I was a baby just months old. I can hear the song and remember the way my heart raced as my father threw me into the air - letting me fall - then catching me only to toss me into the air again. It was personal and I was happy to be in that moment with him as he sang and tossed and caught and tossed. I might not have known the words, but I knew that at some point the ups would turn to downs. I hated the downs. When the downs were done, the singing would stop. He would hand me off, or lay me down. I was anxious even then. I was helpless. What I wanted and needed could not be vocalized.
"Life has it's funny little ups and downs, downs and ups, ups and downs. Life has it's funny little ups and downs and downs and downs and downs."
As a child, my life was a never ending series of ups and downs.The downs would drag me down and down and down. The ups would leave me happily spinning in all directions as once. But most of the time, I was told to stop it. If I did not stop it I would be sent to my room (handed off, laid down) When the downs threatened to take me, I went to him in hopes he could lift my spirits. He told me I was just trying to get attention and to stop wearing my feelings on my sleeves. I had to toughen up and if I couldn't then I would be sent to my room (handed off, laid down) again.
I remember he never took my side when kids would tease me. Looking back, I can see how I must have been. There was no sitting still, or keeping quite, or stopping myself from yelling out the answers. Their words hurt me. Things were thrown at me. I was pushed down and down and down.
He never picked me up when I was down. He never wrapped his arms around me or let me know he was there for me, because he wasn't. I was the anchor that kept him from doing whatever he wanted to do. So he cut the cable and let me sink to the bottom, where there were was only down. He was clear it was not his doing, but mine.
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