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Monday, October 30, 2006

All these little pieces

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of my third grade teacher who gave me a sparkly pink change purse when I won the spelling bee.
There’s a little piece of my best childhood friend who lived a mile down the road, just close enough to get to by bike or horse, even though we had to sneak quietly past the skunk house.
There’s a little piece of her dad who used to tickle me on the couch with the two remaining fingers on his hand.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the boy who used to call me “mighty heif”, with a hint of admiration, because I acted like a tomboy at recess time.
There’s a little piece of the girl-bully who yelled at me when I missed the ball in the outfield and blamed me for losing the game.
There’s a little piece of my best friend in high school who called me “hez” in a best-friend kind of way.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of all the children I used to baby-sit, and their parents who paid me my first real money.
There’s a little piece of my high school physics teacher who knew how to “slap ‘em into moles” and make science come alive.
There’s a little piece of my brother who gave me two hundred dollars to go on a high school band trip to Toronto because my parents couldn’t afford it.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the mean boss in Banff who made fun of anyone who couldn’t make a sink sparkle or fold a towel with precision.
There’s a little piece of the friend who told me that God is like a mountain, and might look different depending what side you’re standing on.
There’s a little piece of the professor who told me he looked forward to meeting me again in the writers’ circuit some day.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the man who raped me in my bed and then climbed back out the window through which he’d come.
There’s a little piece of the seventy-something woman my sister and I met in Switzerland, who still backpacked the world and was climbing the mountain to find a campsite.
There’s a little piece of my husband’s grandma who bought me a new sewing machine and came to see my play at the Fringe Festival.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the boss who mentored me and gave me my first shot at management because she believed I could do it.
There’s a little piece of my sister who stood up to the mean nurse at the hospital and wouldn’t leave my side in the middle of the night.
There’s a little piece of the grown-up girl-bully from Ottawa who belittled me for releasing a report to the media, even though it was the right thing to do.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of my son, who cuddled with me only from the inside and never got to call me mom.
There’s a little piece of my husband, who made me laugh so hard the first time I met him, I think I snorted coke out my nose. (As in coca-cola.)
There’s a little piece of my dad, who used to sing “Like a bird” at the top of his lungs, and always ended with “bonk-i-bonk-bonk”.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of my daughters who make me get up in the middle of the night to clean up puke, but always seem to make it feel worth the effort.
There’s a little piece of the stranger on the street who stopped to hug me when the pain of a toothache seemed too much to bear.
There’s a little piece of the friend who told me she knew, the minute we met, that we were meant for friendship.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the bishop I met in Tanzania, who shared his bread with me and told me the greatest downfall of the western church is rock-n-roll music.
There’s a little piece of my friends from church who showed up to stuff envelopes when few other people would make the time.
There’s a little piece of the first editor who told me my work was worth publishing, and then sent me a cheque.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the first person who visited my blog and made me feel like I’d found a new home.
There’s a little piece of the “real” writer who dismissed nearly everything I pour my heart into, and left me feeling like a bruised child.
There’s a little piece of my mom who showers her love by feeding me delicious things and caring for my children.

There’s a little piece of you in me.
A million little pieces from a million different friendships and chance encounters.
All sharing space inside me to make me
Who I am.
Thank you for giving your piece.

18 comments:

Hope said...

On my blog title, I have one of my favorite sayings...
Life is like a piece of paper, on which every passerby leaves their mark.
these beauitful words you have written not only confirm my belief but give me such a wonderful glimpse of a few of the pieces that make you so uniquely , you.
Beautiful, Heather.

Liz said...

That was beautiful.

ccap said...

Mmm. Nice.

Linda said...

Lovely post Heather.

Andrew said...

As soon as I read the first two lines of the first verse I went, "Wow, what a wonderful concept." It's true, we're all an amalgam of our experiences, which largely means the people who have been in our lives. Beautiful! Thanks. (And I didn't notice any fumbling for words!)

Andrew
To Love, Honor and Dismay

Cuppa said...

What beautiful mosaics we all are.

The dark pieces only serve to highlight the brightly coloured ones and give them more depth.

tlawwife said...

How beautiful that is!!

Anvilcloud said...

That's an amazing ... piece. Awesome, in fact.

Pamela said...

you're a little piece of me, each time I read and get blessed by your wonderful take on this world.

Judy said...

Wow, Heather.

Simply beautiful.

Gattina said...

I don't know what to say, it touched me.

BarnGoddess said...

very good. Beautiful in fact :)

Karla said...

Just beautiful!

Kristin said...

Thank you for this.

Trabinski said...

What a great post! Very beautiful and made me sit and ponder all the pieces that make up me.

Thanks!

Joyce said...

Heather:
I hate to put words down, for fear of detracting from what you have put down here. This is a piece of art. A quilt.
thank you.

And I remember that woman in Banff. She was my first boss, and so I thought that is what bosses are like.... I was only 17, and terrified to go to Banff for a job.

Accidental Poet said...

I think it was Tennyson that wrote "I am a part of all that I have met". Nice modernization.

janniefunster said...

This is so frigging beautiful, don't even know you and you've touched me so much. I think I have to try and write my own one of these, if that's okay (best form of flattery?)

jannie