The Legend Begins...
It was a Thursday, and I was sitting in a white plastic chair near the ocean’s edge when something extraordinary happened.
I had a realization so singularly profound it changed my life forever. Sometimes that’s how epiphanies happen. You might not be doing much at all when a quiet little thought floats to the front of your mind. You pause, turning your little thought over for a moment, then all at once a new realization dawns and everything instantly changes.
That’s how it was for me, that day I sat in the white plastic chair. It was like taking off a pair of glasses that didn’t belong to me. The obscure elements of my life suddenly came into perfect focus and I could see things more clearly than I had ever seen them before. The crazy woman. The misogynist. The three sisters. The Voice. The church. The three children. The two ex-husbands. The white-haired old man. And the two white plastic chairs. That’s how the amazing thought came to be.
It all began in 1955.
Me...
The world was an interesting place in 1955. Every month of that year saw an event that touched just about everyone in one way or another.
In January, the Soviet Union formally ended the state of war with Germany.
In February, President Dwight D. Eisenhower sent over $200 million in aid to South Vietnam, a small Indochinese country attempting to resist communist takeover.
In March, a stage musical was broadcast on television for the first time. Peter Pan, starring Mary Martin, capturing the largest viewership ever.
In April, Winston Churchill resigned as England’s Prime Minister, Albert Einstein died, Ray Kroc opened his first McDonald’s, and the Salk polio vaccine was introduced to the public.
In May, West Germany became a sovereign state and joined NATO. The U.S. Supreme Court ordered school integration “with all deliberate speed.â€
In June, the first diamond mine opened in Russia, and the first automobile seat belt legislation was enacted in Illinois.
In July, Disneyland opened.
In August, hurricanes Connie, Diane, and Edith pounded the Northeast after causing massive destruction in North Carolina. The Geneva Conference was held to discuss peaceful uses of atomic energy.
In September, James Dean was killed in an auto collision, the Brooklyn Dodgers took the pennant, and Chevrolet prepared to roll out a muscle car fittingly called the “Hot One.â€
In October, the world’s most powerful aircraft carrier, the USS Saratoga launched.
In November, the Supreme Court of Baltimore banned segregation in public recreational areas and Elvis Presley signed his first contract with RCA Records. And then there was December.
December 1st was also a Thursday. It was a day when all odds were against a woman named Rosa Parks. The bus driver was against her. The laws were against her. Social standards were against her. And in 1955 not a single person rallied behind the Montgomery, Alabama, seamstress who boldly refused to give up her seat on the bus to a white man.
But that didn’t stop Rosa Parks.
In the year I was born, 1955, some wars began and other wars ended. Storms blew. Technology evolved. People were born. People passed away. Careers launched. Careers dwindled. Rosa.
If you think about it, people live their lives a lot like the year 1955. There is always something going on. Sometimes we go to war with a person we disagree with. Sometimes we end a war with someone we finally forgive. Sometimes our careers are soaring, and sometimes they’re in the gutter. Sometimes we have babies; sometimes we lose loved ones. Sometimes we make brilliant discoveries. And sometimes we have a life-altering Rosa moment when we decide we will no longer participate in someone else’s screwed-up ideas about who we really are.
My life is a lot like the year 1955.
I was born in Santa Monica, California, on a Tuesday morning in August. My mother’s name was Helen. Helen is the crazy woman in this story. Her husband’s name was William. William is my father. I don’t often refer to him as my father. I prefer to call him William.
William is the misogynist.
I was the second of three daughters born to Helen and William. Their first daughter, twenty-three months my senior, is Cathy. Their third daughter, eighteen months my junior, is Danni.
We are the three sisters in this story.
Mother was just twenty-four when the first symptoms of manic-depression and schizophrenia manifested. Medical science suggests that some mental illnesses are hereditary. My mother’s mother, Sybil, had also suffered from manic-depression and schizophrenia, as did several of Mother’s siblings. It is safe to say my mother’s condition was inherited.
But that was never the way William saw it. William said Mother’s mental illness was all Danni’s fault. Mother’s first psychotic breakdown occurred just six weeks after Danni’s birth, so in William’s mind, this daughter – whom he detested his entire life – was to blame for his wife’s sickness.
Eventually he blamed all three of us.
That’s how William was. He was a hater consumed with anger. His title, the Misogynist, may be a bit misleading. A misogynist is a woman-hater. William did hate women. He hated them openly and absolutely. He mocked them, despised them, humiliated them, and used them whenever convenient. But William also hated men. Especially men in authority. William managed to hide his contempt for people whenever he wanted something. Or when he was covering up for something. That’s when he would pull out his Mr. Good Guy routine. Mr. Good Guy was the phony alter ego he used to impress people. Or, perhaps more accurately, to fool them with a fabricated concern in his voice or a mock display of affection...
PART II - THE SOFTENING
Two White Plastic Chairs...
The sun was riding low in the sky splashing gold and tangerine across rippled clouds. The breeze was soft and warm, laced with salt and plumeria. Haunting strains of a ukulele drifted from the poolside speakers of the neighboring second-class hotel where we had paused at an amazing discovery. There, less than a hundred yards down the beach from where we had been frolicking for days, were two white plastic chairs stuck in the sand near the water’s edge.
We promptly took our seats.
Our conversation was lighthearted, different from other conversations in other plastic chairs. We laughed when high waves washed over us, snatching a sandal or a pair of sunglasses we would then chase out to rescue. We laughed again at our goofy rescue attempts, now covered with sand from the shallow surf. The moments leading up to my epiphany were pleasant, as golden as the setting sun.
How perfect this is, I thought to myself, inhaling the settling dusk. Balmy air filled my lungs and warmth spread throughout my body. The gorgeous scene flooded over me, swelling in my chest and exploding into my veins until every last nerve ending vibrated. I could not remember ever feeling so blissfully at ease.
No wonder they call this paradise.
Suddenly, I felt that awful quake within myself. Bliss and well-being instantly dissolved and foreboding took their place. In my search for answers I had trifled with the memory locked behind the door, and now it was beginning to rustle. I took a mental step away from the sunset and the island warmth. I wanted to leave that place . . . now.
I could feel the darkness stirring ever stronger with each moment. My heart beat wildly in my chest. Fear pushed at me, I wanted to run.
And then the Voice spoke.
Don’t be afraid. You’ll be all right. This memory cannot destroy you.
Don’t be afraid? I was terrified! I didn’t think I would survive reliving the painful event I had stuffed away so many years ago.
You will survive this. I’m right here with you. We’ll get through it together.
I did not want to heed the Voice. I was scared out of my mind. But the memory was bubbling to the surface on its own volition and I could no longer hold it back.
I drew in a deep breath.
My fingers gripped the arms of the white plastic chair.
I exhaled.
The apparition began to unfold.
I am ten years old...
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Patricia Curtis Really Being Alive Personal Life Coaching
Really Being Alive Personal Life Coaching with Patricia Curtis offers a way to come back home to oneself, to ones very own authentic ways of being.
Really Being Alive coaching is the way to RE-discover who YOU Really are deep down in your heart's core. The methods are simple and surprisingly fun. You will work directly with Patricia a one-on-one basis, practicing aspects of the methods found in Legends of the Plastic Chairs, to re-introduce you to the wonderful person who you Really are.
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