Hugging Porcupines

sometimes our most difficult relationships help us grow

I am one of those folks that have a lot of early memories. Many of them center around death and the grief space that I was born into. Yes, some of these are sad, many are traumatic, yet there are also ones that bear witness to the seeds of joy that are deeply rooted in me. This particular one, even though it is over 50 years old always feels especially vivid.

(Me & Pops over the years, middle photo was taken the same year this post is about)

The air was thick with wafts of Old Spice and warm leather. Tiny beads of sweat danced across my forehead. The too tight little yellow plastic barrettes pinning my auburn hair back, with the blue and white polka dotted shorts set had me looking like I stepped right out of the Sears & Roebuck catalogue. I was beaming inside, and singing out loud “Build Me Up Buttercup’’ as we drove through Prospect Park. “Tracy darlin’, for you we’ll take the long way.” I loved getting to drive through that park. All the majestic and towering Maple and Oak trees made me forget that we were in Brooklyn. I’d pretend we were in some type of enchanted forest, just like the ones in the piles of storybooks neatly stacked by my bed.

I sat right behind my Pops, yet would move to the other side to try to get a better look at the tiny lake as we passed it. It was 1970 and seatbelts were a thing in the future, and little bodies filled with ice cream and wonder could do tumbles and twists in back seats.

“Look Pops! The magic tree! “

The far side of the lake had the most graceful weeping willow. There were a few folks sitting on green and white plastic and metal lawn chairs, and several more standing with their poles dangling in the water.

“Pops, can you take me fishing one day…pleeeeease?” I did not really want to fish, just knew that I’d get to play with more delightful earthworms and use Pops magnifying glass to observe the faeries.

I was truly happy that day, the way little kids are- giddy with anticipation and feeling special to be getting his full attention. These few hours were infused with some kind of magic. I still believed in wishes coming true and that no matter what, this six foot guy with his huge bear sized hands and tender words would always protect me.

Pops was looking ever so dapper in his pressed baby blue bowling shirt, it matched his “sky eyes”, oh they were the most inviting shade of blue ever. My Pops was the handsomest and most charming man I ever saw. He was extra impeccably dressed today, he was proud to bring his little darlin’ to his bowling league’s tournament. His black Ace comb peeked out of his pocket, his khakis were so sharply creased. His blonde hair combed back, slicked with the tiniest bit of dippity doo gel so it didn’t even budge as the breeze danced through the station wagon. I kept closing and opening my eyes, trying so hard to paint the vividness of this day in my little head, I wanted it to be this day forever. Somehow it always stayed with me, even though I was just four years old, some part of me kept this memory in a little treasure box. Every beloved moment of this day would later carry me through. It would softly remind me, many years later, when there was a lot more tears and beers, hollering and hurts, that this man was still the most important guy in the world, and that sometimes tender hearts erect the biggest walls.

The next part is what makes me well up like a small child to this day.

Pops parked the car and told me to wait till he could come around and help me get out. I was too eager, too much excitement for my small body to contain, but I waited anyway. He got to my door and slowly opened it, and I jumped out so fast and immediately tripped on the bricks. For all of my forty something pounds, I came down awfully hard. I felt tears begging to be set free but I bit my lip, I surely wasn’t gonna let my fumble mess up this perfect day. I was still on the ground, gravel in my bloody knee and scratched up elbow. They stung worse than the bee had earlier that year. I could hear his voice get awfully loud, and I wasn’t sure if he was mad at me, for a moment there was a roughness to his voice that I never heard sent my way. Sure he was loud at times, he was a burly Irish tin knocker from Brooklyn. Yet somehow in the mind of my little girl self it just never occurred to me that perhaps one day he’d yell at me, how could he, I was after all ‘’his little Tracy darlin.”But his voice became so big I felt for just a second like I could disappear into those concrete bricks. But even as he yelled with his voice, I could still feel his tenderness whispering, as he ever so gently picked me up. He then proceeded to reach into his back pocket, pull out his white handkerchief and ever so carefully wipe my face and blot the tears that now were forcing me to set them free. He told me he never wanted to see me hurt, could I please listen and be more careful, and he went into the glove compartment and brought out a bandana and made me a tiny little sling for my hurt elbow. “We will wash it out at the bowling alley, and he picked me up. He carried me across the “big street” and when I looked at him I know I saw him tearing up.

This memory etched into my bones, carrying me through a lifetime of trying to stay close to this beautifully broken man. Over the years I would come to see how deep grief and buried feelings would often consume his tender heart. When my little brother died, he would erect huge walls around his alabaster heart.

He would become a difficult person to stay close to. I kind of saw it as “hugging a porcupine,” as after all porcupines could be prickly and spiky, yet they were also quite innocent and cuddly to me. This relationship taught me so much about myself. His inner demons would become a shadow that crept into view for many years for me. Now I can see how working on my own healings has in many ways helped him. Our difficult yet devoted bond continued until he left this earthwalk twelve years ago. We have managed to grow even closer, as he whispers to me from the beyond.

May your memories softly dance upon you. Thank you from my heart for taking the time to read this today.

💜

Gently onwards,

Tracy