Thursday, September 2, 2010

When You Wish Upon a Star

...When I was 4, I wished at my birthday party for a pony. Typical, young wonder, I waited for my ultimate wish to be granted.

... When I was 5, I blew the seeds off a dandelion and wished that my mom would lose her recipe for corncake. I absolutely gagged every time she made it, and often I'd be at the table long after everyone else had gone, stubbornly staring the nasty lump down.

... When I was 6, I wished upon a star that my baby kitten would come back to life and that he would romp about the house again. I wished this with tears in my eyes.

... When I was 7, I closed my eyes shut tightly and wished that I could have my own, real life, fairy godmother. I wished desperately that she would appear and fly with me, away to a magical place that was anywhere but home.

... When I was 8, I wished on my birthday that I could change personalities and become someone big and strong, perhaps someone in the military, who could be deserving of respect and never be a child again.

... When I was 9, I prayed that God would send a social worker to my house, and that he would see the bruises on my face and the wounds in my heart. I prayed for a foster family.

... When I was 10, I asked God to make me invisible from all the eyes of the world. I prayed that I could even hide from those without eyes who always seemed to find me anyway.

...When I was 11, I lay in bed and wished with all my might that dad would just fall asleep. That he wouldn't come sneaking into my room. I was so tired... the day had been endless...

... When I was 12, I wished that the people at the new church we were attending would see the self-inflicted bruises and assume that my dad had given them to me. And that they would just show up at the house, and take me away.

... When I was 13, I prayed that God would make me into the person I was supposed to be so that I wouldn't view the torture as anything but God's blessings. Religiously I knelt every night and asked for the right attitude that would transform me into something worthy.

... When I was 14, I held my baby brother and prayed that he would be the last, not because I hated caring for my siblings, but because I loved this one more than anything and I wanted to make sure I was there to protect him 100% from the yelling, hitting, and hurting.

...When I was 15, I cried for hours, endlessly and heartbroken, as I admitted to God that I understood why He was displeased with me. I was a rebellious, hateful daughter. I argued when I should just lie to make dad happy. I wished for death. God knew what I was inside, and I asked him passionately to change me, make me beautiful and wanted.

And where, you ask me, comes my disbelief? I'd like to point out that not one of these wishes came true. Still haven't.

That's the magic of the moment, folks.


vanessa said...

Beautiful and heartbreaking. You have a wonderful writing style- and, sadly, too much to draw from.