The REVIEW - November 2013 - page 14

n the small, Mayberry-type town where I grew up, everyone knew everyone else and no one locked front doors.
Children played in the streets and in neighbors’ yards until mamas called them in for a meal.
One day when I was a preschooler, I wanted to visit our next-door neighbors, Mr. & Mrs. Lee, sweet, loving grandparent-types
who frequently offered treats to the neighborhood children. Being a much too independent youngster, I scurried out without
telling my mother, crossed into the Lees’ yard, and marched right through their front door. They were not home, but I found
a nice play spot under their dining room table to await their arrival.
Details of the long-ago event are fuzzy now, but I recall being quite ashamed and fearful that my mamma was searching the
neighborhood, frantic over her missing child. I could hear her and neighbors calling, but I was too frightened to let them know
where I was. I just knew that I was in trouble and should not have made a social call on my own.
Whether child or adult, certain life-events stick in our memories, often because we experienced shame or regret over the occurrences.
Those regrets ooze into our consciousness at inconvenient times, depositing painful feelings of inadequacy and failure.
by Marilyn Rockett
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November 2013
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