Letters To Lyla

Dear Lyla,

Sometimes it’s not easy being little. The world is big and bright and there is so much to do and see. At times, it is all one can do to sit still when inside the mind is racing and the feet seem to have a will of their own. You may find this hard to believe but, when I was your age, it was difficult for me to pay attention and I wasn’t the best listener. It seems that poor listening skills often led to heavy misfortunes indeed, especially if the lack of attention to detail came after grandma Jo had reminded me repeatedly to finish a task. I do not recall what my crime was on the day this story takes place; perhaps I didn’t remember to pick up my toys or failed to fold the laundry (I confess I still have trouble with that one). Whatever my transgression, it must have been grievous indeed because grandma Jo handed down the most feared of punishments, I was grounded. Not only was I grounded, I was grounded to my room! It must have been a terrible infraction for such a sentence (you will have to ask grandma what I did, I honestly do not remember). The reason for my memory issue probably has something to do with what happened when I was exiled to my room. I was your age at the time and there were no toys or books in my room, just a bed and a few random stuffed animals. I imagine had I been a teenager I may have welcomed the isolation as some teenagers are keen on brooding. But I was not a teenager, I must have been no older than 5 or 6. My room was way at the back of the house and the rest of my family was in the living room, quite a distance from where I was to remain in solitary confinement. It was very quiet in my room, too quiet. When the sun started to go down I heard a noise from the closet, a high pitched eerie noise that seemed to get louder as the sun fell from the sky. You may imagine my distress as the closet seemed to take on a life of its own. I was sure I was to be an appetizer for a half starved monster that would emerge from between my neatly hung dresses at any moment. Before I could be devoured by the closet beast I screamed for my mom; grandma came running! By the time she reached me I was crying like it was my profession and I could barely be understood between the sobs. Somehow I managed to warn her about the impending doom coming from the general direction of the closet. I don’t know how the woman did it, but to her credit she kept a straight face and informed me that the beast waiting to pounce on me was nothing more than a mere field cricket. I didn’t know what a field cricket was and so to my 5 year old mind it may as well have horns, fangs and breathed fire when angry. Clearly I was not to be comforted. Then my mother went to the bookshelf and picked up a very thick book, it was a collection of Disney stories. She very patiently turned to the story of Pinocchio. Grandma has a lovely story voice, as you well know, and soon I was transcended into the world of lost boys and man swallowing whales. Along the way I met Jiminy Cricket who was charged with keeping Pinocchio out of trouble. Grandma explained to me that the cricket in my closet was just letting me know I wasn’t alone and that there was nothing to be afraid of (I think there may have been an aside in grandma’s story  about not getting into trouble in the first place). That evening I learned about not giving your fears the power to overwhelm you. I learned to not forget that there will always be people in the world who love you and care about you. We all struggle with fear little one, even grown ups, but if we  face those fears and ask for help when we need it there is never a reason to despair.