AUTHOR'S CORNER;

THEY ASK ME,

They asked me of my childhood, and I said that mine was a troubled one, a distant memory of fears and insecurities. Mine was the child who sat in a corner, sullen and quiet, watching as the world walked past. Mine was the hiding under the covers on a dark winter's night; dreading the darkness and the coming of dawn even more! Mine was the kid who ran home from school to the shelter of my room. Mine was the listening to the voices in the next room, and not daring to sleep in case I stopped hearing them. Mine was of imaginary friends who danced around me, spoke to me and gave me reason. Mine was the child who lived on dreams because the world was too difficult to figure out.

They asked me of my youth, and I said that mine was a youth of folly and wasted times. Mine was the teenager who pretended to the world, who put up a front just so that no one would hurt her. Mine was the kid who smiled at boys, fluttered eyelashes and pouted lips. Mine was the girl who couldn't believe in happy endings; they never happened in the life she knew. Mine was the girl who acted tough, gave it attitude and smoked like a chimney. Mine was the lass who could not see past her fears and hid behind them under the guise of anger. Mine was the girl who could not believe in love and lost a lot of love, and regretted much love.  

They asked me of my fears, and I said mine are the fears of hollow hearts and abandoned souls. Mine are the fears that eat away at the heart and break the spirit. Mine are the fears of secrets kept, of thoughts once thought and feelings never felt. Mine are the fears of reflection of the self, the mirror image that so cruelly stares back at me. Mine is the fear of the fear that lingers in my eyes. Mine are the fears that linger deep within my mind; of ghosts of past creeping into my life, of cries of far reaching me once more. Mine are the fears of truth; truth I know to be true about myself, truth I can not deny.

They asked me of my pleasures, and I said mine are the pleasures that are not of me, but a mere extension of myself. Mine are the pleasures of laughter heard, of hands clapped to the rhythm of a song. Mine are the pleasures of smiles and giggles, of innocent happiness. Mine are the pleasures I see upon their faces, the sparkle in their eyes. Mine are the pleasures of seeing their achievement. Mine is the pleasure of their first love, their first steps into the big wide world. Mine is the pleasure in watching their confidence and knowing they feel safe; knowing that they will grow and grow and never fear their own growth. Mine is the pleasure of my children's pleasure!

They asked me of my regrets, and I said mine are no regrets.  I would have had regrets if I had not been that timid child; the child that ran home from school and hid under the covers, listening to my imaginary friends as they drowned out the sounds of the row in the next room.  I would have had regrets if I was a dopey teenager; if I was meek and not as feisty as what I was.  If I did not flutter my eyelashes, or pout those lips of mine!  I would have had regrets if I had never feared; if the thoughts in my head did not frighten me or the image of myself did not scare me.  I would have had regrets if my eyes were always clear and no memory of past ghosts ever bothered me.  I would have had regrets simply because I would never have learned how not to make the same mistakes with my own children!