Kindness reminder

I woke up this morning remembering something from childhood. Sometimes your brain wants to process something… and there you are.

I went to dinner last night with a friend. We went to a really cool dive bar with a diverse menu. Thank goodness I didn’t try to cook for him. He has a wheat allergy, a corn allergy, a gluten allergy an a dairy allergy… and probably others I don’t even know about (take away my butter and cream and I’m lost!). This dive bar had plenty of vegan choices. I had never been there before. The decor was very eclectic… a cross between wild west/rustic and “other”. One wall had a shelf with a big bundle of partially burned sage and some selenite crystals, another wall had a sci-fi painting, above the stage was a dragon, on the bar was a statue of a pug dog in a yoga pose and there were random gargoyles in various locations… it was “open mic” night which might lead one to believe it was comedy or singing but in reality it was musicians “jamming” together for fun with no formal play list. They also invited anyone in the bar who knew how to play to come up and use their equipment and join them… how cool is that? I only know one riff (a Kinks song)- so I will have to come back for that again when I know more – LOL.

I ordered a huckleberry lemon drop and my friend ordered an IPA and we talked about random things – we always do… just weird random things. We somehow got on the subject of broken bones. He has never had one! I guess I assumed all people of my generation have had them… we did not use seat belts or bike helmets, we played with fire crackers and jumped off things we shouldn’t have… it was how things were. He asked me about what I had broken and I started listing them off… right arm, left arm, collar bone, this ankle, this finger, that toe… I assured him when you break something it doesn’t hurt – at least not then. Your body does this weird numbing thing. It’s later that the pain sets in. And the first broken bone is likely the most shocking. He asked the circumstances of my first broken bone, so I told him the first time I knew for sure I had a broken bone.

I had wanted a horse. It was my 8th birthday and my step dad and I went to the fairgrounds where people were selling horses that day. He knew nothing about horses… I had already convinced people to teach me to ride and I had borrowed horses from other people for more than a year, but being 8, I didn’t know much either. We walked along looking at the horses and my dad occasionally stopping to talk to one of the ranchers that had one for sale. We had a budget… some of the ones I liked were too expensive. Then we came upon one that a teenage girl was sitting on. Her father was standing close by for the negotiations. I now know what I witnessed that day was seduction – LOL. She was very flirty and seductive and basically convinced my step dad that was the horse to buy… arching her back and smiling… tossing her hair after leaning forward in a rocking motion…(Later we found out it had been drugged to behave and was green – or untamed and unbroken) I happily led the horse toward where we had parked and it occurred to me we did not have a trailer. When I asked about that, he told me his plan was to load it in the back of the truck (that had no side boards) and drive slowly toward our farm. If you know anything about horses (or any livestock) this is a very bad plan. I suggested maybe we could pay the girl’s father to haul it for us or we could ask his friend a few farms down to come and haul it for us – I would wait with the horse – it’s okay. This made him angry. He told me he was going to back the pick up up to a mound and I was to lead the horse into the back and quit arguing with him about it. When trying to lead him into the bed of the truck, the horse started refusing to go. There was some conversation back and forth about it. I knew the horse might be sensing my apprehensiveness about it so I tried to relax… deep breaths… come on baby – let’s do this… placing my arm in his halter to try and prevent his continually trying to rear up… I guided him into the back of the pick up. He promptly jumped over the side, hurling me to the ground, and ran off. I sat up in the dirt – momentarily stunned to be on the ground so quickly – and my arm swung around and hit me in my back. That freaked me out so I started to cry. It did not hurt. My step dad swung my arm back around (which felt really crunchy and weird and made me cry more) and went to make arrangements for someone to hold the horse while he took me to the hospital. Later that day, after the cast, is when the pain set in (and I was told somehow this broken bone was my fault). That horse did move to the farm (by trailer), but remained green for another 5 years. My parent’s real estate person sold them another horse cheap and one of the farmer friends from down the street gave me one of his horses also (both delivered to us). So I ended up with a broken arm and three horses.

I did not share all these details with my friend, just the outline… I also told him about how I used to ride bareback and one day had ridden down to the general store to buy candy and cigarettes with a couple friends (yes, in the south in the 70’s kids could buy cigarettes – 50 cents a pack – I was 12). We had moved off the farm but still lived on acreage. On this day, when we came out of the store I saw a cute boy from school. I liked him… showing off – I jumped on my horse. I jumped a little too aggressively when trying to look cool and overshot a little and ended up falling off the other side. Broke my damn arm! Then I realized almost every broken bone story was not pretty and changed the subject.

I woke up this morning thinking about and re-living a little my collar bone break. I was 7 and in trouble for something. I had not been allowed to eat as part of my punishment. I was told to work in the attic. We had a sharecropper shack with a tin roof and it was a hot summer day. My parents were remodeling the shack. I was to scrape up the old linoleum flooring in the attic, trying to keep it in larger pieces, and toss it down the stairs. Later we would load it in the truck. I remember it being so hot… hotter in the attic than anywhere else (further made hotter by the tin roof) and I was sweating everywhere… places I didn’t even know you could sweat. My step-dad had checked on me a couple times to make sure I was working hard enough. I told him I wasn’t feeling well. I was kind of dizzy. He told me to just get the job done. Sometime later, while flinging pieces of linoleum down the stairs (which was decades older than me and probably contained asbestos – LOL), I either fainted or passed out and fell down the stairs. The sound of my falling scared my mom and she came to see what happened. When I woke up she was fanning me and talking about how no food, no water, and the over 100 degree heat was probably not okay. I was allowed to have some water and rest. Later that night I was complaining about pain in the back of my shoulder by my neck. They talked about if I should see a doctor. My stepdad decided I was being “melodramatic” and “trying to play on my mom’s sympathy” and sent me to bed. It hurt for a long time but I didn’t tell them because I would have been accused of trying to manipulate them in some way. A few years later when the school was doing back checks for scoliosis it would be discovered that I had broken my collar bone that day and it had healed crooked. Which to this day still prevents me from doing some yoga poses or putting my hands behind my back properly. When the school sent me to be further evaluated and the incorrectly healed bone was discovered, the only option to fix it would have been to re-break it and put me in a body cast – which my parents decided against (not for my own comfort but because of the expense).

If, before we incarnate, we choose our parents and basic life situation, I apparently chose one that would make me tough. I don’t have any anger or resentment about it. We all do the best we can with the knowledge we have at the time… I just always endeavored to have more knowledge and do better than they had. This morning I felt sorry for the girl who hadn’t eaten and fell down the stairs… and hadn’t been shown the love and compassion she deserved… I must remember to be more kind to her.

This dive bar was so much fun. It was good to get out of the house socially. .. and Yes, I will be more kind to her.

Published by wayward yoga girl

A complex creation that chooses to be quite simple - LOL. I earnestly try to approach life with unconditional love and non-judgement... but I'm only human and perfectly imperfect :)

2 thoughts on “Kindness reminder

  1. all of these bone breaks! Ouch. I have never broken a thing, and that despite my early love of extreme and death-defying sports. I used to believe that if you don’t wipe out, you aren’t doing it right. But when I was catapulted over a hedge by a horse that decided not to jump I somehow managed to roll right back onto my fight…and all those years and years on horseback never resulted in anything more than bruises. Long may it continue.

    Liked by 1 person

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