One of my biggest memories of childhood was something my sister taught me.
When I was sad she would take me down to our basement with cement walls and find the little spots where the rebar was visible, and tell me stories about the make-believe animal families that lived there. There were probably hundreds of them and she came up with a different story every time.
Sometimes the Rabbit family would live next to the Fox family and they would all play together at the park. Sometimes the dog family would be best friends with the cat family. No matter what the story, there was always a happy ending that took my mind off of everything else.
I remember this one time in particular when I broke the head of the ceramic doll that my mother told me NOT to play with on the concrete floor (oops) and my sis came to my rescue. I was terrified to tell my mom, so I told my sister. She couldn’t fix the ceramic doll, but she could distract me from my fear.
It was a beautiful gift.
She taught me that even in the scariest moments, there’s a way to proceed. Even if it’s just distraction that saves you, a moment worth of distraction opens up possibilities to move past the fear.
What she doesn’t know is that I’ve used that thought so many times over the past 40 years that it’s now second nature to me. It’s become part of who I am. I’m grateful for those moments with her, and that memory she gave me.
