I slept last evening with a difficult decision swirling in my mind. My brain never ceases to amaze me, because whenever I do that, I dream of something that makes the decision easier. I wish I could discover how to tap the full functionality of my brain!
My young life was filled with alcohol-fueled violence. That is not the focus of this post, but a necessary backdrop if you will allow that.
Around 4-5 years old I was awakened by screaming–and until the dream today in the wee hours of this morning–I’d all but buried that memory–it was my mom’s voice as I’d never heard it. I sat up in the bed (then, years ago, not during the dream this morning) and stretched to listen closer. I slept on the top bunk, my two younger brothers shared a lower bunk. They were sleeping soundly; surely I had been dreaming. No… there it was again, muffled this time.
I got up and went to my parents’ door. Yes, something was wrong, but I had no idea what. I decided to run up to Granny’s house and get (my great-) Uncle Ralph; he would know what to do. Outside, I had doubts about what I was doing. It was mid spring or early summer, because the ground was wet and not frozen. I thought I had better check once more, to be sure this was really happening. I ran to the window on the trailer-house that was in my parents’ bedroom. I could hear my mom trying to scream; her voice still muffled as if my dad was holding his hand over her mouth. Yes, this was real! I had to do something, but what?! All sorts of possible outcomes began going through my young mind, not many of them were positive.
Suddenly, I realized I was sinking, and stinking. The sewage line dropped out of both bathrooms and emptied into a tank that my dad had built and installed himself. It was constantly overflowing, creating a sewage-swamp that oozed into an open ditch, which after winding across Uncle Ralph’s property, emptied into nearby Yoder Creek. We all referred to that portion that wound across the property and down to the creek as the “sewage ditch.” That “sewage ditch” was basically the boundary between “our” yard and Granny’s and Uncle Ralph’s yard. It was all Uncle Ralph’s property, we just parked our trailer in the back corner and lived there.
I jumped out of the muck and started running to Uncle Ralph and Granny’s house. Just as I jumped the sewage ditch, I froze. I was scared. What would happen to me if I followed through with this? Would I make things worse? Uncle Ralph was getting old… could he handle my drunk father? I looked down; I had one foot on each side of the sewage ditch. All the “crap” that went through my mind was represented literally, underneath my feet. Would I stand in the cesspool or would I head for higher ground?
Perhaps subconsciously that moment-in-time years ago has always helped me make decisions quickly. This morning, I was refreshed. I knew the decision I made yesterday was right. Standing in a cesspool isn’t helping anyone; straddling the sewage ditch might allow a better view of the crap, but it doesn’t change the fact that it is crap.
I am not straddling that particular sewage ditch anymore and it feels good heading for higher ground!