11-02 - The Label

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(Published 19-Nov-2020 11:04:31)

They can't label me. If i'm smart enough, silly enough, funny enough, creative enough, friendly enough, they'll put me in a little box in their head.


I'll be goofy. Or immature. Or brilliant. Or interesting.


Not disturbed. Not mean. Not whatever-ugliness-passes-for-politically-correct.


A long, long time ago I was living in a little house by the way. It had a white picket fence, the kind that so many little stories talk about. It wrapped around as far as the eye could see. I was quite young, so I liked to imagine the fence when on forever. I sometimes put my finger on its top and walked along it, singing a song to myself. When I finished the song, I would start over - sometimes I'd sing it five times until I got to the end. It went on FOREVER!


Mom would sometimes call me in and ask me to watch my hands. I would go wash them and then go back inside - I needed to finish following the fence! Mom didn't like it when I did that. So I would sneak out to finish the fence. Once I finished the fence, I went back inside.


I once did it and Mom called and called - but I had to finish the fence. So I went back inside after I finished. I climbed back in through my window so that she wouldn't worry. She found me there and asked why I didn't come or call back. I told her I didn't hear her. That's when she would pull out the belt, crying, telling me I couldn't do that. It hurt - but I'm glad I finished the fence. It helped.


Sometimes I notice there's a little path long the fence. It looks like someone's been walking here for a while. Some parts are little foot prints, some parts are where it maybe looks like someone dragged their foot, and some parts are real deep. I have to be careful, when it rains, that my feet don't get stuck in the deeper holes.


I miss that fence.

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