Walking on Eggshells, not Sunshine
And it Don’t Feel Good
You hear the door slam and your breath stops, your jaw clenches, and your shoulders go up to your ears. Your heart starts pounding, and fight or flight or freeze kicks in. Again.
You got busy and forgot to keep an eye out for their car.
“Hello?”
Your intuition is in overdrive, scanning for clues.
Are they in a good mood or a bad mood today?
Will they be chatty and happy or a human whirlwind, spinning out chaos and fear?
Or will they go dark, silent, unreachable?
I failed to hear my father come home one day when I was watching a forbidden show.
What was this forbidden show?
Was it X-rated? Racist? Violent or horrifying?
What was he saving me from seeing?
The Monkees.
The light-hearted British comedy about a group of musicians with Davy Jones as the charming lead singer.
Daydream Believer. Those kinds of happy little songs.
I literally don’t remember what happened that day my dad came home. It’s gone.
But I never watched it again.
