If Only I Could Tell You

If walls could talk, we'd spill all the tea! ALL. THE TEA! We're not supposed to. We're silent observers to life's machinations. But I can't stay silent any longer.

I hope this recording finds you well. You don't know me, but I know you very well. I watched you grow up. Well at least for the first 15 years.

I still remember when your mom and dad brought you home. They were so happy! Your father's eyes sparked with pride; he finally had a son, a strong healthy, baby boy!

Your sister wasn't as pleased. She was excited to see you, play with you, and hold you. But she was 5 and quickly found the focus shifted from her to you. Yes, she was the one who dumped you from your little chair and onto the floor. She was also the one who made you eat poop.

Kids do that. Envy is hard for a child. But I'm not telling you this to expose all your sister's wrongdoings. I'm here to talk about you.

I watched you grow from a baby into a toddler. So bright, so curious, so handsome, but so sad. The joy of childhood seemed to pass right over you and it broke my heart.

You got lost in the shuffle. I remember seeing your mother at night after she came home from her job. My goodness, Jan was a beautiful woman in her day, wasn't she? That soft dark curly hair, her bright blue eyes, and that proud way she had. At least when she was out in public.

She had that government job early on. She was very excited about that. It was a way to earn a decent living and contribute to the family.

But I remember seeing her, a tall tumbler of cheap white wine and Sprite in her hand. Sometimes it was scotch. She sat on that sofa, you know the one, that hideous beige floral thing with the cushions that never quite fit properly. And she wrung her hands and she worried. Sometimes she cried. When it became too much, she cried.

She waited until you were in bed, but she did cry. Jan wasn't a stupid woman. She knew her family was falling apart. She knew what your father was up to. She smelled the other women on him. She knew his shifty-eyed shuffle of bullshit.

I know you sensed something. You never slept. You always sat on the stairs, right at the top, until she invited you to join her. She dried her tears and let you come to the couch. You used to lay your head in her lap and she'd stroke your curls.

But she loved him, your father. She loved you and your sister. She loved her family. She wanted to keep it together. But she couldn't.

I know you remember that night. The night she threw him out. I was there. She tossed all of his stuff out into the yard. She didn't bother with bags. The second she discovered he was running around with Mandy, her coworker, she was done with a capital D.

I screamed at her to stop, to think, but honestly, I can't blame her.

You don't remember, but I do. I remember the terror in your soul as you ran downstairs. You were confused. You cried so hard, so full of fear, wondering why your daddy had to leave.

And he left without a fight. I know he figured he was beaten. He kissed your cheek and closed the door as you screamed. And he stayed away for quite a while.

You missed him desperately. You cried for him for weeks on end without any sort of explanation.

And she sat on the sofa and drank her wine and pop. More and more. One glass turned into 3 then 4 then more.

She didn't see you anymore. She didn't see your pain. She only saw hers, her pain, her insult. How dare he betray her!

She went through the motions. She put on a brave face at work. Then she came home and drank.

A few months later, I watched her leave the house every Friday and Saturday night in search of a new man. She brought a few home. I remember Jimmy, Jacob, Eddie, Fred, and Will.

I know you remember Fred, he's the guy that took you ice fishing and forgot about you when you went to the truck. You came home in tears because your toes were so cold.

Anyway, she was looking for love in all the wrong places and you were on your own with your sister. So you read and drew pictures.

Your father started coming around later. And I remember you loved that, but she didn't. She'd get tense and angry, hateful really. He hurt her and she was going to hurt him back!

She refused to let you live with him. She loved the power she had over him. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all.

So he gave up. It was too much trouble. He didn't want to be berated every single time he came to her door. He sent the cheques and did little else, at least from what I could see. He had women to see and work to do.

Then George came along. I remember the first night I saw him. He was a short, strange guy. Honestly, I'm not certain how the military allowed him in, but they did. She was hooked; it was weird!

He wasn't attractive. He wasn't bright. And honestly, I think that's exactly what she wanted, a man she felt was somehow lesser, a man that would worship her and he fit the bill.

He was some sort of security for her. She'd given her whole heart to your father and we know how that turned out. She chose a man who she thought would never ever betray her because he had no other option. That's the long and short of it.

And through his worship, she responded in kind. They created a bubble. You ceased to exist.

I remember. I was there. I remember how nothing else mattered but him. I remember how there were no more curl caresses on the couch. I remember how she yelled at you to get back to bed as you sat at the top of the stairs, clutching that stuffed ape, your only comfort from the night terrors that plagued you.

I remember how the groceries became scant because he needed money to pay his child support. I remember the two of them sitting at the dining room table figuring out how they could pay his arrears so he could get his European posting.

And I remember the day she made that choice. The one that changed the course of your life. She sold the house, your sanctuary, that modest split-level on Lilac Lane. For him!

And then, I don't know what happened because you were gone. I cried silently as I watched you leave. I worried about you. Such a sweet child with a tender heart. I wanted to just snatch you up and keep you as my own, but you weren't.

However, I do know something that you need to hear. It's taken me over 40 years to come forward, but I see you, I feel you and you need to know. It wasn't you. It was never you. It was them.

I know the doubt and uncertainty you felt. I know the loneliness and the longing in your heart as you came home from school to an empty house and made the only snack you could, day-old bread and off-brand Cheese Whiz.

I know you felt lost in a sea of foreigners, of a foreign species, like you were an alien, dropped here for reasons unknown. I know you fantasized that maybe that was the case. It sure would have made sense for an outsider in his own home.

Here's the thing I have to tell you; you were and are a wonderful, brilliant creation. You have a special place in this world. You are valued and you are loved. You are not an outsider.

You, like many of us, are the product of damaged people who did damaging things. Their pain superseded your own. Their needs superseded yours. It shouldn't have been that way. Adults should be able to put their garbage aside for the sake of the kids, but that hardly ever happens, especially without a concerted effort.

I was there those first few years. You were loved. You are loved. You are adored. You just had the misfortune to be adored by people who can't show it because they don't love themselves. Hurt people hurt people.

That's no excuse. You need to zealously protect your peace. I'm not here to plead their case. I'm just a wall, what do I know?

All I'm trying to tell you is that wherever you are, whatever you're up to now, there's someone on this earth that can say it; I love you.

I think you're amazing. I know you are beautiful and bright and worthy of all the good things life has to offer. Your past, your parents, are not a reflection of your worth. They're a reflection of 2 damaged people without a clue. Adults don't always behave like...well, adults.

I hope you've found peace and love within yourself. If not, let me repeat, you, like all children, were and are innocent.

You know the old saying, "it's not you, it's me?" Well, it wasn't you, it was them. They couldn't love you the way you needed. It was wrong. It was tragic. In some respects it was criminal. They need to live with that in whatever separate ways they do.

But I always did. I always loved you. From the moment I saw your big blueish-grey eyes and little button nose, I loved you. I loved you when you cried at night, terrified of the ghosts in your mind. I loved you when you spent countless hours alone in your room with a handful of books and a pencil and paper. I loved you when I knew you were hungry after an inadequate supper for a growing boy and nothing else on offer.

And I love you now because you are worthy of love. I should have said something sooner. I tried, but times being what they were, I couldn't. I just couldn't.

But today, I can. They're about to knock me down. Renovations, you know how it is. But the wall between the kitchen and the living room, you know, me at 139 Lilac Lane will soon cease to exist.

I had to tell you. You've haunted me for ages. Who knew a wall would care so much?

Go forth, child. Stand tall and proud knowing that you are and were loved. I loved and still love you and I have a feeling even when my time ends and the wrecking ball comes, I'll still love you. No matter the circumstance, remember:

You're special, you are worthy and you are loved. It's your world too, take your place in it:

Sincerely,

The Wall Behind the TV