Hello. My name is Pearl. My childhood had been like none that I've ever heard of before. As long as I could remember, I always had my mother. She was a very loving mother, and I loved her dearly. Mother told me often of how precious I was to her, and how I was the most wonderful thing she possessed on this earth ("But she named the infant "Pearl", as being of great price- purchased with all she had - her mother's only treasure."). Ever since I could remember, the part of my mother that always caught my eye was a symbol on her bosom. When I learned how to read, I learned that this symbol was called an "A". I don't know what part of it caught my attention. It could have been the magnificent and eloquent design of it, with its scarlet and gold thread. It could be that no other woman in town but my mother had this beautiful badge on her dress. It could be the way everybody else in town stared at it. Although, unlike I, when their eyes bore into the "A", all I saw were cold and judgmental grimaces, which I could never comprehend. How could one look at such a beautiful emblem with such a condescending scowl? Anyway, for whatever reason, I was always fascinated with my mother's "A", and on occasion, I would inquire my mom as to why she had to wear it while no other woman did so. Mother always seemed uncomfortable when the subject came up, and never really wanted to discuss the "A". But the more she avoided the subject, the more mystery surrounded this symbol and the more curious and frustrated I got. I was a very moody child, indeed. I was prone to tantrums, and often threw terrible fits. My tantrums often got so violent, that those pious, gossiping townspeople often thought that the devil had a hold on me. ("Pearl would grow positively terrible in her puny wrath, snatching up stones to fling at them, with shrill, incoherent exclamations that made her mother tremble because they had so much the sound of a witch's anathemas in some unknown tongue."). But that wasn't true. And this wasn't the way I always was. In my moments of joy, I was giddy, very passionate, and full of emotion, often playing and laughing with myself. ("Our Pearl is a fitful and fantastic little elf sometimes. Especially, she is seldom tolerant of emotion when she does not fully comprehend the why and wherefore. But the child hath strong affections!").
One thing that I always noted as a child was the fact that I had only a mother. Oh don't mistake me, I loved my mother very much, and could not ask for a better one, but every other child in town had a father as well, and not I. My mother was swift to avoid this topic as well. There was, however, one man in town that I always felt a strange, paternal connection to. He was the town reverend, Reverend Dimmesdale. He was always putting his hand on his heart, a subconscious gesture, I always assumed. And I always associated the hand on his chest with the symbol on my mother's. I always secretly wondered if there was a connection, if he were possibly my father. Oh, I knew it was an absurd thought, and that I probably didn't have a father on this earth. But every time I saw him put his hand on his chest, it reminded me that possibly, just possibly, he could be the father I always longed for. I finally started to see this illusion as a possible reality when the reverend began to take notice to my mother and I. The first time I can remember him specifically seeking out my mother and I, was on this one night. What a peculiar night it was! Mother and I had left this man's deathbed and were walking home, when we saw the reverend standing on the town scaffold, and beckoned us to come stand with him, hand in hand. We all stood there, holding hands and watching these strange lights in the sky, like nothing I had ever seen before! ("There was witchcraft in little Pearl's eyes; and her face, as she glanced upward at the minister, wore that naughty smile which made its expression frequently so elvish. She withdrew her hand from Mr. Dimmesdale's, and pointed across the street. But he clasped both his hands over his breast, and cast his eyes towards the zenith." It was at that moment that I knew that our town's minister was my father. I don't know how I knew, but part of me just knew, deep down. I could not remember a time when I was happier, not in all of my childhood. I had my dear, devoted mother on my one side, and, at long last, I had my father with me, and he loved me. I just knew he had to! But it wasn't enough. I could tell that he loved us, I could see the love in his eyes, and I felt it in the way he spoke to us. But I wanted him to hold our hands and walk with us in the daylight, where everyone could see us as a family. I gave him this request, but he simply said that he couldn't and that the only time we would stand together in the light is on "the judgment day". Even though I never let on to this, that statement hurt me very much. It made me feel like he was ashamed of us. Otherwise, he would be proud to walk with us in the town, with the family he loved so dearly.
Some time later, on another day, I saw him and mother speaking in the forest. I was playing off in the distance, and after they had been talking for some time, and I felt a few different emotions. While I was excited that I would finally have a whole family, I was also still a bit mad at my father for not wanting to be seen with us. And until he was willing to be seen with us, I wanted no part in having him join us. After they had been talking for a while, they beckoned me over. The first thing I noticed was the absence of my mothers "A". It upset me, and I threw a fit. After she finally agreed to put it back on, I happily went over and embraced her. But when my father gave me a kiss on the forehead, I got really upset. He said hardly a word to me for the first seven years of my life, refuses to be seen with us in public, and he dares kiss me? As much as I loved him and wanted him in my life, he would have to prove himself to me first. So, I washed the kiss off in the river.
A few days later, the town was having a big celebration, and my father was giving a big speech in the town. But his demeanor was so different from when I saw him in the forest! In fact, he seemed like an entirely different man. I questioned my mother about his change of character, but she just avoided the subject, as she always did when she didn't want to discuss certain topics. Then, all of a sudden, after father was finished with his sermon, he called mother and I up to the scaffold with him. Finally, the moment I've been waiting for! He finally wants to be seen with us! As I got closer to him, however, I could tell that there was something not right. I looked into his eyes, and I knew that there was something wrong, and part of me knew that this would be the last time that I would ever see my father. Then, my father tore the garments from his breast, and revealed that, like my mother, he has a mark on his bosom. He then turned to me and asked if I would kiss him this time. Trying not to cry tears of joy and sadness, I laid a kiss upon my father's lips. ("Pearl kissed his lips. A spell was broken. The great scene of grief, in which the wild infant bore a part, had developed all her sympathies; and as her tears fell upon her father's cheek, they were the pledge that she would grow up amid human joy and sorrow, nor for ever do battle with the world, but be a woman in it.") Then, my earthly father went to meet my heavenly father. It was very sad for me, watching my father pass on before I ever got to really know him. But somehow, I have the sense that he's better that way. I don't know how, but I just sense these things.
Anyway, although my childhood was often painful and didn't always seem fair at the time, over time, it helped me develop into who I am. For example, there was always this man I saw. He was a very ogre-like man with strange shoulders, who my mother seemed to dislike greatly. I was later told that he was my mother's former husband. After he died, he left all of his wealth to me, so I could live a comfortable, happy life. He had no reason to do so. In fact, he had reason to dislike me. But with that final act of kindness and mercy, he taught me that, it's never too late to forgive. And with my father's life of secret shame, he taught me that it's never good harbor your sin from God. It will only lead to shame, heartbreak and sadness. And my mother, with her beautiful stigma of shame, taught me that even though the bad things in life are ugly by themselves, with redemption, mercy and God's forgiveness they can be transformed into something beautiful. Even a black sin like my mother's immorality was turned into helping the helpless, caring for the uncared for, and loving the loveless. Even a cursed letter that represent the ugliness of the world's black sin can be turned into a beautiful, embroidered scarlet letter.