When the brain gets in the way~

I've been told often that I have a good gut instinct. Fact is that I do. Another fact is that I often let my brain over ride my instinct.

I think maybe we're born with it. 

People who are victims of crime will sometimes say "Something just didn't feel right, I should have......." fill in the blank. I think we are taught to ignore or not trust our instinct.

You know as a child you might say to a parent that you don't like another relative, and they tell you now now be nice. And years later you find out that relative was touching children. Something along those lines.

Gut instinct.

There have been times over the years where my mom will say something, or react to something my father has said. I usually don't comment on it, I just notice it and save it in my "useless" memory area.

I remember a lot of random things and it often makes my husband laugh or roll his eyes.

There are some things though, that simply can not be erased from my memory, stored away for a time when I might need to reference them.

When I was 13 years old I got to go to California to visit my Aunt. We did all of the fun things. Disney Land, good food, beaches. I remember a lot of the trip, not all of it though. 

The part that I remember the most is waiting for my luggage with my parents when I got home. My dad was angry at me. At 13 I thought I was doing a good thing by paying a dollar to the deaf guy who gave me a note with a sticker on it. I had money left over from my trip, and dad was less then pleased with my stupidity for falling for this scam. As a side not, I still have a hard time not giving to the people who approach me with those little notes....

I announced that I knew of something that I wanted to buy.

My mom was kind enough to ask me what it was that I wanted.

I told her "An Italian horn charm!"

Why did I want one?

It was really simple actually for my young 13 year old mind. In California I noticed that everyone who had one on seemed to be very attractive. I thought maybe if I wore one, I would become pretty as well. I didn't tell my parents that this was why I wanted one. Their reaction shut me up pretty fast.

Dad said with anger "What do you want that for? You're not Italian!" I hated when he got so angry with me in public.

Mom's reaction was to dad, not me. She elbowed him in the gut and said "Ar." which was his sort of short name from mom.

I shrugged my shoulders and the subject was dropped.

I never did get that Italian horn.

I did however get a clue.

If I ever asked my parents , well correct that .......if I ever asked my mom about my birth parents I was almost always told the same thing. She would tell me their height, their hair and eye colors, and that they "matched" me up with my parents because I would surely look like them.

That was it, that was all I was told. I learned to stop asking, and start observing.

I couldn't have an Italian horn because I wasn't Italian, or maybe because I wasn't ever going to be pretty enough to wear one.

My gut told me that there was more to it. And so I saved this piece of information and did a recall on it almost 20 year later.......................


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