Journey Away from Tragedy

I have often wondered why most of my early childhood memories are either the really good times, or mostly, the really bad times. Why can’t I remember the average days like being bored in school, playing in my bedroom, watching television at home with my sister or playing outside with friends? Was it because my family did not live in one house long enough to build friendships or maybe it is simply easier to remember the traumatic moments instead of the ordinary days? For many years I wish I could forget the days that were filled with bad moments, but I have come to realize those are the days that helped to build my resilience, helped me to overcome the tragic moments. When I reflect back on my childhood, living with my parents was like living in a pinball machine looking at the seemingly protected silver balls from above bouncing from one spot to another never settled, avoiding any circumstance that may cause a hit, or a drop into a dark hole yet always emerging to face another game with different rules against the same opponent never quite sure of how to the outcome of the game. My mother and I were the silver balls in the path of my father’s verbal and physical attacks the severity dependent on whether he was drunk or high on drugs.