I am Peter. I am the son of Heinz and Ida. I have a brother and sister, Michael and Lisa. I work with some people.

I am learning to love some people. I cant say that I love everybody. I love myself enough today to go through the pain of finding out who I am. Its not all that much fun, but the rewards have been amazing.

I still slip back into the me that was, and still is to some degree. Over the last 3 days I have been in charge of making and serving almost 5,000 meals, on time. I did a good job with 2 other untrained, unmotivated staff. I have a lot to be proud of. What I remember the most though is that I forgot to open some cartons of eggs, and put them in a mixing bowl for the person that was working the next shift.

Why do I remember that the most, you might ask. Well as a child I was taught that I am what I do with a disproportionate amount of emphasize on doing things right. So what I did well was negated by the one small thing that I did not remember to do.

I woke up this morning realizing that my self image is tied to a carton of eggs.

A simplistic way of viewing myself, I agree. I have been taught that I am what I forget to do, don’t do, do badly, or should have done. This came mostly from my Father. My Mother had checked out by then. For as long as I can remember she has had her nose in a book. So that’s what I did too.

These are 2 different ways of being. I was caught in a conflict of interest. I could never please both of my parents.

I chose escape. I ran with the reading, drugs, eating, exercising and sex. I guess that is why I feel closer to my Mother, and its also why I hate her more. You see I did what she did and I still wasn’t good enough. I could understand my Father more. I didn’t do what he wanted me to do, in the way he wanted me to do it, so I must be flawed. I just took it farther than you, Mom. I fell into a deeper hole.

my Father was a carpenter. When my brother and I were little we started to go on job sites. I often wonder if that was how my Father viewed us, as little workers that he had to train. I think that is how he viewed his self worth. Well, one day I was measuring the sub floor on a house he was building. I was about eight or nine. I had a tape measure hooked onto the side of the floor, and was walking backwards to the other side.

Needless to say I fell through the stairwell hole onto the concrete pad below. That was the first time I have ever had the wind knocked out of me. Fortunately that was the only injury that I sustained. What I do know is that my Father raced to get a ladder, come down, pick me up, and ask me if I was all right.

I have been falling down holes all my life looking for that Father. The only Father I have found, since then, is the one that tells me to toughen up, and not make so many mistakes.

I am getting better at seeing my beauty. Seeing the beauty around me, and seeing the beauty in you. I am even getting to the point where I see the beauty in the pain. I usually don’t change if I don’t have the pain to motivate me, but sometimes I am still that unopened carton of eggs.