Most Four-Year-Olds Probably Cry When You're Standing On Them

When I was a little girl we had these polyester bean bag chairs that were really only good for fights.  Following a poorly matched beanbag battle with my younger brother, I (big and strong as I was) would throw the beanbag on top of him, mount it and, fists high, cheer for myself in a proud expression of victory.  This was the straw that broke him.  He started crying, justifiably so, as the weight of my body probably made breathing down there difficult.  Most four year olds probably cry when you're standing on them.

After a dramatic bow and dismount, I removed the beanbag from his little body, sat down on it and pulled him into my arms.  "I'm sorry," I would say, smoothing the sticky hair from his sweaty, tear-streaked face.  "I love you."  And I meant it.

The crying didn't last too long.  He was happy to be held.  I gave it a gentle pause after the hiccups subsided.  This is when I pushed him to the floor (it was carpeted), dropping the plasticky, styrofoam sac on his back and stood again atop the triumphant pile.  Arms reaching above my head, I celebrated the encore, turning in a ceremonial circle once before jumping off.  He usually started crying again (could you blame him?) at which point I resumed my role as coddler.  Amazingly enough, after only a little coercion, he would crawl back to my lap and let me comfort him.

This is a tough one to share with you.  In addition to the residual guilt that gnaws at me when I conjure the memory, I squirm a little knowing that the little girl, curious about darkness and pain, is still up to her old tricks. 

I've given up standing on four year olds, but the same torturous behavior is still present.  Now, it's self directed.  I regularly beat the shit out of myself for no apparent reason.  Worse than the abuse itself is the mistrust that follows. 

Doubting myself (or the world) is the worst kind of pain. 

So I find inspiration in my brother's illogical decisions to brave my unpredictable lap, risking likely pain for the genuine moment of affection.  After the inner battle, I spend the day crawling back into my arms.

Because loving myself (and the world) is the best thing I can imagine.