Family Harm Stories - Brownie Bonfire
Family Harm - a family trip, night around the dinner table... a story that exemplifies how you fit into your family and the role you played.
I called my story, "Brownie Bonfire"
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It was a cool fall evening. It was early and still light outside. In the distance I could see the sunset. I had great hope of a fun evening with a bunch of other little girls my age. We were all Brownies. At age 5, I was still new to school and what Brownies was really all about. I had looked at the bright orange Brownie book in a hurried moment with my mom. I only knew that there were stories and songs in that book and that Brownies was supposed to be fun. This was one of the first activities of the year. I had already learned one of the songs. It was called, 'I have Something in my Pocket', one of my favorites. I hoped that we would sing that song as I
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walked toward the large bonfire. I was keenly aware of how small I was in relation to the fire and all of my surroundings. I felt insignificant. No one spoke to me. I was not sure that anyone even could see me. Everyone seemed to be consumed in the big event of the evening: roasting hotdogs. I watched in hopes that I could figure it out. I was hungry. The smell of the fire and roasting hotdogs was comforting. I realized that I was only going to eat if I figured this out.I gazed at each mother and daughter around the fire. I recognized a couple of girls but did not know anyone’s name. I was in kindergarten and being a Brownie was my first big adventure outside of my house, school and babysitter’s. The table was filled with hotdogs and buns, ketchup and mustard. I wanted to ask someone for help but didn’t. It seemed fairly simple. What could be so hard about this? Someone must have given up a roasting stick because I now had one in my hand. I got a hotdog from the table and stuck it with the stick. It was awkward. The stick was long and hard to manage for me. Still everyone was so very busy. No one offered any help. They just did not notice.
Holding that stick was harder than it looked. I was surprised at how hard this task really was. Now I understand why the mothers were helping to hold the sticks. Some of the girls were running about. I am not sure that they even roasted their hotdogs, maybe their moms just did it for them or maybe they had already eaten. My stomach growled. And then it happened. I did not know this could even happen… My hotdog fell off in the fire. I felt like everyone was looking at me. When no one was before it felt as though everyone was now. I wanted to sink into the dirt. What do I do now? Do I try to get the hotdog out of the fire? It is all dirty. I am hungry. Should I try it again? I am fighting back tears. “If you cry, Sarah, everyone will know that you are here alone, that your mom did not come. They will know that you are a fake, that you do not really know how to roast a hotdog.” Just then a kind woman noticed that I had an empty roasting stick. I am not sure that she saw that I had dropped mine. I did not tell her and she offered no pity, just another hotdog. She put it on my stick. I was so very thankful. I offered my thanks in a quiet smile. That is all I had. I stood with confidence now that the hotdog would not fall off. Most everyone was eating now. The smell of roasting hotdogs was in the air. I was looking forward to eating.
In no time, I was at the table again getting a bun and squeezing the hotdog off of the roasting stick. It looked bubbly on the outside but not black. I had been very careful not to burn it. The condiments were all lumped together in the middle of the large picnic table. I liked ketchup on my hotdog but it seemed like too much trouble to get to it. I just bit into it. Cold. It was cold in the middle. I was disappointed but hungry. I ate the hotdog alone on a bench. I watched the fire as it burned. The sun was setting. The other girls were now running and playing. The mothers were talking and cleaning up. I was, once again, unseen, thankful that no one noticed me sitting by myself.
Later, when it was dark we sang my favorite Brownie song.
Holding that stick was harder than it looked. I was surprised at how hard this task really was. Now I understand why the mothers were helping to hold the sticks. Some of the girls were running about. I am not sure that they even roasted their hotdogs, maybe their moms just did it for them or maybe they had already eaten. My stomach growled. And then it happened. I did not know this could even happen… My hotdog fell off in the fire. I felt like everyone was looking at me. When no one was before it felt as though everyone was now. I wanted to sink into the dirt. What do I do now? Do I try to get the hotdog out of the fire? It is all dirty. I am hungry. Should I try it again? I am fighting back tears. “If you cry, Sarah, everyone will know that you are here alone, that your mom did not come. They will know that you are a fake, that you do not really know how to roast a hotdog.” Just then a kind woman noticed that I had an empty roasting stick. I am not sure that she saw that I had dropped mine. I did not tell her and she offered no pity, just another hotdog. She put it on my stick. I was so very thankful. I offered my thanks in a quiet smile. That is all I had. I stood with confidence now that the hotdog would not fall off. Most everyone was eating now. The smell of roasting hotdogs was in the air. I was looking forward to eating.
In no time, I was at the table again getting a bun and squeezing the hotdog off of the roasting stick. It looked bubbly on the outside but not black. I had been very careful not to burn it. The condiments were all lumped together in the middle of the large picnic table. I liked ketchup on my hotdog but it seemed like too much trouble to get to it. I just bit into it. Cold. It was cold in the middle. I was disappointed but hungry. I ate the hotdog alone on a bench. I watched the fire as it burned. The sun was setting. The other girls were now running and playing. The mothers were talking and cleaning up. I was, once again, unseen, thankful that no one noticed me sitting by myself.
Later, when it was dark we sang my favorite Brownie song.
I have something in my pocket,
It belongs across my face,
I keep it very close to me,
In the most convenient place.
I am sure you couldn’t guess it,
If you guessed a long, long while,
So I’ll take it out and put it on,
It’s a great big Brownie Smile.
I did. I still do.
It belongs across my face,
I keep it very close to me,
In the most convenient place.
I am sure you couldn’t guess it,
If you guessed a long, long while,
So I’ll take it out and put it on,
It’s a great big Brownie Smile.
I did. I still do.
Through Story Exploration:
There is good in this story, 'I longed to fit in and have fun and was courageous at 5 years old to try new things. Even on my own.' However, later in my life, there were many other stories just like this, called 're-enactments', that re-enforced these lies. These are a few of them:
- To be seen leads to being ashamed.
- You need to grow up and figure things out on your own. You can't even roast a hot dog.
- You are not worth noticing, even when you need help.
- A smile can be a mask to cover a multitude of shame.
Yes, I was brave and courageous, but I was scared to be there alone and ashamed that I was. Afraid that I would be seen not knowing how to do things that it seems like everyone else knows how to do. Today, I still struggle with a desire to be seen and yet wanting to hide. What if anyone notices that I'm a girl who is really a fake? I have believed the lie that I must keep busy and put on my smile.
The Truth: I was alone. I truly did not know how to roast a hotdog. It wasn't until a group member spoke, "Sarah, a 5 year old really doesn't know how to roast a hotdog." I have told myself for years that "I should know". I have continued to beat myself up for not knowing all sorts of things! The truth is that I am not supposed to know everything, even at age 50. I will never know everything and will have to rely on others for help, even in my own home. Naming this has started a new journey in my marriage and especially other relationships with women.
