From my childhood until leaving my home to marry, there was an endearing and comfortable print that hung on my wall. I accepted it as part of 'me' and in truth, never asked or wondered from where it came. " She" belonged to me. When I married, I took her with me, moving her with us through graduate school, military, new jobs, and always stored her carefully. She would be stored with childhood memorabilia I wanted to keep and I would discover her again while unpacking boxes. I never could decide where to display her because she didn't 'work' with our other furnishings and decorating.
Twenty two years ago, when unpacking once again, I found her and decided I wanted to display her because I still loved her and why not enjoy her. I had her newly matted and framed but no location in mind. I moved her a couple of times, exchanging her with other wall art, and finally hung her in our exercise room with warm reds and golds where I could see her at least four or five times a week.
When we are not using our fireplace in the warmer months, I put her on a custom made easel and displayed her on the fireplace hearth in our living room.
My friend is nameless. She is a little black girl with a turned up nose, long yellow slicker, red rubbers, carrying an umbrella with a duck head knob. That yellow slicker and that dark, cute face always charmed me. She was cheerful and made me smile.
Recently, a psychic friend was visiting for the first time and we considered the print. I shared how special she has always been to me and that she'd hung in my childhood bedroom for as long as I remember. Whom hung it there? Where did she come from? I never remembered a discussion about her. She 'just was'. I'd lie in bed and look at her.
My friend 'looked' into the history and told me that indeed, my mother put her there because she wanted me to be exposed to diversity. "What?!' Upon consideration, I better understood myself and how that one item mother gave to me shaped a fundamental part of who I am. It also made me contemplate whom my mother was, as I had not before. There were hints a few times but as a teen, I believe I was more interested in what her comment was, how it related to the conversation and not what her feelings regarding the topic was.
Mother died too early and I often have wished I'd known more of her depth. I knew many of her tangible talents but maybe not her truths.
My friend gave me a gift I cherish.
