As I was saying in a previous post, I did a lot
of sitting in the first year and a half of my life,
which explains why I started to get bored at a
very young age.
It’s a good thing I had Kitty.
Kitty was a bull terrier.
Maybe not bull terrier through and through — you can tell she probably had some other breed in her — but whatever pedigree or lack thereof, she was my very first friend.
I remember my mom telling me, when I was about seven or eight, how Kitty helped me learn how to walk. She said I would grab onto Kitty’s short coat of hair and follow her as she slowly dragged me through the house or around the balcony.
Hearing this story for the first time, at seven or eight, I found it quite funny and cute. But once I dove into depression, at thirty and forty and fifty, the anecdote turned into a sad, gloomy, soul crippling tragedy. It meant that my mom had been SO busy that she hadn’t even bothered to guide me as I took my first steps on this planet. The word abandonment was a popular one when discussing my early childhood with my therapist.
Now that I’m healed (stand up and shout HALLELUJAH!)
I’ve gone back to finding the story funny and cute.
I can finally appreciate how patient Kitty was with me,
and how much she must have loved me. It fills me with
joy each time I think of her…my very first friend.
Question du jour:
Did you have a special friend when you were a toddler?