My Why

When I was four, I had a vivid vision that the moon was an ice cream shop.
The bright white color and craters sent chills down my little spine, a feeling I associated with ice cream. In one of my daydreams, I went to the moon. Just like driving to an ice cream shop, but up. I ordered blue ice cream with sprinkles and sat inside the cold shop, staring out into dusty hills and valleys on the moon, the Earth a lovely marble in the sky.

I remember my desires, my emotions, my dreams, but I can’t remember fear at this age. A four year old doesn’t fear her feelings or her visions, that came later. There were other huge impressions stamped into me at four years old.
“Be a sweet little girl.”
“Don’t be so loud.”
“That’s unlady-like.”
“Jehovah doesn’t like this behavior.”

My parents used the Lord to control my behavior. Being a little scientist, I always tested to see if what they said was true. In my mind, God’s anger at me would cause a huge deluge or a plague, like in my favorite movie, Cecil B. DeMille’s “The Ten Commandments.”
Except, when I broke the rules–none of that happened. I just got whipped and called names.

I was a wild little creature. I didn’t walk outside; I danced. I didn’t say good morning; I sang it. I loved to test, touch, and spy. I felt things strongly and I was unable to hide those feelings, I couldn’t shut my mouth. I made friends with anyone I talked to. I loved listening to people’s stories. A fiery little being, I did not fit into the church or the world I was born into.

None of this aligned with the female role I was supposed to play: submissive, mild, and meek.

Nevertheless, I made the best out of going to the Kingdom Hall. I loved visiting with friends I’d charm with batted eyelashes and mischievous smiles. One was Brother Driscoll. He had curly silver hair, dark spots on his gnarled hands, and pocket full of butterscotch or peppermint. He adored me. One Sunday, I galloped over to him and said, “Whatcha got?” with a big smile. He handed me a peppermint candy and gave me a wet kiss on my cheek. As I skipped back to our seats, happy as a lamb, my older brother Jon scowled at me. Irked by the fact that I had candy and he didn’t, snatched my candy away. He was much bigger and stronger than me, so I did what I could in defense: I bit him. I felt proud of my effort, not even caring about the lost candy.

My heart sank when I realized my mom had seen me. She was a sturdy woman with large hands and forest green eyes. She wrenched my little arm and yanked me toward the bathroom. I knew I was getting spanked and wriggled unsuccessfully to escape her death grip.

On the way there, she stopped to tell Ben Driscoll that I was a bad girl who had bitten my brother. At first he looked confused, then he looked disappointed. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I could feel tears form in my eyes and my face got hot. I didn’t want my friend to think I was bad.

I wasn’t, was I?