50 Days ‘til 50 Day 19--Through The Looking Glass

50 Days ‘til 50Day 19Through The Looking Glass“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!” I can hear the man screaming out to Dorothy and her friends. It used to send shivers up my spine as a little boy, even when I knew who the man was behind the big green curtain. We used to have the soundtrack on vinyl and I would set it to play on the stereo each night as my room was atop the staircase and I would fall asleep into my far away dreamland to the girl from Kansas dreaming of far off lands.  Hoping to meet my very own scarecrow, tin-man, and lion. Over the years I’ve had many thoughts on these children’s stories. The Cinderella’s, the Snow White’s, the Red Riding Hood’s. The fundamental innocence in all the hero’s and heroine’s of these stories. The same innocence that lie in all of us. The evil that would always rise up to challenge this innocence, only to be banished back to their dark depths where they came from, lying and waiting until the next time.   To see that the road is so much less terrifying going through it with people around you than by yourself. That love is the answer to everything. Think about it for a second. These stories are actually quite brilliant. There have been many times in my life that I'm convinced that these are all we needed to learn as school children and be totally fine to go out into the world to start our lives.I have always been a dreamer. I'm not sure if that is a trait of a creative mind or not, but I was and still am. My mom would share stories with me when it came time to bring the report cards home; they all had similar comments about me written on the cards. “Joshua would do so well if he wasn’t such a daydreamer” or “if Joshua would just apply himself more, his grades would be perfect.” Of course life happens to us all as we grow up and I know now, although I hope I never stop dreaming, I can’t just sit on a hilltop and dream my life to happen. I have to jump in and participate in my life. Sometimes I can still drift off. I see it a lot now in all this new writing fascination. Writing definitely makes me wander. I can be sitting here on a great run of thought and all of sudden I'm off somewhere completely different, somewhere far away, for minutes at a time before I come back. I’ve written several times in these blogs about my young years, about being adopted. Although I don’t use that as a way to feel sorry for myself today, things must have happened to me in those first several years that allowed me to become this dreamer. Maybe it was a way to deal with what was going on around me. Maybe it was to keep myself company when I was lonely or needed something and no one was there to provide it to me. I was in a foster home with 12 other children and 1 house-mother. I'm certain we all couldn’t have gotten our every need met all the time. It was probably a survival mechanism, even as a three-year old. I definitely came to my adopted parents as a confused child. My original name was Warren. These were the parents that ‘returned’ me back to the foster home after a bit citing I was too difficult for them to care for. My name in the foster home was Eric and then my name would change to Joshua. My mom tells me the story of after they had brought me home, I wouldn’t always respond to being called Joshua and one day I stopped in front of a hallway mirror and pointed to my reflection staring back at me and said to my mom, “there’s Eric.” I'm sure it broke her heart, to witness this but as time passed Eric disappeared into only a distant faded memory.So let me come clean about something. I’ve always had a fascination of looking into other people’s windows. Now before you call the authorities on me about this let me make this disclaimer:I don’t walk up to stranger’s homes and stand there and stare in their windows. For one, that’s not what I’m talking about and two, IM not that creepy. A little voyeuristic I guess, but not a sociopath.It started as a young kid. We would take lots of road trips and living in a rural area we would always be driving somewhere or another. We had a station wagon and I would either sit in the back seat or in the "way back"  facing out the back window. I’d put my chin in my hands and just stare out the window. I’d be fascinated when we would pass houses and the lights were on and I would see people inside. Of course in a car it all happens in about 3 seconds so I could never get a full look on what was happening but I would dream of what they were doing? Were they doing the same thing we did in our house? Was the woman happy washing the dinner dishes standing in the window staring out into the night? What were they all watching on the television? I could dream for hours on this. We also walked a lot in our town. We would take afternoon walks or after dinner walks. Screen doors and front doors were always open so I could get a sneak peek inside of the house. I could see the front door entryways and the coat racks, the family dogs or cats staring back at me from the doorway. I could smell the fresh-baked cookies or the roast in the oven. The holiday times were the best. To see the houses all lit up in their holiday finest made me so warm inside. To know that there was a family inside, a happy family perhaps, enjoying their moments and each other. I think it usually made me happy. My memories were of happiness, maybe some sadness, but mostly of curiosity. All except, of course for the creepy dark house on the corner. The one that had the urban legends surrounding it. The woman carrying a candle in one hand and a black cat in the other. I wouldn’t look for very long at those windows, but I would still look. I never saw the woman with the candle but I always walked a bit faster passed those houses.I have wondered many times what it was I was looking for through those windows? What it was I hoping I would see? I guess in my young thinking I was wondering if what they had going on behind the glass was better than what I had? I was wondering what it felt like to sit there at their dinner table and taste their food. I would wonder if they were all happy and if I would be happier inside with them? It’s amusing because I had an amazing childhood with loving parents, a sister, pets, friends, a nice house, and food in my tummy. Its funny I would even want to stray from all of that. I have learned much about myself over the years and now that I approach 50 it’s all become a bit clearer. I wasn’t so much looking into their windows and wishing I were there, I was looking out of my own window afraid that someone was going to come take me away. The answer was inside of me all the time, not in some stranger’s window. The view from my window today is pretty darn good, but I still want to see your Christmas tree.jf