When I was a child, I sometimes hid food. Hunger and fear are fraternal twins. Once, as an adult, I woke from a daylight nightmare about starving and irrationally screamed at my friend and accused him of eating all the saltine crackers that I'd hidden. It wasn't real. He hadn't eaten any saltines. I wasn't hungry. There was plenty of food in the house. Today, I wish I could call him and apologize for the 20th time but he died a few years ago. So, here I am, again, begging the dead to forgive me. But then I recall an animal fact that contradicted what I thought I knew. It's a myth that squirrels forget where they've hidden their nuts. In fact, they're so skilled at detection that they can tell the difference between the nuts they've hidden and the nuts hidden by other squirrels. So maybe I should think of my childhood self as being skilled at surviving. Maybe my spirit animal is the squirrel. Look at me— so gifted at hiding what needs to be protected and even better at finding the good things that will feed me.
My spirit animal is perhaps a cow. When I was ten or so I was riding my bike home and shut my eyes once in a while. I enjoyed the floaty flying feeling. At some point I kept them shut too long. Instead of steering left, I T-boned the curb, flew over the handlebars and a barbed wire fence into a cow pasture. It must have looked weird to the cows. "Incoming: human child." When I opened my eyes they were gathered around me, staring. I climbed back over the fence, retrieved my bike and went home. Like you, I survived to adult-hood.
Oh, this is so beautiful… just about brought tears, Sherman. Sending hugs for you, your friend, and all of us that had to scrap when we should have been busy soaking up the extra love and care that every single child deserves. 🫂