There comes a time in every child's life when she realizes that all that she knew to be good and true about her parents and grandparents isn't. Where the harsh reality of her actual place in the family comes glaring in her face. No longer is she the sun of the familial universe, but a distant and unnamed planet floating somewhere about the periphery of the galaxy. All at once, she is unseen, unheard, unknown. And she feels dejected, let down, devastatingly alone.
I remember when this happened to me. It was a Saturday near the beginning of Fall. My parents and brothers and I were gathered in the playroom that my dad had converted from the carport to give us kids a fun place to hang out. He even put that fake grass stuff on the ground so we didn't have to worry about making my mother mad if we spilled something. It was our room where we spent our time, and when my parents were in there, theywould should be providing us with the love and attention children require. But, on this Saturday, that all changed.
As we were spending quality time as a family, I remember my dad turning on the old television...it was one of those ancient things with the dials you had to turn to change channels or adjust the volume. And it was heavy. Looking back, it makes sense that the same TV would cause me great physical pain when it rolled onto my foot in the car as my dad was moving it to another house... for on that autumn day when my world was forever changed, it was that TV that was the vehicle for immense emotional strife. The irony of the fake grass carpet in the room coinciding with this revelation is no longer lost on me, either.
My memories of what followed the powering on of the beastly television set are clear some thirty years later. At once, my parents were detached from us kids. They couldn't see us or hear us or speak to us...except, perhaps, to say "move, Mary Rose." There were these strange creatures wearing weird hats and funny getups crashing into one another and chasing after an oddly-shaped ball. Whistles were blowing, people in the crowd on the TV were cheering and booing collectively. My parents kept alternating between clapping and shouting stuff like, "Come on!" and "You gotta be kidding me!" and "That was holding!"
It lasted for hours. Hours. Those painstaking hours. Life would never be the same for me. And, so it has come to pass for my dear, sweet Ella.
This past Saturday, during the USC/Auburn football game, the truth was revealed to her, and that truth did NOT set that girl free. It turned her into a maddened 7-year-old cheerleader. I listened to it unfold from my spot at the kitchen sink (where I was trying to do anything to not jinx the Gamecocks, and in my voodoo mind, I decided it best to clean up my parents' kitchen). Everyone was gathered about the evil flat machine in the television room, shouting at the screen as if Spurrier and Garcia could actually hear them. ALL of their focus was on that game. ALL.OF.IT. And, none of it was on Ella. NONE.OF.IT. She just wanted them to watch her cheer. She just wanted some indication that they cared. And did they watch her? Was there any indication? No. Nothing. But, did she give up and walk away, dejected? No. Not at all. She just cheered louder. And, it got REALLY loud. REALLY. And, her chanting became erratic and confusing. REALLY erratic and confusing. The more they ignored her, the louder and worse it got. Coupled with Kent, my dad, Matt, and my mom speaking out loud and not in synchronicity with anyone, it was downright awful. It was exhausting.
I had to tell her, though I knew it would alter her life forever. "Dear, Jesus! Please stop that screaming. All of you. Ella, sorry, honey, but when there is a football game on, no one is really gonna care what you have going on if it's not absolutely life-threatening. This is a fact of life, a fact of childhood, no matter how ridiculous and mean it might be. It's just that way on any given Saturday. It was so for me, and now it is for you."
I remember when this happened to me. It was a Saturday near the beginning of Fall. My parents and brothers and I were gathered in the playroom that my dad had converted from the carport to give us kids a fun place to hang out. He even put that fake grass stuff on the ground so we didn't have to worry about making my mother mad if we spilled something. It was our room where we spent our time, and when my parents were in there, they
As we were spending quality time as a family, I remember my dad turning on the old television...it was one of those ancient things with the dials you had to turn to change channels or adjust the volume. And it was heavy. Looking back, it makes sense that the same TV would cause me great physical pain when it rolled onto my foot in the car as my dad was moving it to another house... for on that autumn day when my world was forever changed, it was that TV that was the vehicle for immense emotional strife. The irony of the fake grass carpet in the room coinciding with this revelation is no longer lost on me, either.
My memories of what followed the powering on of the beastly television set are clear some thirty years later. At once, my parents were detached from us kids. They couldn't see us or hear us or speak to us...except, perhaps, to say "move, Mary Rose." There were these strange creatures wearing weird hats and funny getups crashing into one another and chasing after an oddly-shaped ball. Whistles were blowing, people in the crowd on the TV were cheering and booing collectively. My parents kept alternating between clapping and shouting stuff like, "Come on!" and "You gotta be kidding me!" and "That was holding!"
It lasted for hours. Hours. Those painstaking hours. Life would never be the same for me. And, so it has come to pass for my dear, sweet Ella.
This past Saturday, during the USC/Auburn football game, the truth was revealed to her, and that truth did NOT set that girl free. It turned her into a maddened 7-year-old cheerleader. I listened to it unfold from my spot at the kitchen sink (where I was trying to do anything to not jinx the Gamecocks, and in my voodoo mind, I decided it best to clean up my parents' kitchen). Everyone was gathered about the evil flat machine in the television room, shouting at the screen as if Spurrier and Garcia could actually hear them. ALL of their focus was on that game. ALL.OF.IT. And, none of it was on Ella. NONE.OF.IT. She just wanted them to watch her cheer. She just wanted some indication that they cared. And did they watch her? Was there any indication? No. Nothing. But, did she give up and walk away, dejected? No. Not at all. She just cheered louder. And, it got REALLY loud. REALLY. And, her chanting became erratic and confusing. REALLY erratic and confusing. The more they ignored her, the louder and worse it got. Coupled with Kent, my dad, Matt, and my mom speaking out loud and not in synchronicity with anyone, it was downright awful. It was exhausting.
I had to tell her, though I knew it would alter her life forever. "Dear, Jesus! Please stop that screaming. All of you. Ella, sorry, honey, but when there is a football game on, no one is really gonna care what you have going on if it's not absolutely life-threatening. This is a fact of life, a fact of childhood, no matter how ridiculous and mean it might be. It's just that way on any given Saturday. It was so for me, and now it is for you."
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