Have you ever felt, not wanted? Often being unwanted saddens you.
While living in the Minneapolis area, the postman delivered a special letter to me. I was being required to report to the county building for jury duty next Monday morning. On Monday, I stood in a line with 500 others, reporting for jury duty. The letter had said prepare for seven to 10 days!
I reported, then chose a seat in this huge waiting room…and waited…and waited. Occasionally a deputy sheriff would come to one of the doors, names were announced, people left and never returned. My name was called, 10 of us were sent to a room, asked some questions. I was returned, back to the waiting room. The waiting room thinned, a number of us were called out again, questioned, and returned to the waiting room.
By the third day, the ‘Minneapolis Seven’ as we called ourselves, sat at the round table in the middle of the waiting room. We seven had been called and returned a number of times. We began sharing our stories of rejection. Being asked what we thought or believed, caused our rejection, for we spoke our minds. By the fourth day, there must have been less than 35 of the original 500 remaining, the rejected. Still, the ‘Minneapolis Seven’ sat together. There was an older lady amongst us, she spoke with an accent.
Frieda, was the older lady. She had a tattoo on her wrist. I had never seen a tattooed lady before.
She explained that as a little girl she was born and raised in Estonia, on Russia’s western front. Her family was arrested and placed in the Nazi Concentration Camp known as Vivara. It turned out that she was the only one of a family of five to survive the camp.
At 4:30 a deputy came to the door and announced that those remaining were released from jury duty and needn’t return. I had hoped for one more day, to learn more of what Frieda was willing to share, yet I was glad to escape the waiting room.
My opinions, too strict, my beliefs too vocal, I was rejected, unwanted. I thought of my being reject for jury duty to Frieda’s not being wanted in this world, in WWII. Strange, often being unwanted saddens you, but sometimes, you can feel happy about it.