The Little Cucumber

Once upon a time there was a perky little cucumber. She was cute and fresh and crunchy and unafraid. She was the perfect little cucumber.

When it was time to go home with her parents she was plucked from the vine and they all went home to their vat of brine.

The little cucumber didn't like the brine. It was dark and scary, there was yelling and fights and the bitterness made it hard to breathe. The little cucumber really wanted to make her parents proud of her so she didn't complain. She learned to accept the brine as the way it was. The little cucumber made her parents laugh and did great at school and never talked about the bitter brine that they lived in.

The little cucumber thought all cucumbers lived in a dark, bitter, harsh vat of brine.

The little cucumber had a best friend named Randi. The other cucumbers picked on Randi because she wore glasses but the little cucumber protected her and they became friends.

One weekend Randi invited the little cucumber to spend the night. When the little cucumber got to Randi's house the little cucumber was surprised to find that Randi lived in the sunshine. It was happy and bright and easy to breathe at Randi's house. Randi's mom made souffles and she let the girls watch TV and play with the dog. The little cucumber loved Randi's house and never wanted to go home.

The little cucumber loved her parents and didn't want to disappoint them but that day the little cucumber decided that when she grew up she was going to live in the sunshine like Randi did.

In sixth grade the little cucumber learned about bad parents - the ones that lived in saline solution. Saline solution sounded really scary and she was really glad that she didn't live there. She had good parents.

When the little cucumber started dating she always seemed to be attracted to other cucumbers that had grown up in brine. That was ok, she was going to help them to come and live in the sunshine with her.

The little cucumber married a cute boy cucumber with feathered blonde hair and they went to live in the sunshine. The sunshine felt good at first but then the little cucumber got a sunburn and the clean air felt strange in the little cucumber's lungs. It seemed that after all those years in the brine, the clean air and sunshine didn't feel like home anymore and the cucumber couple soon found themselves back in the comfortable darkness of the brine.

The cute little cucumber tried really hard to be in the sunshine. She divorced the cute boy cucumber because it must be his fault, she had left the sunshine for him.

Then the cute little cucumber met a wonderful cucumber. He took her places and they had fun together and they married and had a little boy cucumber. Every once in a while the little cucumber would wake up and be in the brine again. Then slowly, little by little, the days of sunshine were replaced by days of brine. At first it was a day of brine a month and the next thing the little cucumber knew the boy was 12 and they were living in brine again.

The little cucumber was angry to be living in the brine again. After all the work she had put into doing everything perfectly, she deserved better than to be living in the brine. The little cucumber packed her things and left again. She would not put up with another day of living in the brine.

But, it happened again. No matter how hard the little cucumber tried she kept ending up back in the brine.

One day the little cucumber woke up and realizing she was in brine, again, looked around to find out who put her there but there was no one to be found. She was alone. There was no one to blame but herself. That day she had to admit to herself that she was no longer a cucumber. All those years growing up in brine had changed her. She was not that perky fresh cucumber she was as a baby. She had become a pickle. Just like her parents and her parents parents. She suddenly realized that she came from a long line of pickles.

That day changed the cucumber's life. That day the little cucumber admitted that she was powerless. That her life had become unmanageable.

She got down on her little pickle knees and asked god to help her to become the cucumber she was born to be. That day she became willing to change.

You'll look great on my Christmas cards

My dad was a big handsome, high school football star and officer in the air force. He'd been stationed in Pakistan and he'd jumped out of a plane. He looked really great in the wedding photos. He looked really great on paper. He was any mother's dream for her daughter. Until you get to the part where he was mean and selfish, lacking in compassion and warmth.

The physical abuse was one thing, the constant criticism and not being able to do anything good enough for him, was another.

Problem was, the whole relationship was built on the outside. She wanted 6 kids, he wanted to explore the world in his Austin Healy Sprite. He resented having to sell his cute little sports car when I was born but he finally traded it in for something more practical. She tried to mold him to fit into her picture of the world while he took extended hunting trips to get away. As the pain escalated, we learned to look good, to smile pretty, to project the image of the perfect and beautiful family.

There's this funny cultural competition in Dallas where families get together and have their annual photos. They all dress the same, smile pretty and project that super sweet image to "out perfect" the neighbors. Families that are not talking, that have raging alcoholism and abuse, cover the bruises and smile pretty so they can show the world that they've done well. It's all built on the outside.

Matthew 7:[26] And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: [27] And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.

When I started dating, I chose the ones that looked good. My first boyfriend had blonde feathered hair and the handle to his comb looked really great in his back pocket. He was also dumber than a hammer and couldn't keep a job. He brought nothing to the table except that he looked great on my arm and I kept him there longer than I should because the girls at school thought he was a fox.

Even now, 32 years later, I can feel the hollow emptiness of that relationship. We used each other to feel better about ourselves and it still hurts. It was the same empty loneliness I learned from my family. It was pain but it was familiar and I called it love.

When I look back on the photos of my life I can still feel the pain. I look great. The man next to me is handsome. We are smiling pretty.

A Convenient Little Lie

I was up all night. She needed for someone to listen. She was desperate. She was lost and she hadn't told anyone else what was going on. She was finally letting it out.

My girlfriend is super cute. I call her the bombshell. She's smart, funny, super big heart. She will bend over backward to help you. She loves her mother and her mother drives her crazy. She just wants to be loved for real. She's been in a physically and emotionally abusive relationship for the last 6 years.

It brings up all my craziness from 1993, the year I started a new business, got a divorce, bought a house, the house burnt down and I was with an abusive man that I figured would kill me by the time I was 34, just like my mom.

Abuse is a family disease. It runs in my family. My aunt was murdered by an ex-boyfriend. My mom was murdered by my dad. I figured it was my lot in life to be murdered by my boyfriend, too. I mean, who am I to be any different.

My childhood home was abusive. It was normal to fight in front of the kids. During dinner. After church. My parent's room was downstairs and it was dark and scary. Strange bumping and cries were heard outside the closed door. We never talked about the bruises. We never talked about the drinking glass that was hurled at my mom so hard that the glass embedded in the wall behind her.

When I was in third grade we left. It was the middle of the school year. I was 7 and I was her best friend. I was the one who distracted and diffused his anger. She told me that he had strangled her and threatened to kill her. I love my mom more than anything and I hated this 210 pound monster that smiled as he pulled the belt from his waist. I had fantasies about sneaking into their room at night. While he was asleep I would take my baseball bat and smash his head in before he could wake up. I had to be quiet and I had to have good aim. And I felt deep shame about those thoughts because he was my dad.

Instead of going to school that day, we left. We packed the green Volkswagen bus and, looking out the front window, she cried for the three days we drove to my grandmother's house. I remember laying in the back of the darkened bus, my brother and sisters sleeping around me. Road noise, streetlights flashing above my head and the sounds of my mother sobbing.

She stayed for the kids. At least that's what she told herself. It's a convenient little lie. It takes away all responsibility.

It took her another year to get up the courage to leave. A year of therapy, a year of getting a job and a year of admitting she was in an abusive relationship.