Who do I miss the Most?
I guess when you pull the same card at random several times- apparently there is something that needs to be said.
I miss that little girl who believed anything was possible- that freckled faced kid with poorly fitting shoes and hand me down blouse-
Who believed orange colored bell bottoms with giant white daisies were the clothes of super heroes.
The little girl who would sit besides complete strangers and ask them deep, pondering questions like “Do you think butterflies cry?” because it was the stuff that really mattered…
The girl who turned over all the money in her pocket to the man before her because he must really need it if he was robbing a seven year old. She wasn’t afraid- not until she went home and told. Then she was afraid of the shame. Of letting everyone down. Of the realization that her mother was afraid of black men. That talking to strangers invited “things like this.”
Then she became afraid and began to die- not in her body but in her soul where it really mattered.
I miss that little girl who would twirl wildly in circles with arms outstretched, oblivious to the stares her knotted hair and smudged faced invoked from Mother Superior.
The Little girl who sings loud with joy even if she sounds like a croaking frog because gifts come in all kinds of packages even some that aren’t pretty.
I miss the little girl who could run like the wind, wild with abandon to win the race, even if that meant she beat John- the cutest boy in the school. The little the girl who didn’t know that girls can’t do math or that it is rude to take what you want.
I miss the little girl who thought that May Day was the most sacred days of all because instead of praying to the bleeding man on the cross in the dark inside of a church, we sing our prayers to the beautiful lady statue we have crowned with chains of Lilly of the Valley and toss rose petals as we dance in the sunshine. I miss that girl.
I miss that girl the most…
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