Homebodies - Hanging on to what?

Details

Published on Sunday, May 20, 2018

Rita Friesen

Neepawa Banner & Press

Charles Dickens’ character Miss Havisham was jilted by her fiancé. As a lifelong reminder of the pain he caused her by leaving her at the altar, Miss Havisham keeps the wedding feast on her banquet table, just as it was. Although it has become stale and mouldy, she regularly looks upon it with regret and resentment.  What a waste of energy, hanging on to resentment and regret.

The illustration caused me to reflect, and  ponder if somewhere, in the corner of my mind, I still have a banquet table set —now stale and mouldy— that I revisit with a degree of regularity. As most everyone has, there have been moments in my life in which I have been betrayed and shafted. It has been my goal to learn from these life lessons. Learn so that the hard lesson of who to trust, and when to trust, need not be relearned! May once be enough.

It is easy to clutch close the hurts and disappointments of our past. How different each day could be if we gave the same time and energy to recalling, in minute detail, the moments when we have been cherished, validated and encouraged. I remember the morning my grandfather first spoke to me as a thinking adult. It was at the breakfast table and he held a cereal box in his hands. Noting the printing on the side was in French, he asked me if I knew why it was so, and could I read it. I had the correct answers and we spoke about the benefits of knowing more than one language and what the future might look like. I was familiar with my father speaking to me as a thinking being, but somehow this moment, my grandpa taking the time to listen to me, encouraged and validated me. Something I have hung on to for a very long time.

There is a negative banquet table that I do re-visit, for the moment taught me to take responsibility for my actions. It was one of those warm June days, when last class in school was a torture. The windows where open, the breeze making its way through the room of grade 12 students. Our beloved teacher announced that last class, scheduled to be a spare, would be used to catch up on our English class. We loved English, and we loved our teacher, but taking last class spare seemed unjust and uncalled for. As he left the room, I suggested to the class that none of us answer his questions and he would give up. And so it was. Much to my amazement, not one of my 12 classmates offered opinions or answers. As predicted, our teacher left the room. What a hollow victory. As the dismissal bell rang and he was walking to the teacherage, I caught up with him and apologized. The most sobering moment was when our eyes met and he quietly said – I knew it was you.  The power of the spoken word has never left me.