"Regrets--I've had a few" and I Shall Mention Them Here and Come Clean!

We are shaped by the people that we perceive love us unconditionally.

I was talking yesterday to a friend about regrets in our lives. She mentioned that she regrets not finishing college, and I quickly responded, "But you can still do that!"

Then I said that my regrets are such that I could not do anything about them. Most of them are about hurting other people.

Being known for my "tactlessness," I'm sure that I have hurt many people unintentionally and was completely unaware that I had hurt them. But these regrets that I write about now are about intentional hurts.

I'll talk first about Dethula Mathis.

There she stands in the top picture on the left in 1984 at age 54, I think. Sorry the picture is not clearer.

Here's the story. It was in my childhood in the 1950s (grades 4-6) in Madison, Tennessee. My family and I lived on Berwich Trail, way down a long driveway by the Cumberland River. For several years Dethula was our domestic, as we called black women who came into the house to help our mothers with housework. Though my mother was a stay-at-home mother (as were most mothers that we knew), she kept such a spotless, perfect house, she needed help once a week to keep it that way. Plus she needed help to do all of the ironing that was done back then--to starch and iron my father's crisp white shirts, my school dresses, etc.

My mother was not a very nurturing woman, but Dethula was the essence of the word maternal. For years, she mothered me, as I had not known such nurturing before or since. As much as I loved school and my teachers, I loved her more. I couldn't wait to get home from school on the days she worked at our house and was always greeted by her big smile and a warm embrace. Then I would hang with her as she completed her chores. On occasion, I would pretend to be sick so that I could stay home from school to be with her. She would baby me like no other--fix me my favorite foods for lunch (PB& strawberry J and her delightful concoction of homemade chicken noodle soup with a rare gingerale), read to me, and rub my back until I fell asleep,  Later I discovered that she was referred to in the Madison area as "Big Mama."

Me around 8 or 9.

So life was good to me in those early years in Madison, Tennessee. (http://lauramallernee.blogspot.com/2014/01/a-memoir-very-best-of-my-childhood-years.html),

And Dethula was an integral part of that good life. I had felt loved by her and by my Granddaddy Clark (http://lauramallernee.blogspot.com/2013/09/a-memoir-someone-to-love-me.html) and by my teachers at Neely's Bend Elemenary School.

Then we moved away to Louisville, Kentucky, where things changed for me in many different ways and where these things changed me. (http://lauramallernee.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-memoir-louisville-years.html)

Flash forward to Madison, Tennessee, 1964. After a couple chaotic, confusing years in Louisville, Kentucky, my family had returned to Madison, where I was to spend my best high school years--my sophomore and junior years at Madison High School. I had left Madison at age 12, feeling on top of the world, and I returned to Madison at age 14 an insecure teenager, thinking that what mattered the most were the way I looked, the clothes that I wore, and how popular I was or was not.

Me at 13 or 14.

So one day as I walked into the Madison High School cafeteria for lunch, I spied Dethula way back in the serving area. Back then, probably blacks were not allowed out in the front, where we students were served our food. Immediately, I ignored her. Weeks passed and I continued to ignore her, hoping that she would not see nor recognize me. But one day, Dethula caught sight of me in the serving line and her face broke into her biggest smile, and she loudly and lovingly called out my name, "Laura!"

I turned away from her as if  I did not know who she was, but not before seeing the look of deep hurt on her face (or do I just imagine that). I had become a snobby little overt racist! Because she was black, I was rejecting the person who had shown me the most kindness in my younger years. And I felt nothing, or perhaps I felt that I was jusified. I don't recall what I felt--except embarrassed that she had called my name, hoping no one else had noticed. That was it; that was the only and last time that Dethula tried to acknowledge me. I guess she knew exactly what was going on in my small mind and smaller heart.

As best I can recall, I immediately regretted what I had done, but didn't have the courage to make amends for it. I avoided even looking at Dethula the rest of my years at Madison High School, for fear that she would again try to speak to me. I simply ran my heedless high school ways through the rest of my days there, caring only about myself.

Sometime later in my life, I began to feel shame and sadness and repentance for what I had done. But one day led to another, and my life continued on in its shambles through college and into adulthood. Still later when I read D. H. Lawrence's poem "Snake" and taught it to my high schoolers, I knew that I found comfort in his words:

"And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

"And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life. [with one of the saints of life]
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness."

Expiate means "to atone for guilt or sin." Synonyms include "make up for, do penance for, pay for."

I can see from an online obituary that Dethula died in 2010 at the age of 90 and left behind three grown children and many grandchildren and great grandchildren. I wish that I could have visited her in this lifetime, so that I could have apologized to her and told her my story of how much she meant to me when I was a little girl who lived at the end of that long driveway by the Cumberland River and how much her affection for me meant later in my life..

Dethula is one of those people that I will definitely be looking up when I get to Heaven, for I have a sin to expiate. My deepest hope is that she doesn't ignore me, that she will somehow find it in her big heart to forgive me.

Southern Utah in October, 2016--Zion National Park--my favorite!

After hiking in Byrce Canyon that Monday morning, October 17, I drove a couple hours to Zion National Park. Zion, like Capitol Reef National Park, is on the road that runs through it. Above is my first view of Zion.

(BTW, I'm sorry, but I notice that these beautiful, colorful pictures do not transfer to my computer (blog) as high defintion as they are on my phone. So you are gonna have to use your imagination to enhance them!)

Like Capitol Reef, Zion is also on a river--the Virgin River. In other words, a river runs through Zion, with all of its tributaries and creeks. Which perhaps accounts for its amazing variety of colors.

the sparkling green Virgin River

or sometimes blue sparkling waters of her tributaries

I had to go through several tunnels--some much longer than this one, which of course, required lights on!

That afternoon as I drove through Zion, I had to keep stopping my car and getting out to truly appreciate the vivid colors and forms of its captivating beauty.

I can't begin to describe the actual colors in this picture, which are not showing up. The colors of this same picture on my phone are deep tans with bright white tops and red rock to the right with vivid greens below.

Below is my view from my hotel room in Springdale, Utah, just on the outskirts of the park. The next morning I caught a shuttle right outside my hotel and journeyed back into the park. On the shuttle I met visitors to the park from around the states and around the world--there were many Asian people and people from Engliand and Switzerland. I heard Hebrew spoken and had an interesting conversation with some people from Isreal. 

Everywhere I went people from all over the states and the world were saying that they could not believe that someone like Trump was running for President of the United States! Sadly, I have to wonder what they think now.

Again the colors of bright whites and deep reds are missing in this picture!

There were many stops along the way, where you could exit from the shuttle bus. I got off at one them--the last one, I believe--and had a delightful morning hike along the river bank,

Unless you forget, we are out West!

.

As in the other parks, the cottonwoods were at their peak!

After I caught a shuttle back into the town of Springdale, I was treated to the best meal of my trip--homemade chicken parmesan--and from the restaurant, I had one of the best views too (see below).

All in all, this solo trip of mine was another fun adventure. I would not choose to go to these parks in the heat or the crowds of  the summer or in the snow and ice of the winter. Autumn and spring are usually the ideal times to travel into this region. Zion National Park and Capitol Reef National Park were my two favorites on this trip, but I would return to any of these Southern Utah national parks in a heartbeat!