Penny had never seen a fight before. She didn’t like it. She started to cry. She wanted to leave but she was frozen in place. She wanted, more than anything, for it to stop.
“God please,” she whispered, “please, please stop this.”
A teacher broke up the fight.
Penny didn’t feel better. She was relieved that it was over, but she couldn’t stop crying.
That would be the first of many times that Tommy would make her cry. As the teacher escorted the boys inside to call their parents, Tommy spotted Penny. The anger disappeared from his eyes and he was suddenly sorry.
Penny didn’t see Tommy again until Saturday and at first she didn’t even see him then. Penny was playing alone in the grass while her sister was off with her friends again. Penny didn’t mind. She looked up at the oak shading her from the sun and thought about climbing it. She wished she didn’t have to wear a skirt, playing would be so much better in pants.
While contemplating the oak tree she heard his hushed voice. She looked to the fence with its chipped white paint and through the cracks she spotted Tommy crouched on the other side.
“Hey,” he gasped.
Penny just looked nervously toward her house. She knew she could get in trouble if she wasn’t careful.
“Penny.” He mashed a daisy between the pickets. “I’m sorry.”
Cautiously she stepped toward the fence and slowly pulled the crushed flower through.
“Why?”
“For making you cry.”
She didn’t know what to say. It was then she realized Tommy was good and no matter what would come after that, she couldn’t go back to thinking he was bad.
Saturday 31 December 2011
Friday 30 December 2011
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost. (J.R.R. Tolkein)
“Penny Lane, is in my ear and in my eyes,” he sang out.
She was taken back but she smiled now and mustered a little giggle as he continued.
In an instant Penny’s father and mother both emerged from the house. My grandfather escorted the boy, who would become my father, off our property with stern orders to stay away from Penny if he knew what was good for him. If there was one thing Tommy didn’t know it was what was good for him.
He stayed anywhere but away.
That night my grandfather scolded my aunt for leaving my mother alone. They talked of the horrors of what could have happened: kidnapped, beaten, frightened – she must have been so frightened. Penny didn’t speak, she rarely did. She sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap and her feet dangling from the piano stool. Her eyes were fixed on the band of white lace that circled her ankle at the top of her church socks. All winter long she waited for the sun and the warmth and the privilege to tuck her feet into cute little socks instead of stretching scratchy white tights over her lengthening legs in an unpleasant struggle. She loved these socks and sometimes in the winter she tried to sneak past her mother with her church socks on but she was always caught.
“You’ll catch a cold! It’s freezing out there.”
How a transparent layer of itchy material would keep her from catching a cold she would never understand, but she obeyed without protest.
She kicked her feet gracefully back and forth letting them swing under the piano stool before peeking out from beneath the fringe of her skirt. She smiled at her socks and forgot about the lecture her sister was getting beside her until her mother took her hand.
Penny slid off the stool and walked with her mother to the picture of Jesus above the mantle on their fireplace. She knelt with her family and prayed.
Dear Heavenly Father,
My family and I come humbly before you and enter into your presence with praise. We thank You Lord for all we have and ask that others may be so blessed. I thank You, Lord, for my daughters and I thank You for my wife. I am blessed to have such wonderful women in my life. I pray dear Lord that you will keep them safe, that you will protect them from harm and evildoers. I pray that you will watch over them and prosper them all the days of their lives.
Amen.
“Amen,” they recited in chorus.
But Penny prayed her own prayer that night while she knelt at her bed. She went through her usual round of thanks and requests and once she had attended to all requests on behalf of the starving children in Africa and the sick kids in hospitals everywhere and the poor, Jesus help the poor, she grew silent in case her parents were outside listening. She knew sometimes they did, not to be nosey or intrusive but because they were blessed by their daughter’s faith and diligent prayers. Penny felt honoured that her prayers were so profound to her parents. She felt something special when she prayed; she loved more and was loved more through her prayers – she knew it.
But that night she had something to ask that they would not be blessed to hear, in fact it was something she was sure they would not appreciate at all.
And Lord, she said silently, can you help Tommy? I think he is poor so maybe I have already prayed for him but I really want you to help him because he might be a nice boy and he doesn’t deserve to be poor. He helped me today, I’m not sure if you saw that. My father yelled at him and I don’t know why but it seemed like Tommy knew why. Maybe he’s a sinner but I’m a sinner too, I disobey my parents sometimes, I think I might be disobeying them right now even.But Lord, I think I’m good enough to go to Heaven. I love you and I try to be good and I go to church every Sunday, so if I’m good enough to go to Heaven and Tommy isn’t, I want you to take him in my place. I think that he might be good if he knew how but I don’t think anyone taught him. Maybe you can help him. Maybe I can help him. I will pray more tomorrow. I love you. Amen.
The next day Penny left school with her sister and they were walking home when they saw Tommy. He was beating up another boy or another boy was beating him up, it wasn’t clear.
“Oh look," sneered her sister. “It’s your boyfriend.”
“He is not my boyfriend.”
She was taken back but she smiled now and mustered a little giggle as he continued.
In an instant Penny’s father and mother both emerged from the house. My grandfather escorted the boy, who would become my father, off our property with stern orders to stay away from Penny if he knew what was good for him. If there was one thing Tommy didn’t know it was what was good for him.
He stayed anywhere but away.
That night my grandfather scolded my aunt for leaving my mother alone. They talked of the horrors of what could have happened: kidnapped, beaten, frightened – she must have been so frightened. Penny didn’t speak, she rarely did. She sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap and her feet dangling from the piano stool. Her eyes were fixed on the band of white lace that circled her ankle at the top of her church socks. All winter long she waited for the sun and the warmth and the privilege to tuck her feet into cute little socks instead of stretching scratchy white tights over her lengthening legs in an unpleasant struggle. She loved these socks and sometimes in the winter she tried to sneak past her mother with her church socks on but she was always caught.
“You’ll catch a cold! It’s freezing out there.”
How a transparent layer of itchy material would keep her from catching a cold she would never understand, but she obeyed without protest.
She kicked her feet gracefully back and forth letting them swing under the piano stool before peeking out from beneath the fringe of her skirt. She smiled at her socks and forgot about the lecture her sister was getting beside her until her mother took her hand.
Penny slid off the stool and walked with her mother to the picture of Jesus above the mantle on their fireplace. She knelt with her family and prayed.
Dear Heavenly Father,
My family and I come humbly before you and enter into your presence with praise. We thank You Lord for all we have and ask that others may be so blessed. I thank You, Lord, for my daughters and I thank You for my wife. I am blessed to have such wonderful women in my life. I pray dear Lord that you will keep them safe, that you will protect them from harm and evildoers. I pray that you will watch over them and prosper them all the days of their lives.
Amen.
“Amen,” they recited in chorus.
But Penny prayed her own prayer that night while she knelt at her bed. She went through her usual round of thanks and requests and once she had attended to all requests on behalf of the starving children in Africa and the sick kids in hospitals everywhere and the poor, Jesus help the poor, she grew silent in case her parents were outside listening. She knew sometimes they did, not to be nosey or intrusive but because they were blessed by their daughter’s faith and diligent prayers. Penny felt honoured that her prayers were so profound to her parents. She felt something special when she prayed; she loved more and was loved more through her prayers – she knew it.
But that night she had something to ask that they would not be blessed to hear, in fact it was something she was sure they would not appreciate at all.
And Lord, she said silently, can you help Tommy? I think he is poor so maybe I have already prayed for him but I really want you to help him because he might be a nice boy and he doesn’t deserve to be poor. He helped me today, I’m not sure if you saw that. My father yelled at him and I don’t know why but it seemed like Tommy knew why. Maybe he’s a sinner but I’m a sinner too, I disobey my parents sometimes, I think I might be disobeying them right now even.But Lord, I think I’m good enough to go to Heaven. I love you and I try to be good and I go to church every Sunday, so if I’m good enough to go to Heaven and Tommy isn’t, I want you to take him in my place. I think that he might be good if he knew how but I don’t think anyone taught him. Maybe you can help him. Maybe I can help him. I will pray more tomorrow. I love you. Amen.
The next day Penny left school with her sister and they were walking home when they saw Tommy. He was beating up another boy or another boy was beating him up, it wasn’t clear.
“Oh look," sneered her sister. “It’s your boyfriend.”
“He is not my boyfriend.”
Thursday 29 December 2011
Isn't it funny how sometimes it's the smallest decisions that change your life forever?
My story began like all stories do: a man met a woman and they became my parents.
My father was a hard case and my mother was an angel. They grew up on the outskirts of Philadelphia but the outskirts became the city.
When they met, my father was thirteen and my mother was ten, almost eleven, but she told him she was twelve. She had her hair in braids and she was hop scotching alone. Her older sister had left her to walk to the local diner with her friends and get milkshakes (code for waiting for boys). She didn’t mind, she was okay by herself. She hopped and hummed and didn’t notice my future father watching from the sidewalk.
He was only thirteen but he was smoking a cigarette as he leaned against my grandfather’s truck. He might not have said anything to her at all that day if not for what happened next. He could have been content just watching her silently, admiring her white skirt flying gracefully out from her body with each hop, but when she picked up the rock she cut her hand.
The rock fell to the ground as did her smile. Tears came to her eyes as the blood flooded from her torn flesh. The cut wasn’t deep but it was a particularly hot summer day, coupled with her active frolicking about the driveway and so the blood ran and the tears ran and my father ran.
“Do you need help?”
Taken back by the strange boy in her space, she bit her lip and didn’t say anything.
He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket.
“I get hurt a lot.” He moved to wrap the dirty piece of cloth around the palm of her hand but she pulled away.
“Sorry, I guess I should introduce myself first. My name’s Tommy.” He held out his hand but she didn’t shake it. She looked at him with apprehensive eyes.
“It’ll help if you wrap it up.”
She waited another little while before she offered her hand to the unkempt teenager who was just a little taller than her but seemed a lot older. She looked over his muddy clothes and wondered how long it had been since he had had a bath. She wanted to wipe away the smudge of soil on his face as he tied his handkerchief carefully around her fragile hand.
She devoted her attention to his surgical securing of the scrap of cloth around her hand. She noticed how dark his fingers were in contrast to her pale white skin. She couldn’t tell if he had a dark complexion or if his hands merely needed a thorough encounter with a bar of soap.
He smiled at her when he was done, amused by her serious stare.
“Do you have a name?”
She nodded with pursed lips.
“My name is Penny.”
My father was a hard case and my mother was an angel. They grew up on the outskirts of Philadelphia but the outskirts became the city.
When they met, my father was thirteen and my mother was ten, almost eleven, but she told him she was twelve. She had her hair in braids and she was hop scotching alone. Her older sister had left her to walk to the local diner with her friends and get milkshakes (code for waiting for boys). She didn’t mind, she was okay by herself. She hopped and hummed and didn’t notice my future father watching from the sidewalk.
He was only thirteen but he was smoking a cigarette as he leaned against my grandfather’s truck. He might not have said anything to her at all that day if not for what happened next. He could have been content just watching her silently, admiring her white skirt flying gracefully out from her body with each hop, but when she picked up the rock she cut her hand.
The rock fell to the ground as did her smile. Tears came to her eyes as the blood flooded from her torn flesh. The cut wasn’t deep but it was a particularly hot summer day, coupled with her active frolicking about the driveway and so the blood ran and the tears ran and my father ran.
“Do you need help?”
Taken back by the strange boy in her space, she bit her lip and didn’t say anything.
He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket.
“I get hurt a lot.” He moved to wrap the dirty piece of cloth around the palm of her hand but she pulled away.
“Sorry, I guess I should introduce myself first. My name’s Tommy.” He held out his hand but she didn’t shake it. She looked at him with apprehensive eyes.
“It’ll help if you wrap it up.”
She waited another little while before she offered her hand to the unkempt teenager who was just a little taller than her but seemed a lot older. She looked over his muddy clothes and wondered how long it had been since he had had a bath. She wanted to wipe away the smudge of soil on his face as he tied his handkerchief carefully around her fragile hand.
She devoted her attention to his surgical securing of the scrap of cloth around her hand. She noticed how dark his fingers were in contrast to her pale white skin. She couldn’t tell if he had a dark complexion or if his hands merely needed a thorough encounter with a bar of soap.
He smiled at her when he was done, amused by her serious stare.
“Do you have a name?”
She nodded with pursed lips.
“My name is Penny.”
Wednesday 28 December 2011
Clean, Blank Page
There is a dirty spot in history reserved for me. There are a lot of tainted titles I suppose, but it only takes one to get you remembered, for better or worse. There is a title for me.
I am a pioneer who bravely went where no woman had gone before, okay, maybe not bravely and maybe my pioneering didn’t beat a path that I would necessarily encourage women to follow but, hey, I was there first and that has to count for something.
If I had the choice to do it all again, would I? Well that’s a good question but I never had a choice. My pioneer’s life just happened to me. I became brave because I was always in a situation where I had to be. Now I have to be here and this requires the most bravery of them all.
I am a pioneer who bravely went where no woman had gone before, okay, maybe not bravely and maybe my pioneering didn’t beat a path that I would necessarily encourage women to follow but, hey, I was there first and that has to count for something.
If I had the choice to do it all again, would I? Well that’s a good question but I never had a choice. My pioneer’s life just happened to me. I became brave because I was always in a situation where I had to be. Now I have to be here and this requires the most bravery of them all.
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