“The child mind is the greatest mind because its innocence is its best and sure defense, because it is not surrounded by crowding concepts and because it is free to develop symmetry, color, sound, light and new ideas. In short, it is free to create, and its supreme goal is to spread happiness in all of its forms and manifestations, all the while maintaining the purity and harmlessness of the child.”
The Path of the Higher Self, Mark L. Prophet and Elizabeth Clare Prophet, Summit University Press, 1972, 1977, 1986, 2003, p 90 Kindle edition.
Ah, childhood! My BFF, my only friend in truth, was Jesus, who had been with me daily since I was three, before the advent of the stepfather, Lucky, into my life. I had pestered my grandmother to take me to church, and in that first Sunday school class, I met Jesus. Without him, I believe I would have become insane from the abuse that followed.
I was given a Bible when I was six, and I read it again and again. It seemed to hold a great deal of truth; it had wonderful examples of how to live life, become a good person, and do some good in the world. I lived in a very narrow world at that age—a mother in denial and a sadistic stepfather, daily physical, mental, and emotional abuse, and no girlfriends because we moved every few months. I was never allowed to go to anyone’s home or bring a friend home with me. I learned about pleasanter parts of the world through the few novels I owned.
With the lessons from the Bible, I became able to somewhat compartmentalize my life—the horrible parts in Lucky’s presence and all the rest of the time—when I was in school, when Lucky was not home, when I was out playing, or hiding in my room reading. In all of those times, I chose to be happy. I realized that Lucky was not forever—that there would be a point in my life when I was grown up enough to move away from home and be without him. That realization gave me hope.
I observed my mother, the only adult besides Lucky whom I was near enough to observe. It was she who helped my stepfather make sure that no matter the punishment I endured, I demonstrated no distress—no flinching, no making a face, and certainly no crying. Mother watched and reported.
I observed her when Lucky was not home. She taught me, always teaching me: reading, writing, arithmetic, memorization, times tables, etiquette, proper posture and walking, manners, singing, and more. She wasn’t happy then, but she wasn’t slapping me either, so that was a blessing to me. And I loved her for teaching me.
And then there was the worrying. She acted as if worrying about me was a great virtue on her part and a loving sacrifice in my favor. Even though I was as obedient as I could figure out how to be, she still found or manufactured one or two reasons to be worried about me every week. Worrying made her feel angry and miserable, and she made sure to pass the misery along to me. She insisted that it was all my fault that she was worrying. Even at six, I understood that worrying was a perversion of love and that worrying was her own choice and destructive of everything and everyone it touched. I even suspected that her thoughts about all the bad things that might be happening to me were likely to make some of them come true. In retrospect, I believe it was communing with my BFF, Jesus, every night that gave me the insights that were keeping me sane.
I had my own goal that I shared with no one but talked over very seriously with my BFF—to make people happy. There were so many errors to correct. Obviously, people had to be taught not to worry. They had to be taught to stop choosing to be miserable and then spread it around as far as they could. As a six-year-old, where could I even start?
Jesus gave me the idea to smile at people, so I did. I smiled out of the joy in my heart at every person I saw—on the street, in school, in a store. Inevitably, they smiled back, and in those moments, the whole world seemed a lighter, happier place. I felt I was actually doing something to make people happy, and my own joy expanded. It was a start.
But Mother—I don’t believe I ever made her happy for a single instant in her entire life. Even a seventh-grade straight-A report card with perfect attendance for the entire year didn’t do it. Jesus had to console me and convince me that being unhappy was her choice and outside of my ability or right to change.
I kept on loving her. That was the best I could do.