{"id":503,"date":"2013-07-10T18:21:14","date_gmt":"2013-07-10T18:21:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.beliefnet.com\/onfire\/?p=503"},"modified":"2013-07-10T18:26:59","modified_gmt":"2013-07-10T18:26:59","slug":"a-psychologist-a-dead-chicken-and-the-back-door","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.beliefnet.com\/columnists\/onfire\/2013\/07\/10\/a-psychologist-a-dead-chicken-and-the-back-door\/","title":{"rendered":"A Psychologist, a Dead Chicken, and the Back Door"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"1387164_chicks_in_the_farmyard_1\"<\/a>I read a book about the impact of childhood memories. The author, a well-known psychologist, wrote that if we recall our three most vivid memories, we\u2019d see who we are. Or, he could describe to us what we\u2019re like\u2026something like that.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve given it a lot of thought.<\/p>\n

For me, traveling back in time always brings up a day in the back yard with chickens.<\/p>\n

My hardworking parents, both raised on a farm, struggled to make a living in town for their eight-member family. Dad went off to work every day as the assistant manager-in-training at a dry cleaners. Mom mainly stayed home, although now and then she worked part-time jobs in retail.<\/p>\n

One Saturday afternoon a former neighbor of Mom\u2019s drove up in his truck. With the help of my parents, he unloaded two wooden crates carrying chickens\u2014six in all. The poor birds were jittery, knowing they were out of their usual milieu. Frantic clucks and squawks leaked out of their beaks.<\/p>\n

Mom and Dad ordered, \u201cAll kids to the back yard.\u201d Dad would kill the chickens and Mom and the kids were to pluck out the feathers.<\/p>\n

Dad pulled the first fluttering chicken from the crate. With the help of my oldest brother, he grasped the bird and stretched its neck over a tree stump. Then he axed its head off with one firm blow.<\/p>\n

All of four years old, I stared, wide-eyed.<\/p>\n

Then panicked.<\/p>\n

The beheaded chicken did not fall over dead. Instead, its wings flapped wildly as its body hopped around the yard.<\/p>\n

Was it coming after us? To get revenge?<\/p>\n

Was it coming after me<\/i>?<\/p>\n

I dashed madly for the house. Knowing I was expected to help with the plucking, I ran just inside the back door and hid behind the frame. I peeked out, shivering with fright.<\/p>\n

In time the poor chicken gave up the fight and fell over. Finally at rest.<\/p>\n

What\u2019s so poignant to me about this memory is not the behavior of the beheaded chicken. It\u2019s the people.<\/p>\n

My parents acted like nothing unusual happened. My brothers laughed loudly. Dad went in and out of the back door and glanced at me hovering there, frightened.<\/p>\n

But no one said anything to me.<\/p>\n

No \u201cThis is how it is with chickens. I\u2019ve seen it a hundred times. It\u2019s OK.\u201d<\/p>\n

No \u201cAre you frightened? Don\u2019t worry. I\u2019m here and I will always protect you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Amazingly, Mom, ever watchful for one of her children trying to avoid work, didn\u2019t yell for me. She plucked the dirty, bloody feathers, standing by the garbage can, and expected us to follow suit. In time, I did.<\/p>\n

Mr. psychologist is right. This memory is the kind of thing that shaped me. I grew up thinking:<\/p>\n

– I\u2019m on my own. No one looks out for me.
\n– I need to be very clever at reading people. Anticipate what they might do. Manage their expectations. Because there might be a hidden agenda.
\n– No one is in charge of the world making sure things turn out all right. I must be very, very good. Obey the rules. Who knew what God thought either?<\/p>\n

I grew up insecure, to say the least. But the psychologist didn\u2019t write the full story.<\/p>\n

Now I see that the chicken memory, and others like it, played a critical role in developing me into the person I\u2019ve become\u2026the strength I\u2019ve acquired\u2026the talents I express\u2026the causes I care about.<\/p>\n

I needed experiences to push against. I needed to learn to overcome. My fears fueled my search for God. In a way, the frightening, beheaded chicken is one reason I write this column.<\/p>\n

I know how important it is for people to be seen. Whether hiding behind the back door or trying to laugh the fear away, people must be told:<\/p>\n

Do not ever lose the truth that all will be well. You are safe. <\/i><\/p>\n

Go out and work and play with all you\u2019ve got.<\/i><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve got your back.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u2014God<\/p>\n

– – – – –<\/p>\n

photo credit: stock.xchng<\/p>\n

– – – – –<\/p>\n

Dear Reader, thanks for visiting ON FIRE. Your feedback is treasured.<\/p>\n

Gloria<\/p>\n

gloria@gloriarose.com<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I read a book about the impact of childhood memories. The author, a well-known psychologist, wrote that if we recall our three most vivid memories, we\u2019d see who we are. Or, he could describe to us what we\u2019re like\u2026something like that. I\u2019ve given it a lot of thought. 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