MEMOIR
A Letter To My Younger Self
I wish I knew then what I know now
If I were to write a letter to my younger self, it would read something like this:
It wasn’t your fault! You were not a bad kid.
You were fun and spunky—yes, mischievous and curious—but you were not bad. You were scared, confused, and crying out for someone to take care of you. Yes, you were attention-seeking and talked too much, but what you need to know is that your behavior was a way for you to cope.
Does being the class clown make you bad? No, having a sense of humor makes you able to make people laugh. It gave you a vehicle to hide your depression and fear. It helped ease the pain of growing up without a dad and a mother who was too ill to take care of you properly.
I wish you had seen what others saw—a little kid living in a tough situation and doing her best.
It doesn’t matter that your mom called you a bad seed—a reference to an old movie of the same title about a child who killed her classmate.
It wasn’t true that you were the dumbest kid in the class, even though you flunked 6th grade. You couldn’t concentrate on school the year your dad died, and no one helped you catch up.
