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The umbrella story
15 years ago
General
---I have debated whether I was going to write this, but I was feeling particularly upset about something today, so I am writing this for myself.
---About a hundred years ago, when I was seven years old, I was getting ready for school. There was rain in the forecast that day, so my mother kindly gave me her umbrella to take with me.
It was very large ( or perhaps I was very small ) and had a floral design-lots of pretty blue and white flowers. Clearly a ladie's umbrella, but it was the only one we had, and in those days we were grateful to have anything at all. It was nearly as tall as I was and very heavy. I dragged it behind me on the way to school.
---Sure enough, by the time school got out, it was pouring. Many of the other chidren brought umbrellas too. They had cute little child size umbrellas in bright colors, some of them were see-through, all of them more appropriate than mine. I was embarrassed to drag mine out of the coat closet, but I told myself once again that I should be grateful to have it. Some children didn't bring an umbrella and would have to walk home in the rain.
---I stood outside the school trying to open that umbrella. It wouldn't open. Even at seven years old, I was more embarrassed than surprised. I couldn't open the umbrella. Why I don't know. I wasn't smart enough, clever enough, tall enough, strong enough, coordinated enough, whatever. It would not open, not for me. I would take so many steps, then fiddle with it, then some more steps, hoping in vain that no one would notice my torment. I became more upset with each step.
---Suddenly, some teenagers came up to me and offered to help me. I suppose I should have been appreciative, but I was so disgusted, so resigned to my failure that I replied "If you can open it, you can have it.", as I handed it over and kept on walking. I had no intention of looking back, but several seconds later one of them yelled "thanks" and I glanced back at them. Of course, they had opened up the umbrella in no time and were huddled beneath it. I continued home in the rain, feeling like a fool. Later I lied to my mother and told her somebody stole it out of the coat closet. Even at that tender age, I had long known that there is nothing to be gained by being honest.
---That day stands out because nothing has changed for me. The literal umbrella is long gone, but the figurative one remains. I am told I should be grateful for it, told it doesn't matter if it is too heavy for me, too big for me, the wrong color or shape for me, as long as it protects me from the rain. Every damn day I have to drag that umbrella behind me everywhere I go. I still can't quite seem to get it open. Some well meaning ones may offer some "help", but they only want to help themselves, not me. I don't feel grateful for their help, although I'm told I should be. Sometimes I get the umbrella halfway open, but it's never enough to protect me from the rain. I feel like a fool as I fiddle with it in vain, knowing that it is just not right for me. And still, there is nothing to be gained by being honest about it.
---About a hundred years ago, when I was seven years old, I was getting ready for school. There was rain in the forecast that day, so my mother kindly gave me her umbrella to take with me.
It was very large ( or perhaps I was very small ) and had a floral design-lots of pretty blue and white flowers. Clearly a ladie's umbrella, but it was the only one we had, and in those days we were grateful to have anything at all. It was nearly as tall as I was and very heavy. I dragged it behind me on the way to school.
---Sure enough, by the time school got out, it was pouring. Many of the other chidren brought umbrellas too. They had cute little child size umbrellas in bright colors, some of them were see-through, all of them more appropriate than mine. I was embarrassed to drag mine out of the coat closet, but I told myself once again that I should be grateful to have it. Some children didn't bring an umbrella and would have to walk home in the rain.
---I stood outside the school trying to open that umbrella. It wouldn't open. Even at seven years old, I was more embarrassed than surprised. I couldn't open the umbrella. Why I don't know. I wasn't smart enough, clever enough, tall enough, strong enough, coordinated enough, whatever. It would not open, not for me. I would take so many steps, then fiddle with it, then some more steps, hoping in vain that no one would notice my torment. I became more upset with each step.
---Suddenly, some teenagers came up to me and offered to help me. I suppose I should have been appreciative, but I was so disgusted, so resigned to my failure that I replied "If you can open it, you can have it.", as I handed it over and kept on walking. I had no intention of looking back, but several seconds later one of them yelled "thanks" and I glanced back at them. Of course, they had opened up the umbrella in no time and were huddled beneath it. I continued home in the rain, feeling like a fool. Later I lied to my mother and told her somebody stole it out of the coat closet. Even at that tender age, I had long known that there is nothing to be gained by being honest.
---That day stands out because nothing has changed for me. The literal umbrella is long gone, but the figurative one remains. I am told I should be grateful for it, told it doesn't matter if it is too heavy for me, too big for me, the wrong color or shape for me, as long as it protects me from the rain. Every damn day I have to drag that umbrella behind me everywhere I go. I still can't quite seem to get it open. Some well meaning ones may offer some "help", but they only want to help themselves, not me. I don't feel grateful for their help, although I'm told I should be. Sometimes I get the umbrella halfway open, but it's never enough to protect me from the rain. I feel like a fool as I fiddle with it in vain, knowing that it is just not right for me. And still, there is nothing to be gained by being honest about it.
