Summer, 1965
It was a FULL-SIZED, Louisville Hillerich & Bradsby, Little League-approved baseball bat…1965…brand new…and BEST of all – inscribed with Mickey Mantle’s name at the end. Anyone who followed New York baseball in 1965 knew that Mickey Mantle was the ultimate batter. So, of course, that bat was my absolute pride and joy.
I suspect I was a rarity, as I was probably one of the rare girls at Yankee Stadium that day. It was the very first “Bat Day!” and anyone who had a child and a ticket to the game got a free, official Little League bat. Since all I remember seeing around us were boys and their dads, AND given it was 1965, the idea of a GIRL coming to bat day would have been unusual.
My two friends (both boys) from our neighborhood were going to this event with their dads, friends of our family. They must have invited my dad to join them, and since he only had daughters, and since, in a lot of ways, as the oldest, I was the replacement son, I got to go.
I remember bits of it. An exciting drive to New York City. Walking in and being handed THAT bat. Clutching it to my chest as we pushed our way through packed stairwells to get to our seats, and gripping it tightly the whole day. Stopping at a hot-dog stand for dinner on the ride home.
The entire day was heaven, with even my dad being in a good mood. And…that bat. I was going to treasure it forever. But sometimes forever isn’t very long.
Like all toys any of us received in our house, it was understood “you shared it.” And so for all our backyard Whiffle-ball games, this was our bat to use.
During one particular weekend game, a friend stood at home plate, crouched, and ready to swing. At the same time, one of my siblings stole her way from third base to home plate, intent on scoring, and ran headfirst into the bat.
No one was swinging the bat. He was just standing there holding it, and she just ran into it and got a bump. But somehow, there were tears. And somehow, being the oldest who was supposed to “know better” – my father’s standard words to me all through childhood – it was my fault.
So amidst the crying, my father stormed out, grabbed the bat, yelled at me, and threw it in the backyard garbage can. And so ended my Mickey Mantle Little League bat.
As with so many things in my childhood, you just moved on. You didn’t dare argue back.
Auxiliary Tools
In various places in this blog, I’ve already introduced the “big tools” — EMDR, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, medications, and Attitude. They have been such gifts in my healing process. I will continue to share insights on these as I go on, but for right now, let me introduce my “auxiliary tools.”
Of course, I have a list – I ALWAYS make lists…or maps. That is just so I can use my brain at this point in life for actual thinking, versus being a filing cabinet of thousands of details.
But while I call these auxiliary tools, they are actually vital. Without them, the rest of my therapy work and healing would be so ineffective. Those big tools are, for me, only as good as the work I do before and after those sessions. Each auxiliary tool on this list, in some way, provokes thoughts, memories, and new questions as I prepare for my therapy, and then they enable me to reflect deeper and extract the wisdom when I return home.
So without further delay, here is the first one.
Talismans and Sensory Experiences
Talisman. It sounds mysterious and mystical. And, to me, maybe it is in a way. Dictionaries define it as an object of some kind with magical or “god-like” powers that can bring in good energy, power, or good fortune.
For myself, there are objects that incite such an emotional response that it’s almost scary. It’s interesting how, in the present moment, we can encounter an object or have a sensory experience from our past, and those things immediately put us back there. They have an almost magical power to release even tiny details of an event we’d tucked away years ago and pretty much forgotten.
To this day, I love home-made chocolate chip cookies – specifically my mother’s cookies, which were the best I’ve ever had. Any cookie I savor now is always measured against hers.
Just a whiff of a warm, newly-baked chocolate chip cookie triggers warm memories and sets my mouth watering. I can still feel the texture of hers, which were just firm enough but not brittle, so that they didn’t crunch but softly gave way to the pressure of your teeth as you bit into it. And the still-warm chocolate chips melted all over your tongue and coated the inside of your mouth. The time I had to go to the hospital for stitches because I’d cut my head open after a run-in with a cast-iron radiator in our kitchen, Mom had freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies ready when I got home.
Then, there were family meals with aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents that included Slovak delights like pierogis, a ravioli-like dumpling filled with a “cheddar cheese and mashed-potato mixture,” and drenched in sauteed butter and onions. And for dessert, a nut roll called “kolach.”
Through connection with concrete things from my past, I can be transported to an exact place, time, or event that is long gone. And whatever emotions or moods were present when those memories were made, I can feel them right now in the present.
While a lot of them may not be objects but sensory-based experiences, the power with which they can evoke my emotions and memories is truly unnerving. So I consider them all Talismans:
- Tactile — Holding my oil-painting brushes. Handling a microscope. Grasping toys from my past.
- Visual — Paintings, photographs, books, or objects from childhood.
- Smell — Aside from those cookies and food, Mom’s Evening in Paris cologne. Play-Doh. The particular smell of the inside of older-print books.
- Taste — Pierogis. Chocolate chip cookies. Kolach. Sauerkraut sweetened with bacon grease.
- Auditory — All the different kinds of music I listen to – New Age instrumentals; Gregorian Chants. Chamber music and instrumental baroque. All the tunes from the 1960s-90s that I grew up with, and some new ones today.
- Nervous System — Any one of the many items or experiences that I used as a Moment of Respite on a bad day to calm me.
So, as these and so many others generated emotions and moods years ago, and were then imprinted in my brain along with that concrete event, now they are tools to jar my memory. And if I want to reconnect strongly with something from my childhood to recall tiny details, these items do the trick.
The reminder of what might have been
There are things that are streaked with a bittersweet wistfulness. A 1950s frogman’s mask and a book by Jacques Cousteau were such strong positives in my childhood. I was determined I would be the female Cousteau and become a marine biologist. I visited a local university and looked longingly into labs, convinced that it was my future.
While I did end up in labs in the medical field, the circumstances of abuse, money, and just life, prevented that dream. But even so, I managed to still give it a positive twist.
To this day, I absolutely love the ocean, tide pools, and undersea creatures. If I lived before, I was probably a hermit crab, lobster, or scallop. I just feel a complete sense of joy and being at home, to read books about, and see photos of ocean life. So while I never made that my career, I make those beautiful creatures the subjects of my oil painting. I can still be in that world in my own way.
But of all the things listed above, there is one Talisman that reigns supreme above all the others…one that floods me with immensely powerful emotions the minute I pick it up.
About that bat…
It was 2018. The upwelling of intense yearnings and stored pain had started demanding my attention. Abuse painting. EMDR. Therapy sessions. And…that bat. I NEEDED that bat back.
I hunted collectibles sites and auction sites. Mostly, there were ones exactly like mine, but they were no longer for sale. Or the one or two that were available were way beyond my price range. It seems that many of us thought kindly of that Yankees bat-day experience. So I kept an eye out but didn’t have much hope.
Until one day…there it was. An auction. A bat, beat up, but THAT bat. And the fact that it was beat up didn’t matter. I wasn’t looking for a pristine one. In fact, the more beat up the better because it was more true to the one I’d had. Given how scuffed up ours was from playing ball in the yard, this one looked just like it.
My husband knew of my quest. He’d been saving money for something he wanted, but when he came up behind me while I looked at the online auction, he told me to bid on it, and he’d give me his money. Though I didn’t want to do that to him, I was so deeply touched.
Fortunately, we were in luck. Maybe the fact that it was scuffed up was a blessing. I managed to outbid everyone else, and soon a large box arrived from the auction house.
Pulling the tissue paper and packing material aside, my eyes fell on an object I’d given up hope of ever seeing again, decades ago. I almost cried.
Running my fingers along the smooth but bumpy wood, I was back in the yard at home all over again. Reaching for the handle, I wrapped my fingers around the bat, gripped it tightly, and was suddenly flooded with not only joy but an amazing sense of POWER. The sense of physical strength I felt left me speechless.
For that moment, and even now, when I grip that bat handle, I suddenly feel 10 again. I feel this huge surge of determination, energy, and excitement — which must have been what that kid felt when she was still young and hopeful enough to think she had a chance to be anything she wanted.
When I grip that handle and close my eyes, I feel that certainty that “once I got to be an adult, it would be all better. And I would go on to fulfill my dreams and adventures.”
It may sound sad — to viscerally feel the memories of those very lost dreams and hopes. And yes, it is. I will talk more about “losses and grief” later.
But still, I consider it a gift, now, and feel deeply emotional about it. Because in the very moment I cradle that bat in my 70-something-year-old hands, I get a taste again of immortality, youth, and determination. Like some magical “live-forever” pill.
It fits into my hand like it was always meant to be there…a very part of me.
In that moment, I am at peace. Because through that Talisman, I get to meet ME again. Young me. Me before life almost finished me off. The me I had lost along the way so many years ago.
It’s like my arm is literally stretching through the decades, through some kind of time machine, to emerge in the 1960s and hold hands with my young self again. I get to finally REUNITE a piece of me into my whole now. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Given the chance to get THAT piece of me back, it occurred to me that maybe…just maybe, I might be able to reclaim other parts of me that I had walled off, shunned unfairly, and hated for a lifetime.
So, to get all of me back, the quest with my tools would go on.
Note:
I am seeking financial support to complete my memoir, work with an editor, and make a visit to my home state for fact-checking. Your help would mean the world to me as I take this step toward healing and giving voice to my journey.
Please like, comment, and share this post to help spread the word. The link for my fundraiser is on GoFundMe. Thank you for your support.
Soul Mosaic 
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