Poor Pitiful Pearl

Since I'm back in school and can't possibly keep up with everybody who I'd like to talk to online, but I love getting feedback from people and staying in touch, keeping the blog updated seems to be the best method of communication outside my regular personal correspondence. I am grateful for you, coming here to read what I have to say.

I have a quiz over three chapters in my family therapy textbook and have thus been reading and taking notes for most of today. The "fun" (if you can call it that) thing about taking notes for a psychology course is that there are endless ways of relating the material to current life issues, and these have been finding their way into my notes. Five minutes ago, I jumped up from the couch and headed toward my computer, eager to share an insight that came up.

I took a walk this afternoon, a short one around the neighborhood. Just as I was approaching a particular house, I remembered a character of mine, a little black girl named Pearl. She was the leading lady (child star) in a story I began writing for National Novel Writing Month, a few years ago. Alas, I never finished that story, but Pearl has stayed with me. In fact, I think she is me, in many ways.

The name was inspired by a doll my mother bought for me when I was a child, Poor Pitiful Pearl, who I loved very much. As an adult, however, I came to view Pearl as a symbol for sadness. I questioned my mother's intentions, wondering why she had given me (of all things) a sad doll. What was she thinking? Was Pearl some kind of role model for me? A kind of mild resentment settled in. What kind of a mother....

Well, it wasn't until later that it occurred to me that Pearl was not necessarily sad; instead, she was poor. Disadvantaged. So, her "sadness" (as I saw it) had roots in poverty. And looking at a picture of the doll today, I see she wasn't as sad as I had imagined her to be. She is just homely, and is actually smiling, just a little. I began to see Poor Pitiful Pearl more realistically, and in a new light.

Anyway, as I was approaching this house during my walk, I thought of not only the character Pearl, but before that even, I thought of the physical pearl, and the process of making one. It involves an irritant; a pearl would not exist if not for a bit of debris irritating the oyster in which it is created.

Coming out of the irritating condition of poverty is a process, too. I waved cheerily to the man sitting on the porch of that house, a house I knew had a handicapped occupant who rarely leaves the house because of her paraplegia. I had also talked to other occupants of the house (the caregivers change) and had come to learn that she has ... well, "problems," related to her condition.

Anyway, all of this together -- a child in my consciousness, Pearl; the pearl, created by the oyster; and Poor Pitiful Pearl -- is what brought me to the computer tonight.

Thanks so much for reading!