The Pocket Knife
post-template-default,single,single-post,postid-707,single-format-standard,stockholm-core-1.1,select-theme-ver-5.1.7,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-6.0.3,vc_responsive

The Pocket Knife

Affirmation:  I release myself from my childhood limitations.

It was small and it was red and it was not, at that time, very unusual for a youngish child to want to own such a thing.  I believe I was less than ten when I was gifted it by my father.  It was not considered a weapon, although now looking back, I realize it certainly could have been used as one.  No, it was a symbol of independence, of responsibility.  It empowered and it emboldened!  I could climb the highest tree and carve my name, my initials, and any symbol I created in the uppermost branches.  I became eternal, hidden away among the swaying branches and soft leaves never to be discovered by another but always held in the heart of my childhood.  Children were freer then.  The neighborhood was my playground as long as I was home when the street lights came on.  But, just over the cyclone fence was the forbidden territory, the huge expanse of grass and trees that made up the grounds for the local hospitals.  Oh, once there, it was like escaping to Narnia, adventures unlimited, no adults to supervise or even witness our daring, especially if we were elusive and took care.  Oh, sometimes, the tree resisted my attempts to mount it, but I, with my trusty tool, simply claimed it right where it stood, my name, the date, carved there for all passer-bys, witnessing my ownership, my power! 
And I, but a girl, with the glimmer, with the hope, of what it would be like one day to make my mark on the world, on life.

No Comments

Post a Comment