It’s been a long time since I have had a blog entry. When I started this venture, I assumed I would continue writing regularly. That was my intention. After taking off to study and take the LSAT, I am writing again, and there is probably enough for a book, but more on that later. Come along with me on my latest discovery… You won’t believe this one!
On New Year’s Day, I found a box containing some pretty pertinent ‘old’ documents. I uncovered an actual time capsule! This discovery, a few fill-in-the-blanks books that I completed when I was 7 and another when I was about 9-10 years old, revealed my thoughts and feelings at the time. Remember those? These had blanks with prompts like, “If I had a magic ring, I would…,” and, “One thing I like about myself is…” It was, after all the 70s, and I guess we were all trying to get in touch with our feelings or something. At any rate, I was both amused and enlightened to read some of my entries. I won’t bore you with all of the gory details (although some are really funny!), but the general gist is that I was a happy child who was facing and squaring up a tremendous burden of loss; the fallout from my parent’s divorce, which happened when I was only 4 years old. I cannot remember a time that I wanted my parents to get remarried, or live together, but these pages document (in my own little handwriting) that I did, in fact wish that they would do so. My therapist says that maybe there was a time in my life where I realized that either, a) this would never happen, or b) if it did, it wouldn’t really be a good thing, so I turned it around and stopped wishing for it, and maybe even tried to convince myself that their separateness was actually for the best. I was, and probably still am, an optimist at heart. I have always seen the good in people and have searched to expose the best in myself. I trust and I put myself ‘out there’ in a passionate and sometimes very vulnerable way. I yearn for the good and the just, but know that there is injustice and suffering as well, a fact I knew even at that tender young age.
The books revealed me saying that I wanted to be a ‘lwyer’ when I grow up (obviously my spelling prowess developed later!) and that I ‘wished I could buy a new car for my Mom.’ Some of you may remember the gold colored, chrome emblazoned 1963 Rambler. This car was later dubbed, “The Welshmobile,” which was embarrassing in many ways, but did (usually) get us where we needed to go. This goofy car seemed so much older than anyone else’s I knew. I don’t mean older, as in cool classic, vintage car way, I mean just old. It was more primitive than you can imagine-particularly by today’s standards- no radio, one bench seat and lots and lots of shiny chrome. The interior of that car was probably downright dangerous in the sweltering summer heat. The Rambler was older than me- I was born five years after its model year, so I guess that may have contributed to why it seemed like a relic to me. It was just so damn different from everyone else’s car, a fact that I just hated.
As tempting as it is, I will not put my dream of becoming a lwyer on my lw school applications, no matter how cute it appears, because how reliable is a 6 year old in knowing what she wants to be when she grows up? Not very. It is cute, however, and I guess I wanted to find the right thing to help people. Helping people was a big theme throughout all of the books. I thought of myself as a friendly person who never wanted to hurt anyone-still true. I did want to be a lawyer from as far back as I can remember. In second grade, I wrote that I wanted to be the Attorney General of the United States. When asked what that was, I told people ‘that I would prosecute federal cases.’ Hmmm. I think it makes some sense, as we did read the newspaper, and they were tumultuous times in the wake of Watergate, etc. I probably thought a high profile job looking for the good and the just for something as seemingly screwed up as the government was a great fit for me.
One odd question was, “If I had very long legs, I would…” and I wrote, “Make fun of other people.” This is pretty weird, but understandable, as being as short as I am, I was always teased about it. I hated that with a passion. I guess I had aggression in that I thought if I were tall I would do it right back at the perpetrators. Nice. Lots of people did make fun of me, even adults, but it was the 70s when the term ‘politically correct’ hadn’t even been coined yet. I’d like to think it made me a ‘stronger’ person, but it didn’t. It might have made me try harder in sports, or maybe even make my voice louder, but knowing my personality, I may have developed those characteristics without being chastised for something I couldn’t control. (Wow, I may still harbor some frustration there…stupid as that may seem.)
These were all interesting and enlightening discoveries, and as I scanned my new-found cursive handwriting, I remembered filling in these books as a young person the age of my children. It gave me a sense of myself and maybe in a small way helped me define myself, at least at that time. I bet it was cathartic. I am, however, most surprised by the ‘crown jewel’ of the box… the book that won me the 5th grade Young Author’s Contest. This book is entitled, (Get this!) “Coping with the Divorce.” Yeah, I know, no way, did I really write a book in 5th grade at age 10 about how to cope with my parent’s divorce? Yes, I did. Frankly, it’s pretty amazing now, all these years later how poignant is remains. I remember wanting desperately to win the Young Authors contest. It was an honor, as they picked one book per grade. The winner’s book was typed (by the school secretary on a typewriter!), and then it was bound and put in the library for other kids to check out. You also had the distinct pleasure of attending an all day seminar with the winners from each elementary school in the entire district. It was SO cool. I was elated. It was truly one of the proudest moments of my life. I remember sitting at my little 5th grade desk grasping the manila inter-office envelope that contained my manuscript. This was for ME! I carefully slid it out and my eyes skimmed the newly type-written text (in true ‘courier’ print- you should see it)! I was cautious to not to get fingerprints on it. My name adorned the first page, “Carol Welsh, 5th grade, April 11, 1979.” I was an AUTHOR. These were MY WORDS. I was so thrilled. I also remember that we had to read this to the other authors at the seminar, and I believe, to the entire elementary school in a school-wide assembly. I would pay money to go back in time and be a fly on the wall to see the teacher and staff reactions to this book- what were they thinking? My therapist said that she bets I made a number of people uncomfortable. But there was someone at Warwick Elementary School who saw this and thought it was worthwhile. Someone was progressive thinking enough to realize that here was a kid with something to share and she actually had the courage to articulate it. Wow, how cool is that? The other piece that is contextually different from today, is that I was the ONLY child I knew (other than my siblings of course) who experienced divorce first-hand. I did not know a single other family who had gone through a divorce. I was referred to as “the broken family,” which, while I understand that it was the 70s and people didn’t know any differently, was extremely painful to me. I remember thinking we weren’t broken, we were just different, and beyond that I was frustrated to be labeled as broken, through no fault or doing of my own.
The cover is fantastic flowers in goofy 70s colors… throughout the book, I used colored pencil to draw FLOWERS- you remember the daisies with the round centers and the half-heart shaped leaves?… My therapist loved this fact, as here was this deep, emotional, adult subject on the pages, but illustrated with happy and almost smiley flowers. The contrast is amazing, and oh so ME- the “Eternal Optimist”.)
I wrote an introduction explaining that I “went through a rough time when my parents got divorced,” and, “I hope you enjoy as well as learn from it.” The book was comprised of an introduction, two chapters and a conclusion. The main point of the book was that kids shouldn’t feel like it’s their fault. I explained that my parents got divorced when I was only three, and that it was hard to understand. I wrote, “At the time I didn’t understand what a ‘divorce’ was. All I knew was my dad was not living with us anymore. I didn’t know where he went or why.” I told the readers that sometimes parents don’t love each other anymore, or maybe they fight too much over ‘stupid little things.” I said that sometimes parents need to see a marriage counselor, but sometimes that doesn’t even help. I went on to explain my family’s scenario, and that we had visits with my dad, but that he wasn’t living with us anymore. I am struck by my own candor-that even as a little kid I had some poignant thoughts about this very serious-very adult subject.
I described the pain I felt, “Inside I felt like a different person, I really looked the same. The reason that I felt different was because my parents weren’t together anymore.” Wow. Isn’t that the truth- that when something really awful happens to you, you look the same, but you feel terribly different- or wrong-on the inside? I am surprised by my clarity on this subject. I continued discussing the emotions. I wrote, “I had a really hard time figuring out what was going to happen to me. My emotions were all mixed up.”
Finally, I stated that kids shouldn’t have to take the responsibility of divorce. I told kids that they aren’t being punished by their parents breaking up. They shouldn’t feel responsible. I ended by trying to tell them that this scenario isn’t what we’d choose as kids, but it’s not their fault. I said, “Kids whose parents are divorced know that their lives are going to change a lot. They have to remember that is will take time to adapt to this big change in their lives. In the long run, things will work out for the best.” I am, after all an eternal optimist, no? The final line of the book reads, “So I hope this book has helped you a little! Think about the things I said!” What a hoot!
I want to publish this book. I think it would be helpful to write an introduction explaining the context, and the fact that it was written by me as a 10 year old. The message for kids is, in my opinion, timeless. Kids can benefit from it. I think there are audiences for it-there are an awful lot of 40-somethings out there who have lived this scene. We are adults now, some married, some divorced, but every one of us has been affected by divorce in some way. My kids know the same number of kids whose parents are married, as those with divorced parents. I am not yet sure if it should be a children’s book, or one that is aimed at adults, or some kind of combination of both. If I do publish it, I would like to print it AS IS- in all of its 70s flowered glory. The typewriter font and my happy flowers really set the tone and context.
In retrospect, I think I was searching for meaning. I suspect that while I didn’t know any other children of divorce, I knew there had to be more in the world. I knew that if I could help another kid, then my suffering might give rise to meaning. Just as people share their experiences when suffering from illness, or survivors of tragedy want to help others by recounting their story, I must have wanted to find meaning in my pain. Maybe by expressing it, I would help another child to not feel as alone as I evidently did, and it would give meaning to my pain. I am now 42 years old, happily married with three wonderful children of my own. I read it to them, explaining the background of why I wrote it. My oldest, 13 cried a little when I read it aloud to them, feeling empathetic to my pain. My son, 10, (the same age I was when I wrote it!) ‘Thought it was cool’ since I wrote it when I was his age, and said he ‘was surprised that he could understand how I felt since I was his age when I wrote it.’ Martha, the youngest, 7, said, “You know Mommy, I just don’t get it. I am sorry, but I don’t understand it.” I sobbed when I looked into her big inquisitive brown eyes. I hugged her tightly and said, “You know Martha, I hope you never have to understand it.” How completely cool is that?!
