Being from a divorced family was much more unique in the 1950s than it is now, and apparently something for a child to be ashamed of. I didn’t realize that until my Bluebird Troop visited our local radio station when I was 7. The announcer engaged in a live interview with each of the girls.
I was so energetic – all twirls & smiles – and so excited to get to be on the radio.
When the man came to me, he asked the same questions he had asked of the others, but there seemed to be something very wrong with my answers …
“What’s your name?”
“What does your daddy do?”
“Oh, I don’t have a daddy.”
The expression on the nice announcer’s face changed drastically, and he quickly removed the microphone from in front of me and started talking to the next Bluebird. I was immediately flooded with an overwhelming sense of shame.
It was clear to me that I’d said something terribly wrong, but no one told me what it was. And I was too afraid to ask. So I filed the experience away under an enduring belief about myself:
“There’s something drastically wrong with you.
But no one will ever tell you what it is.
No one will give you the slightest clue.
You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.”
What is one of your childhood memories?
How might it still impacting how you think about yourself today?