Misunderstood

Sometimes I lay in bed and think of all the grudges I harbor and tell myself I’ll never make it into Heaven if I don’t let these go. Most times I could care less, sometimes I feel resentment. I’ve never been very good at forgiving and forgetting and while I’ve never claimed to be a saint, I also don’t expect forgiveness when I know I didn’t deserve it.

There was a woman I used to work with at a daycare who used to treat the children rather roughly. She wasn’t particularly educated yet claimed to be in the process of obtaining a degree to teach. I couldn’t count on both hands and both feet how many times I saw her plop her fat legs over a child between the ages of three and five to force them to go to sleep during naptime. I voiced my concern about this woman several times and instead had the daycare director’s attention and criticism turned in my direction instead. This was six years ago and maybe two years ago I heard in the news that an infant died at this daycare. He was only a few months old and choked on a small piece of fingerfood while under the supervision of two children. By the time his situation was noticed it was too late and he was declared braindead at the hospital. He passed away a few days later.

The woman I mentioned wasn’t involved but it didn’t really matter because the family didn’t press charges or sue the daycare and I can’t be sure but I felt it might be due to the fact that the daycare paid for all of the funeral expenses. That poor sweet life taken far too soon.

There were two many times when I worked at that daycare when I suffered the consequences for other workers incompetence- mostly because it was easy to blame sweet, quiet Angie for the incidents. I can’t even count on both hands how many times I was suspended without pay for situations that weren’t my fault but I never spoke up for myself. I just took it, just like I always just took everything that was happening at home.

I tried my best to make friends with the other workers when I first started there but everyone thought I held myself above them, because I was the “Pastor’s daughter-in-law.” In reality, I was far too shy and much too depressed to speak to anyone, to take the time to get to know anyone. Looking back now it surprises me that despite my mental state all those years that I was still allowed to work there. I will say though that a baby never died in my care.

Every now and then I run into those women and while most of them try to make conversation with me and find out where I work and where I live, I remind myself that they weren’t ever there for me when I needed them to be. All the times I suffered through teaching a classroom full of preschoolers while I nursed my own broken bones, broken heart, broken spirit- those women couldn’t ever see past what they wanted to see.