervy agree? Will she still think I am wonderful?
My mind flashes to the folded laundry Mom lays on the steps leading to my bedroom, how I make a game of stepping over the piles rather than putting them away. And how I complain and resist when asked to rake leaves or wash supper dishes. How lazy am I?
Shame, difficult to bear, shifts quickly to anger. How dare she! Miss Shervy is MY teacher! Mom has no business ‘putting me down’ to someone I like. My heart sinks—I don’t want to be lazy! I want to be proud of myself and I want others to be proud of me, too. What kind of person am I?
Years pass but memory lingers.
My philosopher friend, Don, says writing is a process of turning the events of one’s life like a kaleidoscope, until the jumbled pieces fall into a coherent and satisfying shape. I further imagine the same event can be arranged into more than one shape, each with its own quality.
In the recording of my youthful memory, I turn the kaleidoscope once and see a child shamed. I turn it again and see a parent in unflattering light. Not yet satisfied, I keep turning, searching for a shape without victims or villains. Yes, shame is there. Unskillful parenting is also present. But so is the shape of a child asking a seeker’s questions: What is true about me? What do I want to be? Can I change?
This final turn of the kaleidoscope reveals a shape without judgment. One from which a young person steps into a lifetime search for answers to important existential questions.
At last, so many years after the event, I find a coherent shape—a redemptive shape—for this painful memory, and it satisfies me.