How Are We Really Perceived By Others?

I had a very challenging writing assignment this week that I wanted to post. We've been talking about how we are perceived by people very close to us, preferably those that live with us.  We were to write, in their voice, how they perceive us, in the first person.  Are ya with me?!  So, to make it easier: I chose Anna.  And so I wrote in the first person as if I were Anna, perceiving me.  Let me just put it out there, this was incredibly difficult and took me a long time and I tried to be honest with myself and literally give Anna's thoughts a voice.  But, I'm proud of it.  I challenge you to think about how you are perceive -  by your spouse, kids, parents, siblings.  I promise it will make you want to be a better person for those that you love. So here it is.

My mom, her name is Juliann.  She has very dark hair, and mine is blonde.  People say that I look like my dad, but I think I look like her.  She always seems to be busy and on the phone a lot.  People like her and like talking to her.  I love coming home from school and seeing her sit on the front porch, waiting and smiling.  My mom looks young; all my friends tell me they think she is pretty.  I am pretty like her, but with golden hair.

 

She asks about my day at school, but sometimes gets distracted when I answer.  She texts a lot and always has her phone.  I love how she calls me “Beauty”.  She hugs me a lot, and Andrew, too.  She has homework now that she has to do, and she sits at the kitchen table with her white computer while I do my homework.  She’s in college now. 

I love when she puts me to bed; she is always the sweetest at night.  I pray, and sometimes she says the prayer, too.  She kneels by my bed and holds my hands while we say the prayer, together.  I love to talk to her afterwards about lots of things, as she scratches my back.  I like when she smiles at me when I say, “I’m a chatterbox”, as I lay in my bed looking up at the ceiling.  Her eyes are brown like mine; but she doesn’t have glasses like me.  I’m the only one who does

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One day she taught me not to be afraid of the wind.  I was so, so scared.  I was in the backseat of the car, on our way to Kindergarten.  It was so windy, with branches blowing everywhere.  I had seen “The Wizard of Oz” and knew twisters happened in the world.  I asked her if they happened in Kaysville.  I was crying and wanted to stay with her, safe in her arms.  She told me that I could say a prayer and that Heavenly Father would help me.  And He did.  Right then.  We both felt Him help me.  I think she cried, and she told me we were both feeling the Spirit.  She doesn’t cry a lot.  I went to school and never was afraid of the wind again.  I think about it sometimes, and I tell her that I think of it, which makes her happy and smile

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My mom sings so pretty.  I want to sing like her.  I sing in the shower, and in the car, and to music on my iPod.  She told me I have a more beautiful voice than her. We sang a song together called “Heavenly Choirs” at church one Sunday.  I was so nervous but we practiced and I loved the words, especially the “Hallelujah’s”.  My dad cried; my grandma and aunts did, too.  They were so proud.

We go to her choir concerts a lot.  She is very busy with her choir.  I think she is the boss and president.  She always tells us to be quiet when she has to talk to someone on the phone about choir.  I like to watch her get dressed up for her concerts; I love that long, black dress and pearl necklace.  I wonder if she’ll let me wear it someday. 

Sometimes she is very sad, like when people she knows die.  Her friend Jane died.  And her friend Andy.  She cries a lot when people die.  I watched her cry hard when Ginger died.  Ginger was her puppy that had gotten old and was very sick.  But my mom still loved her and didn’t want to let her go.  I sat on the couch while she held Ginger for the last time.  I wanted to cry, too, but tried to smile at her because I knew she was sad. I was very quiet.  All my aunts cried, and my grandma and grandpa, too.  We took a picture with Ginger; my mom held her.  Grandma had given Ginger a pill to make her sleep so she wouldn’t be afraid.  Ginger couldn’t walk very well, and it scared me.  I didn’t want to hold her

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My grandpa said a prayer, and I heard my mom cry out loud and put her face in her hands.  I saw tears fall down into her hands.  My eyes stayed open during the prayer, every though they were supposed to be closed.

 

Then they left and took Ginger to the hospital for animals.  I wondered what would happen to Ginger, but no one told me exactly; they just said she would be going to sleep forever.  My mom tried to smile at us as they walked out the door, but in her eyes were still tears.  I waited for them to come home, wondering if they would bring Ginger back with them.

Then they were there, in the backyard.  We had been playing with my dad and uncles and didn’t know they had returned home.  My mom stood under the apple tree, her arms folded, while grandpa dug a grave with a shovel.  I asked if I could watch, and they said yes.

Grandma held Ginger’s body in cream-colored towel.  I could see Ginger’s back paws.  Grandpa lowered her into the ground.  My mom cried more, but she didn’t seem quite as sad.  She put her arm around me and talked about what happens when we die.

That night when she prayed with me in my room, she asked that we all be blessed not to miss Ginger too much.  I love when she says prayers with me, tucks me in and  gives me a hug, and walks out my door as she says she loves me.

And I say, “I love you, too.”