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Some progress at the end of Day1

Some progress at the end of Day 1

As you can see, not a lot of progress has been made on the jigsaw puzzle. I always try to start with the border and then work my way inwards, but today I also worked on some of the blocks of color, and made a little progress there. Since IU isn’t playing basketball today, I hope to make more progress. Oh, and I switched from using my cell phone as a camera (it kept going to auto-zoom without my consent) and switched to taking the stills with my Vivitar.

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I’ve changed my mind on how to approach my six-page autobiography a number of times so far. When I first decided to go through this process I thought I could cover it by just re-writing the entire document so that it better reflected how I see and feel about myself since I first wrote it so many years ago. Now I think that without the comparison it is a meaningless exercise. I don’t know how entertainers and sports figures (is that a redundancy?) can have a meaningful (auto)biography if they are younger than fifty-five years old. How many life lessons can they have accumulated before that age. I was in my forties when I wrote that six-pager, and my view of myself has changed a great deal.

I promised yesterday that in this post I would deal with the truth shading I did in the autobiography that I submitted to the Child Welfare office. In the original document I said that like my mother and father, I try not to hurt people. I’m not sure that it ever occurred to my mother that she should go out her way to try not to hurt people. That she didn’t was because either she didn’t care, or that my father had an ameliorating effect on her. I am afraid that there are times in my life when I have hurt people but have felt no remorse. I wish I were more like my father was. 

I said in the original document that I didn’t remember my parents having very many arguments. They usually waited until my sister and I were in bed before the arguments started. While I don’t remember what the arguments were about, I do remember lying in bed, afraid because of my mother yelling at my father. Her trump card was always a threat to move back to California, where my sister had been born. Looking back I realize that she would, in all likelihood, never leave. But tell that to a young child. I also remember my mother becoming very angry if my sister stayed out past her curfew. I may have suppressed those memories for many years.

I imagine that I shaded the truth to make it seem like I had come from a family that was perfect. I’ve come to realize that there is no such family.

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