Pull Up A Chair, Ask Me Anything

GOING DEEPER

Sunday’s post was about my father and the belt, but the comments went somewhere I didn’t expect, and in two directions at once. Some of you wrote about forgiving a parent who hurt you and loved you at the same time. Rita, forty-five years later, said she thinks she finally can. Shelley Grey has made her peace with who her parents were. Marie Cauley wrote about a dad who couldn’t bring himself to keep doing what he’d been taught. And then a second group of you wrote from the other chair, as the parent, carrying the things you did to your own kids and hoping to be forgiven for them.

I’m in both chairs. So let me talk about both.

Later in the silent retreat, further along than Sunday’s post has taken you yet, I sat on a bench by the creek and decided I wanted to write my mother a thank-you letter for my childhood. The memories came faster than I could get them down. Camping at Lake O’ the Pines. Matching outfits she sewed for me and my Barbie. Watching The Carol Burnett Show on…