Fidel Castro and Dr. Molly Barrow
My family arrived in New York and checked into a deluxe hotel. I was ten years old and excited beyond words at the prospect of cruising to Italy. The hotel’s glamour overwhelmed me.
I embraced the elegance and beauty of the luxury hotel as I ran my fingers along each textural delight of marble, brocade and polished wood. I was wearing my pink velvet suit, black slip-ons, white ruffled socks and carried a small black patent purse. My long, chestnut-colored hair was held back by a pink ribbon.
My dear mother dressed me and treated me like a doll and rarely loosened her tightly held grip on me. My bout with cerebral meningitis at six months had spooked her traumatically. With the help of Dr. Gillespie, I recovered, but he advised that I not go out in public for the first three years of my life. Thereafter, she absolutely never let me out of her sight except to go to school and to play in the back yard. Frankly, I did not get out much.
Here at the hotel, Mother must have been distracted by the organizational feat of getting six people’s luggage and four children all into one hotel room. My father, who had Gary Grant- level charm, was probably lost in a stimulating discussion with a new cosmopolitan friend. I seized this opportunity to stand at the top of a long wide staircase poised like a movie star waiting for the paparazzi to lift their cameras. Like a royal, I began my descent knowing all eyes were upon me (few of the busy city dwellers actually noticed). My fingers barely grazed the wooden banister. With one perfectly placed step after another, I sauntered down the staircase, fully expecting that as an adult I would return to live at this so-my-kind-of-place hotel. Terribly satisfied with my staircase descent, I sensed I was away too long . Knowing I was completely out of my parent’s sight, I got an icy feeling. Feeling a bit nervous as the thought “alone in New York City” flashed in my mind, I completed an apparently nonchalant pirouette at the bottom step. Then, a too familiar feeling came over me.
At home, I often stayed up for the late movie, relishing every dramatic nuance and incorporating the gestures, words and emotion into my already vast repertoire of imagination. On those late nights after the movie, when everyone was already upstairs, I had to turn out all the lights. Each time in the dark, downstairs alone, I knew with total certainty one bone chilling fact. That as I turned out the last light, a child-eating lion was directly behind me about to nip my heels. I would suppress the panic as long as possible and walk stiffly to staircase. No matter how hard I tried to be calm, walk slowly or think of other things, by the third stair step, I was dead running from that lion. If I foolishly stopped to look, it would surely get me. I would arrive at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed and breathing hard. I could turn and look then, but the demon lion always hid himself. Family members would stare at me strangely whenever they witnessed my panic sprinting. However, I thought it wise to not share the lion part with my three older brothers who were permanently on the lookout for my Achilles heel.
In this extremely public place, packed with sophisticated well-dressed New Yorkers and potential paparazzi, I could feel secret fear ramping up into arm pumping panic. Unfortunately, I could feel the hot humid lion breath on my bare skinny calves and I knew I had to run back up the marble stairs. With maximum effort, I bolted up the steps two at a time, carefully watching my feet. Suddenly, in my peripheral vision, I saw someone tall directly in my path. I tried to stop but I was moving too fast. I lifted my eyes up and up to see a huge man with a full black beard dressed in military garb. Inevitably, I was about to crash into a man wearing combat boots. As my eighty-five pound pink velvet bomb rushed forward, large arms reached across the man in the middle to stop my approach. Incredulous that this pink sprinter was entering his personal space, the man had stopped descending and starred hard into my wide eyes. I successfully pulled up just short of crashing into him. I smiled triumphantly. He did not smile back. His body guards gestured for me to stand aside. The three men moved on down the stairs in unison. Near the front desk, I found my father, irritated and looking for me.
Later that night, I over heard my father tell my mother that Fidel Castro was in New York. That seemed to trouble my mom. I weighed the positive attention I might get for having had an encounter with the Cuban pirate versus the trouble I would get in for admitting that I had wandered off by myself. I decided to remain silent.
Funny, after that, I no longer feared the secret lion and he never came back. I learned instead how quickly a young girl can become vulnerable and unprotected. I learned that I had to be smarter, and protect myself from risk that was all around me. Sometimes, even in the loveliest of places.
I embraced the elegance and beauty of the luxury hotel as I ran my fingers along each textural delight of marble, brocade and polished wood. I was wearing my pink velvet suit, black slip-ons, white ruffled socks and carried a small black patent purse. My long, chestnut-colored hair was held back by a pink ribbon.
My dear mother dressed me and treated me like a doll and rarely loosened her tightly held grip on me. My bout with cerebral meningitis at six months had spooked her traumatically. With the help of Dr. Gillespie, I recovered, but he advised that I not go out in public for the first three years of my life. Thereafter, she absolutely never let me out of her sight except to go to school and to play in the back yard. Frankly, I did not get out much.
Here at the hotel, Mother must have been distracted by the organizational feat of getting six people’s luggage and four children all into one hotel room. My father, who had Gary Grant- level charm, was probably lost in a stimulating discussion with a new cosmopolitan friend. I seized this opportunity to stand at the top of a long wide staircase poised like a movie star waiting for the paparazzi to lift their cameras. Like a royal, I began my descent knowing all eyes were upon me (few of the busy city dwellers actually noticed). My fingers barely grazed the wooden banister. With one perfectly placed step after another, I sauntered down the staircase, fully expecting that as an adult I would return to live at this so-my-kind-of-place hotel. Terribly satisfied with my staircase descent, I sensed I was away too long . Knowing I was completely out of my parent’s sight, I got an icy feeling. Feeling a bit nervous as the thought “alone in New York City” flashed in my mind, I completed an apparently nonchalant pirouette at the bottom step. Then, a too familiar feeling came over me.
At home, I often stayed up for the late movie, relishing every dramatic nuance and incorporating the gestures, words and emotion into my already vast repertoire of imagination. On those late nights after the movie, when everyone was already upstairs, I had to turn out all the lights. Each time in the dark, downstairs alone, I knew with total certainty one bone chilling fact. That as I turned out the last light, a child-eating lion was directly behind me about to nip my heels. I would suppress the panic as long as possible and walk stiffly to staircase. No matter how hard I tried to be calm, walk slowly or think of other things, by the third stair step, I was dead running from that lion. If I foolishly stopped to look, it would surely get me. I would arrive at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed and breathing hard. I could turn and look then, but the demon lion always hid himself. Family members would stare at me strangely whenever they witnessed my panic sprinting. However, I thought it wise to not share the lion part with my three older brothers who were permanently on the lookout for my Achilles heel.
In this extremely public place, packed with sophisticated well-dressed New Yorkers and potential paparazzi, I could feel secret fear ramping up into arm pumping panic. Unfortunately, I could feel the hot humid lion breath on my bare skinny calves and I knew I had to run back up the marble stairs. With maximum effort, I bolted up the steps two at a time, carefully watching my feet. Suddenly, in my peripheral vision, I saw someone tall directly in my path. I tried to stop but I was moving too fast. I lifted my eyes up and up to see a huge man with a full black beard dressed in military garb. Inevitably, I was about to crash into a man wearing combat boots. As my eighty-five pound pink velvet bomb rushed forward, large arms reached across the man in the middle to stop my approach. Incredulous that this pink sprinter was entering his personal space, the man had stopped descending and starred hard into my wide eyes. I successfully pulled up just short of crashing into him. I smiled triumphantly. He did not smile back. His body guards gestured for me to stand aside. The three men moved on down the stairs in unison. Near the front desk, I found my father, irritated and looking for me.
Later that night, I over heard my father tell my mother that Fidel Castro was in New York. That seemed to trouble my mom. I weighed the positive attention I might get for having had an encounter with the Cuban pirate versus the trouble I would get in for admitting that I had wandered off by myself. I decided to remain silent.
Funny, after that, I no longer feared the secret lion and he never came back. I learned instead how quickly a young girl can become vulnerable and unprotected. I learned that I had to be smarter, and protect myself from risk that was all around me. Sometimes, even in the loveliest of places.
Image From Wikipedia.
BIO: Introducing the new relationship compatibility test, Match Lines Systems for Successful Relationships for Singles, Couples and Business by psychology expert, Dr. Molly Barrow. Official Web Site: http://www.DrMollyBarrow.com. Find love and healthy relationship advice for dating, pre-marital, marriage, and business relationships. Dr. Molly Barrow holds a Ph.D. in clinical psychology and is the author of the new book, "Matchlines: A Revolutionary New Way of Looking at Relationships and Making the Right Choices in Love," ISBN 159507158X. As an authority on relationship and psychological topics; a member of the American Psychological Association, Screen Actors Guild, and Authors Guild and is a licensed mental health counselor, Dr. Molly has appeared as an expert in the film, My Suicide, documentaries Ready to Explode and KTLA Impact, NBC news, PBS In Focus, WBZT talk radio and in O Magazine, Psychology Today, Newsday, The Nest, MSN.com, Yahoo, Match.com, N Magazine, Women's Health, Harvard Business School, Women's World and Shrink About This columnist for Menstuff.
posted by Dr. Molly @ 12:59 PM
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