When we’re little, things happen. Most of us harbor scars of one kind or another from our childhoods. One of the funniest things I ever heard was my twelve-year-old son when he accidentally stumbled upon his naked mother scooting from hot tub to laundry room to grab a towel. Aghast he yelped, “ Oh my God … I’m scarred forever.”
My Dad was a bit of a tyrant and had the habit of looking over my shoulder as he bit his tongue cursing at every errant move I might make. It was nerve wracking and to this day if someone looks over my shoulder I cannot for the life of me so much as write my name.
Once in a while someone will give me a dirty look. It may be at a traffic light, or in a crowd at the mall. I’m not sure exactly where it comes from but I know it’s tied to feeling physically threatened as a child. I will immediately become fighting mad.
Sometimes I make a mistake on an IRS form or forget to pay a quarterly tax. The moment I realize the mistake my heart jumps in my throat, my hair raises up on the back of my neck and a sweat breaks out at my temples. Somewhere along the line I did something that left me feeling very guilty … and it lingers just beneath the surface.