As a Child

As a child, I spent many summers with my Grandmother in Hazen, North Dakota out on the farm. I enjoyed these days. They were full of learning, growing, and acceptance. My Grandmother was always there for me. She taught me how to cook and clean. She talked to me about loving myself just the way I was. She told me I was a child of God, and he did not make junk. Here, in her arms, I felt secure, protected, and loved.

I always dreaded the day my mother would pick me up, and my peaceful summer of serenity would come to an end. I remember looking out the back widow of my mother’s car, waving at my Grandmother as tears rolled down my eyes. I clutched the golden heart in my pocket that my Grandmother gave me to remember who I was.

As my mother and I traveled down the dusty gravel road toward home, I remember her looking over toward me and smiling. Uncomfortable, I asked what she was looking at. My mother shared she was so happy to see me shine and glow. She said I looked beautiful, and that was what a little ten year old girl should feel like. I love my mother, but our life at home was so much different than my Grandmother’s house.

At home, I felt like I could not do anything right. There, I did not smile as much. I was scared to play in fear of being told to shut up. I was scared to eat. There were so many explicit rules to follow at the dinner table. My father scolded me constantly telling me to sit up straight, eat with your mouth closed, and don’t talk at the dinner table. Although, the worst memory I have was when my father tried to force me to eat with my right hand because being left handed was not proper.

My Grandmother told me that my father loved me, but he did not know how to show it. As a little girl, all I wanted is for my dad to wrap his arms around me, tell me I was his favorite little girl, and say he was proud of me. I yearned to hear these words, but that day wouldn’t come for a long time.

When I started