To
confront a person with his shadow is to show him his own light. —Carl Jung
How
many times have I heard myself
chalk
up my keep-the-peace proclivity,
my
pen-to-paper instinct,
to
Dad and Mom respectively;
assign
origin of both gifts and hardships
to
Eldes and Johnsons?
My
two-year-old son has already started.
My coat is from Mama.
My guitar is from Dada.
My book is from Grandpa
Randy.
My shoes are from
Grandma Robyn…
I
wonder. Is this the beginning?
Benign
precursor of more charged attributions
down
the road? And might I have passed down
the
tendency to ascribe origin in the first place
to
a son who says often, staring up at his ceiling,
The shadows are in the
light?
--Kristen Elde
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