stolen things… a nd everyone would know that I wanted to be a girl.
I did not hear voices, they were my thoughts. They seemed logical. They did not tell me what to do. But my Squirrel and my scheming pushed me to do things that were not normal … t hings that were inconceivable in every new circumstance . My childhood dreams and ambitions were very complex. They were an exercise in stealth and cleverness. I learned to solve puzzles, look at every nuance, and out trick the trickster.
I figured out who Santa was as a result. I could tell that his Rusty had betrayed him. He must not have had a Squirrel to help him solve the problem of passing as Santa. I even knew that he was the Bishop at our church. Bad Santa. Bad Santa. Bad Cindi. “Cindi?” I liked that name. It was similar to a girl I knew who I adored. Thanks Santa and Squirrel . I can be called Cindi and the bishop can be called Santa. His is okay because… why is it okay? Why did he lie to me? Why can Cindi not do the same?
“Cindi, you know that you can never be caught,” Squirrel told me. “Santa can show himself but Cindi must never be found out ”. I knew that the Squirrel had wisdom, that I must never show myself. These were very complex thoughts for a child of only five years old.
My collection soon outgrew the place in the chest of drawers. I had to look for something bigger. I had shoes and a Barbie doll now and I knew they must never be found. I tried burying them in a plastic bucket in the back yard. But that didn’t work for long. I had to keep the lid tight on the bucket or dirt and moisture would get in there and ruin my precious shoes. And then the perfect place revealed itself. Dad had “finished the basement” soon after we moved in. This included actually finishing one room, covering a wall down the middle of the basement with pine wood, and plastering and paint on the walls. I know that dad spent a lot of time on it and the cost was significant to him. But it wasn’t really finished. Under the stairs, I had access to space between the studs of the finished wall and the sheetrock of the stairway that descended into the basement. There was a lot of room up in there. I could hide my precious things in those unknown spaces .
My stealing did not stop. I felt terribly guilty with each acquisition. But I could not stop myself. This was the only thing that made me happy, truly happy, or so I thought. In reality , I was becoming frustrated and empty. Dichotomy pitched evil against righteousness. It pulled me apart. I continuously felt guilty. I was desperate and as I grew older , the desperation evolved into utter hopelessness.
I found other hiding places. I used other chests of drawers. I actually hid a couple things in my mothers’ chest of drawers. Right among her own things in a drawer that I knew she didn’t open much. Talk about the perfect place. What would she say if she ever found these things? Who would she blame? Oh, this spot was perfect. But everything had to be Mom neat in the drawer and it was.
I had a friend who had some sisters. His family would leave the back door unlocked if they weren’t home. I would knock on the door and if no one answered, I would walk in. I got caught once but I just asked if my friend was home.
“No, he’s not here.” I calmly left. “ Oh you are a clever Squirrel . ” The sisters lost some undergarments and several pairs of hose. One of them lost some very cool foam breast forms. I knew her secret. I t was the perfect heist. Who was she going to tell? How did I know what these forms were? Why did the Squirrel help me learn the tricks of stealing and hiding but not s how me how to really be a girl?
A year after I learned to read, I discovered the physical differences between boys and girls. My mother kept her tampons in the bathroom and I always wondered what they were for. She caught me several times extracting the telescoping tubes from the trash and playing with them. They were very cool.
I did not hear voices, they were my thoughts. They seemed logical. They did not tell me what to do. But my Squirrel and my scheming pushed me to do things that were not normal … t hings that were inconceivable in every new circumstance . My childhood dreams and ambitions were very complex. They were an exercise in stealth and cleverness. I learned to solve puzzles, look at every nuance, and out trick the trickster.
I figured out who Santa was as a result. I could tell that his Rusty had betrayed him. He must not have had a Squirrel to help him solve the problem of passing as Santa. I even knew that he was the Bishop at our church. Bad Santa. Bad Santa. Bad Cindi. “Cindi?” I liked that name. It was similar to a girl I knew who I adored. Thanks Santa and Squirrel . I can be called Cindi and the bishop can be called Santa. His is okay because… why is it okay? Why did he lie to me? Why can Cindi not do the same?
“Cindi, you know that you can never be caught,” Squirrel told me. “Santa can show himself but Cindi must never be found out ”. I knew that the Squirrel had wisdom, that I must never show myself. These were very complex thoughts for a child of only five years old.
My collection soon outgrew the place in the chest of drawers. I had to look for something bigger. I had shoes and a Barbie doll now and I knew they must never be found. I tried burying them in a plastic bucket in the back yard. But that didn’t work for long. I had to keep the lid tight on the bucket or dirt and moisture would get in there and ruin my precious shoes. And then the perfect place revealed itself. Dad had “finished the basement” soon after we moved in. This included actually finishing one room, covering a wall down the middle of the basement with pine wood, and plastering and paint on the walls. I know that dad spent a lot of time on it and the cost was significant to him. But it wasn’t really finished. Under the stairs, I had access to space between the studs of the finished wall and the sheetrock of the stairway that descended into the basement. There was a lot of room up in there. I could hide my precious things in those unknown spaces .
My stealing did not stop. I felt terribly guilty with each acquisition. But I could not stop myself. This was the only thing that made me happy, truly happy, or so I thought. In reality , I was becoming frustrated and empty. Dichotomy pitched evil against righteousness. It pulled me apart. I continuously felt guilty. I was desperate and as I grew older , the desperation evolved into utter hopelessness.
I found other hiding places. I used other chests of drawers. I actually hid a couple things in my mothers’ chest of drawers. Right among her own things in a drawer that I knew she didn’t open much. Talk about the perfect place. What would she say if she ever found these things? Who would she blame? Oh, this spot was perfect. But everything had to be Mom neat in the drawer and it was.
I had a friend who had some sisters. His family would leave the back door unlocked if they weren’t home. I would knock on the door and if no one answered, I would walk in. I got caught once but I just asked if my friend was home.
“No, he’s not here.” I calmly left. “ Oh you are a clever Squirrel . ” The sisters lost some undergarments and several pairs of hose. One of them lost some very cool foam breast forms. I knew her secret. I t was the perfect heist. Who was she going to tell? How did I know what these forms were? Why did the Squirrel help me learn the tricks of stealing and hiding but not s how me how to really be a girl?
A year after I learned to read, I discovered the physical differences between boys and girls. My mother kept her tampons in the bathroom and I always wondered what they were for. She caught me several times extracting the telescoping tubes from the trash and playing with them. They were very cool.
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