Sing From the Womb, 8

This is the eighth in a series of snippets from my memoir, Sing From the Womb: Leaving Fundamentalism in Search of Voice (formerly titled Writing Me Back to Mat(t)er).

Please let me know what resonates with you.

~~~

(From a dream when I was five.)

I sit staring into my desk’s defunct inkwell; its extreme blackness reflecting my despair. Suddenly I feel a pressure gather around my body, embracing me cruelly. I open my mouth to cry out but my voice is restricted, either by the external force or by my own fear, I cannot tell. Just as I think my bones will shatter within me, a loud crack echoes overhead. The oppressive air is ripped away with violent force. Above, the ceiling is torn away, revealing a gray haunted sky. I know only moments will pass before I will be violently plucked from earth and cast into another realm…

There, God, like a cloaked and menacing Headmaster, looms at the entrance of the swirling abyss…

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September Sentiments

September has always been my favorite month. It is a month of beginnings. I came into the world in September and as a child in England, it meant the beginning of a new school year. I actually turned 5 on my second day in Mrs. Goddard’s class at Huish Infant School, Yeovil, Somerset.

I have always loved school. While my classmates dreaded those first signs of an oncoming school year – cooler nights, stores with the oh-so-subtle signs blaring “BACK TO SCHOOL” – I felt excitement instead. In high school I would start buying my notebooks and pens in July. That annual trip to Ames was a high light for me. New sturdy spiral notebooks with crisp, bright white pages, colorful coordinating folders, multicolored pens… oh, makes me want to run out to Walmart right now.

As an adult, September holds a new joy for me. Fall. That first telltale kiss of a crisp breeze, the first splash of red on the mountain side, apple trees heavy with fruit. And of course, my birthday. I don’t avoid the commemoration of my birth; I like parties, I love gifts, and I particularly enjoy being the center of attention. You can blame this little egocentricism on my mother who has always venerated birthdays as a true cause of celebration; the celebrant is duly honored with gifts, a card, a meal of their choice, and a cake. If said birthday-girl (or boy) is not within hugging distance, then a phone call first thing in the morning must suffice, complete with a harmonized rendition of “Happy Birthday” (thanks to Dad’s willingness to oblige his dear wife).

This September, the one that is amazingly only one week away, holds particular significance for me and our family. September 2nd, 2008 will mark two milestones: 1) I am going back to work after 4 years at home, and 2) H is starting Kindergarten.

Yes, I am starting a real, wake-up-to-an-alarm-clock, take-a-shower, wear-a-bra job. And my little baby girl, the one who had no hair until she was 18 months, will, with pony-tail bobbing, board a big yellow bus and drive away from me. She’ll be back 6 hours later, but that disappearing back-end of a bus marks the beginning of her full departure from home; from me.

Um… corny! Yes, I know, but true. This is where she’ll start to hear and learn things from other kids that I may not be so pleased about when she brings them to the dinner table. And I don’t just mean those words we have protected her young ears from; the attitudes, the bad manners, the commericial world of Bratz and Hannah Gag-tana… she may be entering the structured world of school, but it will be a world I can no longer control. My precious baby will slowly grow up whether I like it or not.

If she’s anything like me (which I believe she is) she will love school because she loves to learn. I can only pray that school does not turn into a place of bullying or boredom. I hope September becomes a month of happiness for her aswell and that together we can look forward to the trips down the stationary aisle (and I’ll try to just breathe real deep and let it go when the Cinderella folders are exchanged for those showing some 14-year-old blue-eyed hunk with a basketball. Lord, help me now.)