tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post8720579022183222964..comments2024-03-29T06:37:40.071-04:00Comments on Bless Our Hearts: A Responsible Little Girl: Trigger WarningMs. Moonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09776404747858099919noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-37882784490460501882017-08-08T13:10:12.737-04:002017-08-08T13:10:12.737-04:00I can identify with some of what you've said -...I can identify with some of what you've said -- being the "adult" child, the one who comforts the parent. Being the "smart" kid in surroundings where smartness made you a target. Seeing other kids every day who had a heck of a lot less. (I remember one girl who used to ride our school bus and wear virtually the same clothes every day. She smelled terrible and got teased and for all I know she didn't even have running water. Who knows what was going on.)<br /><br />Anyway, I admire the honesty with which you've written about this period of your life. As I've said before, it's valuable for you to tell this story. I'm sure it helps others with similar ghosts in their past.Steve Reedhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11684120060438252945noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-4936628916693305072017-08-07T22:17:15.812-04:002017-08-07T22:17:15.812-04:00I'm reading. It's hard to comment because ...I'm reading. It's hard to comment because of my stupid phone. But I wanted to say I'm following with a mix of awe and intrigue and most definitely with a strong dose of just loving the shit out of you. <br /><br />SJSJhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14174193133138897712noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-92080906288414135432017-08-07T17:41:28.667-04:002017-08-07T17:41:28.667-04:00Oh, Mary. This post is so open and honest. This s...Oh, Mary. This post is so open and honest. This series of posts is bringing up emotions in me that I don't like to look at. I'm crying for the little girl in you that was trying so hard. I'm crying for the little girl in me that went way beyond what any child should have to do to keep peace. Though the abuse we went through was vastly different we seem to have coped in similar ways. Even now. Both of us. Anxious. Depressed. It's the reason I connect with you. You get me. <br />I love you, Mary. Thank you for opening up this part of you. I know how hard it is. But I do think "giving it a name" is the path towards healing. We will never be healed but we can get closer to it. Birdiehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03479872783727855901noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-90275549597452459932017-08-07T17:25:46.857-04:002017-08-07T17:25:46.857-04:00It hurts my heart to hear your story. Kids are vic...It hurts my heart to hear your story. Kids are victims. Without loving adults in their life, it is scary. I had teachers who were my everything. I want to hug your little girl you and tell you how precious you are. Your children are lucky to have your beautiful, deeply hurt soul that knows better and has fixed it for future generations. Thank you for that.Joannehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08015888228309968515noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-61207962093930381142017-08-07T16:17:13.634-04:002017-08-07T16:17:13.634-04:00It's amazing that you grew up to become a lovi...It's amazing that you grew up to become a loving, stable woman, wife, mother, and grandmother! I had the pleasure of a loving childhood, and my heart aches for what you endured. This chubby little book lover wasn't bullied, but when I was chosen to tutor a couple fourth graders (I was in fifth), a few kids made fun of me for choosing that instead of kickball at recess. The most amazing woman I ever met, Mrs. Wainwright, who wasn't even my teacher, commended me in front of everyone for putting others first. I'm happy you had Aunt Flonnie!!Catrinahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17408495829569772826noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-7027232471895568962017-08-07T15:30:02.726-04:002017-08-07T15:30:02.726-04:00Anxious day over here, but I'm here, I'm l...Anxious day over here, but I'm here, I'm listening and loving you. And I so identified with the chubby kid thing. It did make us vulnerable. For me it was a man down the road, which I think was somewhat less damaging than the predator living inside your own house. Ah, Mary. Love. 37paddingtonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12400464105403622384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-47116954489694125462017-08-07T14:12:07.889-04:002017-08-07T14:12:07.889-04:00I still can not see after the surgery , forgive mi...I still can not see after the surgery , forgive misspellings....Linda Suehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03070050388987072100noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-46376095955779983202017-08-07T14:11:31.923-04:002017-08-07T14:11:31.923-04:00Lovely writing, Mary, ever though...you know. The ...Lovely writing, Mary, ever though...you know. The luch room sounds wonderful I too would have loved that when I was that age! The classroom sounds familiar, In sixth grade I had a terrible teacher , I excused myself to go to the bathroom so often that she made me bring a doctor's excuse, which I could not produce. I SO want all of your life in one big well written book, Mary. You have the gift of sitting a person right down across from you while shelling peas and chatting so comfortably and lovingly. I can hear the chooks and feel the humidity- LOVE you LOVE your writing, LOVE how you gather in and confide. Linda Suehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03070050388987072100noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2086296370004835655.post-12404345616014682542017-08-07T13:55:22.703-04:002017-08-07T13:55:22.703-04:00Thank god for that teacher that took you under her...Thank god for that teacher that took you under her wing, and Aunt Flonnie, and the other adults who gave you the little bit of nurturing and good adult attention that you had as a child. I think about the difference a caring adult can make in the life of a child all the time. It's part of the reason I wanted to become a Guardian for foster kids.<br /><br />I was the child of two very dysfunctional and mentally ill alcoholics and there was a lot of emotional abuse in our house when I was growing up. If it had not been for my grandmother, and my love of reading (that part of the story of your childhood really resonates with me) I don't know what might have become of me. So many times in the last few years I wish I could go back in time and hug the sad little girl I used to be....and I wish I could hug little Mary, too, and tell her how good her life was going to turn out.Jenniferhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12512800812290518552noreply@blogger.com