Skip to main content

While I'm on the Subject of Purging

I really was raised in a paranoid environment--paranoid because around every corner lurked an evil just waiting to grasp at the heart of the unwatchful. Every word or deed had the potential to be sinful, and everyone in the news had the potential to be the anti-Christ. All of that fear and scowling can really do a job on a kid.

My mother had a collection of Reader's Digest condensed books on the shelf in the family room, and stuck in between all the fiction that had been cleared of all the unnecessary adjectives was a family health dictionary/encyclopedia. You would go to this reference book if you had a rash you couldn't identify, or as my father used to moan when he didn't want to have to go to church, if you had a "crick in your ribs."

I don't think I ever found that vague phrase for physical discomfort in the encyclopedia, but I did find all kinds of other interesting things. One day, as a kid flipping through the pages, I found a section on hernias. I had never heard the term before and had no idea what it was. I was sure it was bad. I was sure it was something sinful, and it frightened me. If my mother caught me reading about something as wicked as a hernia, she would get me with the fly swatter for sure. So I ripped out the entire section. It must have been 20 pages. Because those books were manufactured kind of cheaply--with glue instead of stitching--it was pretty easy. I buried the offensive material in the bottom of the trash can and put that dangerous book back on the shelf. I never told a soul.

Later on, when my mother pulled out the book to see how to treat a charlie horse (my father never had normal ailments), she found this gaping hole in the H section. She was furious. Who ripped this book up?!?! She stormed through the house wondering why anyone in their right mind would purposefully damage a book like the medical encyclopedia and then lie about it.

To this day, she has no idea who did it and why. She has no idea that filling her little daughter's head with the potential for evil made her afraid of a word like hernia. I have since learned that hernias aren't sinful and reading about them won't condemn me to hell, but I do hope I never have one.

Comments

dive said…
Hee hee.
Hernias may not be sinful but they hurt like Hell, Robyn (apparently).

And I know just what your Father meant when he complained of a "crick" in the ribs. It's a pretty accurate description.
Though you are going to have to explain to me what a "Charlie Horse" is … and how to treat it, too!
Ouch!! I had what is called a strangulation hernia, it almost killed me. I still have a nice scar to prove it. I can send you a pic of it if you would like.
Ms Mac said…
Eeek! I've had a hernia. I hope that doesn't mean I'm going to hell!
Gina said…
My grandparents used to have a bunch of those Reader's Digest condensed books. I remember them well.
Sassy Sundry said…
What a household, Robyn. Yikes.

That bit about the encyclopedia is hysterical.

Dive, a charlie horse is a strained muscle, and it hurts like a mofo.
dive said…
I won't ask what a mofo is, Sassy; it might spoil Robyn's PG rating.
Anonymous said…
When I was about 14 the church de jour (mum was forever changing) held a film night and screened a film about the end of the world in which anyone who was tattooed with a number was going to hell. The hell bound were hunting down the ones who weren't and therefore were going to heaven starving.
It wa sina word horrific and far worse than any horror moie I have ever sat through. It gave me nightmares for months and I lost all respect for the church. When I think back on it there were kids far younger than me there and i can only wonder how much it affected them.
Fear can be a powerful motivator and it motivated me right out of the church altogether.
Scout said…
Kate, it wasn't Thief in the Night that you saw, was it? Yikes, that was a terrible film. Churches showed it over and over for years and years, and everything about it was so bad.

You're right about that kind of thing freaking out little kids. It's like Jonathan Edwards all over again.
The potential for evil fueled my family also...and birthed a bunch of fear.

Popular posts from this blog

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...