phoenix {rising}
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Excavating
<<2003-01-12 - 2:35 a.m.>>

I am a hideously nosy person. I can't decide if I have no respect for other people's privacy or if I am just so interested in other people's inner workings that I cannot resist hunting through any private documents to which I have access. Immoral, maybe. Certainly unfair, I'd be furious if anyone did it to me. And maybe there's a paranoia aspect as well.

But I was reading letters from my mother to a friend of hers. Very interesting letters. Well-written, with a graceful and conversational style, more style than I had really credited my mother with possessing.

Interesting, of course, to learn the things about her that they reveal. Interesting, of course, to learn the things about me that they reveal.

When I was in fourth grade or so, my gym teacher was accused of sexually abusing his son. I remember being upset, remember loving him and not wanting him to go away. My mother's letter records this comment from me: "All the parents are helping Steve, but who's helping his son?"

Interesting.

My mother's letters record that I seemed insulated from the sudden sexualization that descended upon my peer group.

My mother has two documents titled with my name with lists of books about sexual abuse. Created November 2000. Could be a list of resources for my AP Psych "recovered memory" paper, first semester junior year.

There is more than just that, of course. There is my mother, and her continued musings on her thoughts on education, which are defined and aligned and articulate, and her observation of her family, and her friends, and it's all very interesting, really, but I fixate.

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