Baby Steps

Last night as I lie in bed I realized that it has been a couple days now since I have had an afternoon “ultra tired” spell. That is good. And then this morning as I was going upstairs, I was feeling relatively steady so I decided to try it hands-free. (Truth be told I had a sugar wafer in each hand.) I know, that isn’t on my diet but I made it to the top with no major issues.

In fact, I was feeling so good about the ascent, I considered trying to come down without the handrail. This is more difficult, and potentially more dangerous. It is the difference between falling down the stairs and falling up them. I had nothing in my hands so I figured I’d just quickly grab the rail if anything misfired. After a minor false start, I stepped with my right foot onto the first stair. My left foot quickly followed. I’m good! I could do this! The problem was having each foot stop on each step was going to take forever, so I cautiously tried normal steps. I wavered a little but bottom line is I made it without touching the rail!

Small victories!

Anne Marie

While working with some old census records, I came across the name “Anne Marie.” In 1910 this was not an uncommon name, although usually the second name is not spelled out.

I was reminded of a girl named Anne Marie in my 3^rd grade class. I thought her name a little strange for a contemporary. She was a little overweight and she wore glasses that seemed large. She was very self-conscious. I was never mean to her, but certainly never did anything particularly kind for her.

The most vivid memory I have of Anne Marie was on Immunization Day; shots to the upper arm. We were all a bit nervous about getting a shot, but as a few of us waited in the nurse’s office, Anne Marie became disconsolate. The nurse was kind but a little brusque. Anne Marie cried a lot. And it was the unflattering type of crying. She was wearing dark red polyester pants and a white shirt with maroon flowers. I felt bad for her but, c’mon, it’s just a shot. I was not excited about it either but I was not going to embarrass myself. She even cried for her mommy, who, doubtless was the originator of the crimson ensemble.

As I recall the scene now heart aches. Poor thing was terrified. It’s not fair now because I can now see an 8-year-old girl through the eyes of a parent. This girl that to me was defined by a double name, extra weight, glasses, and polyester was something entirely different to her parents. I’m sure she was their prize, the most special and beautiful soul. They gave her the most beautiful name they knew and dressed her in the cutest clothes they could. Who was I to look at her with the slightest bit contempt or maybe worse, indifference?

Even more than having parental perspective, I understand the nature of fear a little better. This fear was a little irrational but rationality is not a fear prerequisite. Anne Marie didn’t care if we saw her cry. She didn’t care that a boy in the room thought her plain or thought her glasses were large. If I could go back in time I would not care so much about some things either. I would maybe have sat down next to her and said, “It’s OK Anne Marie. Cry if you need to, but everything’s gonna be OK. Your friends are here. We’re all a little scared but it’s going to be OK.” I could have even taken her hand and said something to take her mind off the shot; maybe compliment her outfit.

But I can’t go back. All I can do is be a better comforter today. I just hope that I can recognize the Anne Maries in my life today.