Raised on Optimism

I was raised on optimism.
Though we weren't rich,
somehow I always knew
I had a warm place to sleep
and there would be food on the table—
even though it wasn't always food I liked.

Like everyone else's parents,
mine argued and fought,
but their love always conquered anger.
The idea they wouldn't always be together,
never crossed my mind.
My sister and I didn't always get along,
but when the chips were down
we were always there for each other.
Things weren't always comfortable,
but I never felt vulnerable.

Like most children,
when holidays rolled around
I wanted everything—
but never expected to get it.
Visits to Santa and the Easter Bunny
were filled with optimistic hope,
and somehow
I was never disappointed.
I'm sure there were things 
I wanted but didn't get,
still I can't remember being anything
but excited and happy
by their generosity.

I'm not sure why, 
but I think it had to do with love.
No matter what difficulties 
were tossed our way,
in the end we always got through.
Unconsciously we knew 
that love would hold us together
and better days were coming.

Maybe it's just me.
I look for happy surprises,
and try not to worry about 
things beyond my control.
You can't have rainbows
without the rain.
Try pulling open the blackout curtains
and look for the light.

I'm sure optimism
can spring up from anywhere.
Sometimes spewing up geysers
like Old Faithful.
Sometimes just a trickle,
like the public water fountains 
that are always a surprise,
however they work.

~Elise Skidmore ©2025