Another Vivid Snapshot...

I was going to start organizing a collection of poems I wrote as a teenager. I was looking for one particular one. It was an assignment for, of all classes, the Glee Club. Our Glee Club wasn’t anything like the modern Glee Club featured on prime time television. No, a stocky young woman who wore dated dresses and very little makeup taught our class. She had very rosy cheeks, a warm welcoming smile, and she cared about her students. Back in 1969, it wasn’t all about showmanship; we wore choir robes (in our school colors of emerald green and white), we stood very still, we were focused, and we sang. Period. Today, I don’t remember if it was her first year teaching at the high school I attended, only because, it happened to be my first year at a new school too.

The reason I was looking for this particular poem is because it was the first poem I read that evoked physical emotion as I read it. I barely could finish the last few lines. In between, the black mascara streaking down my face and trying to get a grip on my runny nose, I looked up to see tears welling up in several of the other girl’s eyes, including my instructor’s. It was a lengthily poem with two voices, one of a son, the other was his mother. It was written in letter form, the gist of the poem goes like this…the son joins the service, Viet Nam was the senseless war going on, the son asked his mother if…I lost a leg/legs…if I lost an arm/arms…her reply was, “I will always love you.” The poem ended with the loss of the son’s life and the mother’s mournful words.

If I hadn’t lost someone I loved, and another I cared for, to the meaningless and pointless Viet Nam War, maybe it wouldn’t have affected me so much and read the poem without a hitch. On the other hand, I was always terrified about being in front of the class…no, I’m sure the reason was the latter. I never did find the poem and I don’t know why I felt like I needed to find it today; I haven’t thought about it in years. But, the vivid snapshot of that memory was with me today, I only wanted to validate it.

Each, and every time I sit down to write, I discover something new about myself, and about others. Some days, I get off track like I did today. The story I am writing features a character that came back from Nam and hurt someone he loves horrifically, it triggered the memory of my choir class being in the school library…the nervous me standing in front of the class behind a podium, my sweaty, shaking hands holding my handwritten poem, all eyes upon me.

My mind works like this all the time. It gets me from sunrise to sunset every day. The unconscious part of me knows more about me than the conscious mind will ever admit. Writing for me, is like dreaming, then, I start thinking. What if I suddenly saw my life from a different perspective? What if I had a real glimpse of the face behind the mask? What if I really saw the one I may have forgotten, the one I have lost, or the one that made me afraid? Would I still like me?

Writing has become an adventure into the unknown, like opening Pandora’s Box. It stirs up old forgotten memories, sometimes making me feel anxious or exposed. Other memories, the pleasant ones, the snapshots of wonderful moments, those are the ones I sometime carry through my written words. Something important lies hidden—something that matters inside that my pen must unleash—something that will be revealed, on another day…

Peace...