I have been wondering lately if I should continue to give away my story or stop giving away my intended book and start writing about other things.
I know I don't have many people reading my blog but I would like one day to publish my book and not sure if putting it on blogger is the best way to get that done.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
A Mothers Drama
Judy took me to court to gain full custody of me away from my mother and grandparents. The only part about the whole thing I remember much of was that I was at school the morning of court and my tummy was so upset that I couldn’t stand it, and Judy was so sweet and loving toward me explaining that it was just nerves and that it would all be over soon. Boy was she in for a shock.
My mother showed up for court, I didn’t even know she was in town. She became so out of control during the proceedings that she said; “I can’t watch my daughter being auctioned off like this”. That was the first time she had even shown concern for me in my whole life. But the concern was not for me it was another of her ploys to draw attention to herself. She stormed out of the court room and I followed her into the ladies room. Where she was screaming at me and yelling at me, but when she raised her hand to me I lost all my composure and slapped her across the face and told her; “you may as well give me up, because for once you need to think about what is best for me not what you need to look good.”
The next thing I know I am walking out of the courthouse with Judy who was just awarded custody of me by the judge, and I lived with her family until midway through my freshman year of college. My high school terms were much happier and I felt for the first time in years that I could breathe again. My grades went up, I was a member of my high school marching band, where I all of a sudden was instantly very popular and was able to experience music and dance again for the first time in many years.
My mother showed up for court, I didn’t even know she was in town. She became so out of control during the proceedings that she said; “I can’t watch my daughter being auctioned off like this”. That was the first time she had even shown concern for me in my whole life. But the concern was not for me it was another of her ploys to draw attention to herself. She stormed out of the court room and I followed her into the ladies room. Where she was screaming at me and yelling at me, but when she raised her hand to me I lost all my composure and slapped her across the face and told her; “you may as well give me up, because for once you need to think about what is best for me not what you need to look good.”
The next thing I know I am walking out of the courthouse with Judy who was just awarded custody of me by the judge, and I lived with her family until midway through my freshman year of college. My high school terms were much happier and I felt for the first time in years that I could breathe again. My grades went up, I was a member of my high school marching band, where I all of a sudden was instantly very popular and was able to experience music and dance again for the first time in many years.
Friday, June 10, 2011
The Runaway
At fourteen years of age my mother found her birth father after many years of searching, she planned a two week vacation with my brother Bruce, myself and now my brother Paul (who was adopted by my mother and step) to see her birthfather for the first time since she was seven years of age. My birth mother had not seen her father since she was seven because at that time my Ninny and her husband “Uncle Fred” drove to Tennessee where my mother and her sisters were born, and drove them all back to Massachusetts where my mother’s brother Keith was born. (my grandmother was 4 months pregnant when she left Tennessee.)
We had a fun two weeks where at the end I was invited to stay the whole summer and return home with them to my mother’s at the end of summer as they were going to meet my mother’s brothers and sisters. Debbie, Lori, Keith and my youngest Uncle Glen who was a product of my grandmothers last marriage, that ended one evening when her then husband told her he was “going out for cigarettes” never to return.
I spent the summer tagging along with my mother’s step sister Theresa who was five years older than I. I felt once again like I had found a place where I belonged. Boy was I ever wrong. I returned home in August three weeks prior to my fifteenth birthday. After the week was over my new found grandparents and Auntie left to return to their lives in Tennessee. I wanted out of my mother’s life and home so bad that at fifteen years old, 3 weeks after my birthday, I stole one hundred dollars from my mother’s purse, purchased a greyhound bus ticket to Tennessee, not even knowing that I would find my grandparents and aunt. (I had forgotten where they lived.)
I made it to Nashville on the bus and found myself homeless. I lived that way for at least six months. I met a few kids my age a few days after I arrived in Nashville who were also homeless. The teens I met taught me about a place called safeplace, a new organization that helpd homeless and at risk youth, by giving them a hot meal, a place to sleep if they need it and clean clothes. I had seen how some of the girls were prostituting themselves to be able to live. I knew I did not want to live this way, as I had already lived that life, the whole reason for running away from home was to get away from sexual trauma as well as other trauma in my life. I had experienced prostitution with my birth mother while she was married to my step dad. My mother would offer me up to her “Johns” as a perk of paying her more. I was not going to willingly go into this lifestyle, without at least trying to get a quality education.
I desperately wanted an education, so I hitched one day in December to Franklin and asked where I had to go to register for school. The person who picked me up dropped me off at the superintendants office for Franklin Special School District, back then known as Franklin City Schools. I had a copy of my school records with me that I stole from my mother’s file cabinet before leaving. I took the school records because I felt like my education was something that was mine and mine alone and I deserved to have all that went with it. Little did I know, that they were more useful than I gave them credit for. I handed the receptionist my records and lied to her, telling her that my mother was disabled and couldn’t get there to sign anything so I would need to take the registration papers with me and bring them back after my mother signed them.
The receptionist behind the desk bought my story; I took the papers with me and returned four days later with my mother’s signature forged. It wasn’t hard to forge my mother’s signature on my registration papers and make it look like the signature that was on all my old school documents, as my mother rarely signed anything, I usually signed it for her. I was promptly enrolled in Franklin Junior High, and started classes in February. I have always said I was homeless for approximately six months because after I was enrolled in school I felt like I had a home. I made friends quickly and many of them were generous enough to let me stay with them from time to time. When summer came I stayed under the church street bridge with my “street” friends, I learned to beg for money to eat, and on occasion I slept at the shelter. When school begun again I was transferred to Franklin High where I figured out that the band room was rarely locked so as long as I was in the band I was able to sleep in the back band room. So I joined the Marching band as a flute/ clarinet player turned guard girl. This would be my sophomore year and I had plans for my life.
When I wasn’t sleeping in the band room and washing my clothes in the bathroom sink and hanging them to dry in my locker I was sleeping over at friend’s homes. In October I found my grandparents and moved in with them only to find that I was to be the victim yet again of sexual abuse, at the hands of my own grandfather. I had faced this type of abuse in the past, perpetrated on me by my step dad’s father and my mother’s many boyfriends, that she had while married to my step dad, and even a neighbor. This just reinforced the thought that there was something wrong with me, that everyone wanted to do these horrible things to me. I can remember not even realizing that it was something that other girls didn’t go through, as I was so young when it all started. But one day while watching television there was a commercial on television that spoke of the National Child Abuse Hotline and how if someone was hurting you in any way you should call the number and someone would help you. I called that number that day, only to be put on hold for 45 minutes, I hung up.
At some point in the first few weeks of living with my grandparents I was taken to the local police station, by a police officer, because I had been reported by my mother as a runaway and she wanted me to come back. The police officer that questioned me listened to my story and opened the back door of the police station and said “honey you are a very smart brave girl, if you want to run there is the door and I understand and will not come looking for you.” I told him that I had gotten myself into this mess and that I would stay and face whatever I had to, but that I was determined that my life would be more than what was dealt me by my mother and her problems. The police officer told me that he thought I was a very bright brave girl and that he understood my decision. I went back home with my grandparents and after many phone calls from my mother I was allowed to stay.
By the time my sophomore year in high school began I had befriended my computer teacher (Judy) who I confided in (in my junior year) that I had a “friend” who was being abused and she needed to know what to do. She told me “tell you friend to come see me” I emphatically told her that my friend would not come forward for fear of what would happen to her, she then told me ok she would talk to me as much as I wanted. The subject was not brought up in school again. I was home alone that Thanksgiving (during my junior year) and was invited to dinner at my then teacher’s home. She fed me, and rented a movie called “Angel” the movie was about a teen runaway turned prostitute that befriended a police officer. Half way through the movie I was sitting on the floor sobbing and Judy pulled me back into her bedroom and said; “I know you don’t have a friend, I know it is you, please let me help you.” So I told Judy the whole story about my life, my abuses and my fears. She made a phone call to a local juvenile judge (Judge Franks), who signed a temporary guardian order so that I could stay where I was until court was back in session in two weeks.
We had a fun two weeks where at the end I was invited to stay the whole summer and return home with them to my mother’s at the end of summer as they were going to meet my mother’s brothers and sisters. Debbie, Lori, Keith and my youngest Uncle Glen who was a product of my grandmothers last marriage, that ended one evening when her then husband told her he was “going out for cigarettes” never to return.
I spent the summer tagging along with my mother’s step sister Theresa who was five years older than I. I felt once again like I had found a place where I belonged. Boy was I ever wrong. I returned home in August three weeks prior to my fifteenth birthday. After the week was over my new found grandparents and Auntie left to return to their lives in Tennessee. I wanted out of my mother’s life and home so bad that at fifteen years old, 3 weeks after my birthday, I stole one hundred dollars from my mother’s purse, purchased a greyhound bus ticket to Tennessee, not even knowing that I would find my grandparents and aunt. (I had forgotten where they lived.)
I made it to Nashville on the bus and found myself homeless. I lived that way for at least six months. I met a few kids my age a few days after I arrived in Nashville who were also homeless. The teens I met taught me about a place called safeplace, a new organization that helpd homeless and at risk youth, by giving them a hot meal, a place to sleep if they need it and clean clothes. I had seen how some of the girls were prostituting themselves to be able to live. I knew I did not want to live this way, as I had already lived that life, the whole reason for running away from home was to get away from sexual trauma as well as other trauma in my life. I had experienced prostitution with my birth mother while she was married to my step dad. My mother would offer me up to her “Johns” as a perk of paying her more. I was not going to willingly go into this lifestyle, without at least trying to get a quality education.
I desperately wanted an education, so I hitched one day in December to Franklin and asked where I had to go to register for school. The person who picked me up dropped me off at the superintendants office for Franklin Special School District, back then known as Franklin City Schools. I had a copy of my school records with me that I stole from my mother’s file cabinet before leaving. I took the school records because I felt like my education was something that was mine and mine alone and I deserved to have all that went with it. Little did I know, that they were more useful than I gave them credit for. I handed the receptionist my records and lied to her, telling her that my mother was disabled and couldn’t get there to sign anything so I would need to take the registration papers with me and bring them back after my mother signed them.
The receptionist behind the desk bought my story; I took the papers with me and returned four days later with my mother’s signature forged. It wasn’t hard to forge my mother’s signature on my registration papers and make it look like the signature that was on all my old school documents, as my mother rarely signed anything, I usually signed it for her. I was promptly enrolled in Franklin Junior High, and started classes in February. I have always said I was homeless for approximately six months because after I was enrolled in school I felt like I had a home. I made friends quickly and many of them were generous enough to let me stay with them from time to time. When summer came I stayed under the church street bridge with my “street” friends, I learned to beg for money to eat, and on occasion I slept at the shelter. When school begun again I was transferred to Franklin High where I figured out that the band room was rarely locked so as long as I was in the band I was able to sleep in the back band room. So I joined the Marching band as a flute/ clarinet player turned guard girl. This would be my sophomore year and I had plans for my life.
When I wasn’t sleeping in the band room and washing my clothes in the bathroom sink and hanging them to dry in my locker I was sleeping over at friend’s homes. In October I found my grandparents and moved in with them only to find that I was to be the victim yet again of sexual abuse, at the hands of my own grandfather. I had faced this type of abuse in the past, perpetrated on me by my step dad’s father and my mother’s many boyfriends, that she had while married to my step dad, and even a neighbor. This just reinforced the thought that there was something wrong with me, that everyone wanted to do these horrible things to me. I can remember not even realizing that it was something that other girls didn’t go through, as I was so young when it all started. But one day while watching television there was a commercial on television that spoke of the National Child Abuse Hotline and how if someone was hurting you in any way you should call the number and someone would help you. I called that number that day, only to be put on hold for 45 minutes, I hung up.
At some point in the first few weeks of living with my grandparents I was taken to the local police station, by a police officer, because I had been reported by my mother as a runaway and she wanted me to come back. The police officer that questioned me listened to my story and opened the back door of the police station and said “honey you are a very smart brave girl, if you want to run there is the door and I understand and will not come looking for you.” I told him that I had gotten myself into this mess and that I would stay and face whatever I had to, but that I was determined that my life would be more than what was dealt me by my mother and her problems. The police officer told me that he thought I was a very bright brave girl and that he understood my decision. I went back home with my grandparents and after many phone calls from my mother I was allowed to stay.
By the time my sophomore year in high school began I had befriended my computer teacher (Judy) who I confided in (in my junior year) that I had a “friend” who was being abused and she needed to know what to do. She told me “tell you friend to come see me” I emphatically told her that my friend would not come forward for fear of what would happen to her, she then told me ok she would talk to me as much as I wanted. The subject was not brought up in school again. I was home alone that Thanksgiving (during my junior year) and was invited to dinner at my then teacher’s home. She fed me, and rented a movie called “Angel” the movie was about a teen runaway turned prostitute that befriended a police officer. Half way through the movie I was sitting on the floor sobbing and Judy pulled me back into her bedroom and said; “I know you don’t have a friend, I know it is you, please let me help you.” So I told Judy the whole story about my life, my abuses and my fears. She made a phone call to a local juvenile judge (Judge Franks), who signed a temporary guardian order so that I could stay where I was until court was back in session in two weeks.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
The fatherless unwanted child/ The pawn
I was always reminded that my step dad was not my dad when my mother and he would fight as she would say “this is my child and you have no say over her”, and my dad would hold my brother and say “this is my son, and you will not tell me what to do with him”. I always had this sense of not belonging with my mother, where with my Ninny I always belonged and was loved. I knew that no matter what happened I always had my home, but since I was so young I was not allowed by my birth mother and step father to assert the desire I had to return to my home. For my mother I was nothing but a pawn in her life to aid her in getting her way as well as making money. I have been told all my life by other relatives that I was a very good quiet child, but when adolescence hit all my hurt, anger, resentment and confusion came out with a vengeance. I thought my dad didn’t want me so I would say things and do things to hurt him as much as I was hurting by the thought that I was unloved and unwanted. When my mother divorced my birth father, she made sure that I was not mentioned in the divorce proceedings so in essence I was an official bastard child, even though my mother was married to my birth father during my conception and birth.
When I was 13 years old there were another set of divorce papers drawn up that mentioned my brothers Bruce and Paul but once again I was left out as if I did not exist. I was so extremely hurt by this as it was just another way that my mother got me to believe that my dad who had been there at my birth, called me #1 and loved me dearly, didn’t want me nor love me. My mother at this point even dialed the number to my birth father and told him he had to talk to me because I was becoming unruly. He got on the phone and told me “I know I used to take you away for vacations, but you are not my child, I caught your mother sleeping with another man when you were conceived.” I was crushed, not only did the only dad I had ever known not love or want me but my own biological dad didn’t want me either. This left me with my mother who made no qualms about not wanting me until I was useful for her to have. I couldn’t have felt more alone, and to this day I struggle with getting close to people because I fear that I am unlovable and will always be someone useful for someone else rather than their real love.
This portion of my life created vast holes in my heart and soul that I have never found a way to fill. Every person has an inherent need to be loved, needed and wanted. Unfortunately if this is not met in the early years and held consistent, it creates attachment disorders, and wreaks havoc in the now adults life. I used to dream about having children because they would love me because I was mommy. I had a great pretend world around me to shelter me from the pain, but anytime someone at school did not want to be my friend, I would hurt all over again because I felt like there had to be something very wrong with me that no one wanted me around. I was the unwanted, unloved and fatherless pawn child. Little did I know, all I needed to do was love myself, respect myself and strive for my dreams no matter what and no matter what else happened in my life, I would never be the unloved, unwanted, fatherless pawn child, I would become a bright, respectful, beautiful young woman.
Some folks ask me how I changed my life around so drastically, and can still see the beauty in life. That question is easy to answer, I stood up and took charge of my life at an early age and decided to stop being defeated and go out to concur the world with my wit and smile.
Thus the journey to my adulthood that started with $100 at South Station Greyhound bus depot in Boston, Ma and ended up nearly a week later in the Greyhound bus station on 8th avenue in Nashville, Tn. Little did I know I would end up with family again, only this time I had no knowledge of the family I would end up with. (it was the great secret of my mother’s generation.)
When I was 13 years old there were another set of divorce papers drawn up that mentioned my brothers Bruce and Paul but once again I was left out as if I did not exist. I was so extremely hurt by this as it was just another way that my mother got me to believe that my dad who had been there at my birth, called me #1 and loved me dearly, didn’t want me nor love me. My mother at this point even dialed the number to my birth father and told him he had to talk to me because I was becoming unruly. He got on the phone and told me “I know I used to take you away for vacations, but you are not my child, I caught your mother sleeping with another man when you were conceived.” I was crushed, not only did the only dad I had ever known not love or want me but my own biological dad didn’t want me either. This left me with my mother who made no qualms about not wanting me until I was useful for her to have. I couldn’t have felt more alone, and to this day I struggle with getting close to people because I fear that I am unlovable and will always be someone useful for someone else rather than their real love.
This portion of my life created vast holes in my heart and soul that I have never found a way to fill. Every person has an inherent need to be loved, needed and wanted. Unfortunately if this is not met in the early years and held consistent, it creates attachment disorders, and wreaks havoc in the now adults life. I used to dream about having children because they would love me because I was mommy. I had a great pretend world around me to shelter me from the pain, but anytime someone at school did not want to be my friend, I would hurt all over again because I felt like there had to be something very wrong with me that no one wanted me around. I was the unwanted, unloved and fatherless pawn child. Little did I know, all I needed to do was love myself, respect myself and strive for my dreams no matter what and no matter what else happened in my life, I would never be the unloved, unwanted, fatherless pawn child, I would become a bright, respectful, beautiful young woman.
Some folks ask me how I changed my life around so drastically, and can still see the beauty in life. That question is easy to answer, I stood up and took charge of my life at an early age and decided to stop being defeated and go out to concur the world with my wit and smile.
Thus the journey to my adulthood that started with $100 at South Station Greyhound bus depot in Boston, Ma and ended up nearly a week later in the Greyhound bus station on 8th avenue in Nashville, Tn. Little did I know I would end up with family again, only this time I had no knowledge of the family I would end up with. (it was the great secret of my mother’s generation.)
Monday, June 6, 2011
A Knock At The Door
Sometime after my birthday at twelve years of age, late one evening just before bed, I heard a knock at the door, right in the middle of the goodnight song for the Lawrence Welk show. My Ninny descended the stairs to answer the door, while I sang the “Goodnight Song”. Ninni opened the door and was completely taken off guard by three grown men pushing her out of the way. I heard a scream then heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. I then heard voices of men that sounded like they were searching the house for something. I was very afraid and hid behind the brown mohair sofa. Huddling there I could hear my heart beating, I tried to hold my breath and I held my favorite stuffed animal, Kanga and Roo, as tightly as I possibly could. I heard the men getting closer and closer to me, could they be looking for me? I held my breath even harder, my heart felt like it would beat so hard it would soon burst, then all at once the sofa moved to reveal me huddled in a fetal position holding my Kanga and Roo. I screamed and cried for my Ninny as loud as I could, I did not know she was still lying at the bottom of the stairs. I was carried out of the living room into the hall and down the stairs to the foyer, where I caught a glimpse of my Ninny laying on the floor. It was at the moment that all my innocence left and I realized how fragile my Ninny really was. I never learned the identity of the men who removed me from my home, but their faces are etched into my mind to this day.
I had never seen my Ninny as old prior to this moment, age was not a consideration in my brain but it was like time stopped for a moment and I saw every wrinkle, every swollen knuckle from arthritis, as well as every strand of grey hair. My Ninny was fragile? The thought had never occurred to me that my Ninny, my mother figure was old, I only ever saw her through my eyes filled with love. But at this moment, I saw lying on that floor a frail old woman, and because I was being carried out I could not help her, all I could do is hope that the girls living in the downstairs apartment would find her on that floor and help her. For now all I could do was cry and scream as I was placed into the car, and driven away. I do not know what happened to my Ninny after that other than weeks later I visited her and she looked no worse for the ware and the incident was never to be spoken about again. I found out later in life that she had spent all the money she had to hire a lawyer to fight to regain custody of me. I do remember going to court at this age but my mother dressed me up in a beautiful frock, and placed a flower in my hair. She warned me with a whisper prior to speaking with the judge, that I was to tell them how happy I was with her and that I wanted to stay. Little did I know that by following her orders I would seal my fate and waste all the money that my Ninny spent to save me from such an awful fate.
The city I moved to is known as Somerville, it is not as cultured as the Alston Brighton area of Massachusetts, and my home life went from being a wonderland to the equivalent of hell for me. I now had a mom and a dad, many people would say that was better than a single old woman raising me, those folks would be very wrong. I wish a million times that I could live this time over and tell the judge the truth rather than the lies I was fed by my birth mother. I would have told him about the many days we spent walking in Boston Commons, how we rode the swan boats, watched the tree lighting ceremony downtown Boston during Christmas. How I got to walk to school and talk to my Ninny every day on the way to school and on the way back. How I got to have dance school, learned how to play solitaire while that old woman listened to me chatter about anything I wanted to talk about, weather she was interested or not. I would tell that judge about my large back yard that had loads of grass to play on, that the old woman raising me pushed a revolving human powered mower that she painstakingly sharpened herself every year. How she did all of this for me, and how I was loved by my Ninny and “needed” as a pawn by my mother rather than loved.
Adults fighting like children
My birth mother and step dad where always fighting both physically and verbally over one thing or another, and all I could think about was going back home. Little did I know, this new place was going to be my home. Although, I would not call this place home by any stretch of the imagination, sure I had my own room, a rather large one at that, and more toys and things than I ever imagined having, I even had my own television in my room, but the environment was not conducive to raising a child. When I was brought back so was my brother Bruce who had lived with his father’s parents for a time.
My step dad tried to make it fun for both my brother and I, by playing around with us and taking us to his parent’s weekend home in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. This place in New Hampshire was magical as well, because we were right on the lake, and my aunties spent a lot of time with us, teaching us how to swim, water ski and even driving the boat. But none of this made up for the fact that I was missing Ninny and my only wish in the world was to return home with her. She tried to regain custody of me but failed because of the lies I told for my mother, and she was getting older so the courts sided with my mother. (Sometimes newer and younger isn’t better, sometimes it turns out to be a lemon, that can’t make lemonade.)
My mother and step dad always knew how to polish my brother and me just right to make it appear as though we were living a great life, all the while we were huddled together on many occasions when my mom and dad would fight. I remember calling the police because an argument would get out of hand and blood would be shed. I don’t know why I wasn’t sent back to my Ninny’s to live where I was not only happy but also safe from harm. My bed was still there, as where my clothing and toys, but most of all my imagination was left there. I understand now that this was the time in my life where I ceased to be a child and became a quintessential adult, because I learned at that time that the world was an ugly place.
I made new friends in my new neighborhood (Kim and Gina) but visited with my old friends any chance I got. I was never told and to this day still do not know why I was taken from my Ninny in such a violent way. She has since passed on, my mom and dad are divorced and neither wants to discuss it. I once ran away from home not long after I had been removed from my Ninny’s home, out of an act of desperation and desire to go back to the way things were. I got up early in the morning, packed a suitcase with wheels and a handle that I could pull it with and walked the nearly 26 miles from my mother’s house in Somerville to my home in Alston Brighton. My uncle who is five years older than I found me walking about a mile from my (Ninny) home. I was picked up and taken back to my mother; my punishment was being banned from seeing my Ninny for a very long time. My mother would go over and speak with her in the home we shared for so many years and I would know she was going so I would cry and scream begging to go. Once when my mother left the house to go and locked me in my room, I kicked at the window so hard that it broke and glass shattered all over the car my mother was in, in the drive way. She came up to my bedroom and hit me over and over and over again, left me laying on my bed sobbing and locked the door behind her. I remember thinking at that age that I wish I could just escape. I felt like a prisoner in a place that I was supposed to call home. It isn’t that I didn’t stay with my mom from time to time prior to my twelfth birthday as I had for many weekends, and summers, a few months at a time sometimes. None of the time at my mother’s was a happy time for me.
I do not have an understanding why I was passed back and forth the way I was, all I remember was that my mom would send me back when it wasn’t a good time for her to have me around. Little did I know that she was battling mental disease, you see my mother has dissociative personality disorder better known as multiple personality disorder and manic depression.
I wish my mother’s problems didn’t turn into my problems. My mother had a drug problem, and was known to prostitute herself to pay for her habit. In many cases my brother and I were brought along as she had no one to watch us, so we would watch TV while she was handling her business. As I got older and grew a figure, I was turned into part of a “package deal” that got my mother more money. I remember crying at one point because my “girly parts” didn’t look right, so I asked my mother to take me to the doctor. Rather than take me to the doctor she looked at it herself, stimulated them and said “they seem to be working fine you are ok, go get your bath”. On another occasion I was at my friend Kim’s home and was asked if I wanted to go to the local pool. I of course wanted to go, but didn’t have a suit with me. My mother was sitting at the table with Kim’s mom and brother, smoking dope. Our house was only a few doors down from Kim’s but my mother insisted that I have Kim’s brother take me home to get my suit. I didn’t know he had already paid her for time with me. I got home expecting him to wait outside while I ran up got my suit on and then went back to Kim’s to go to the pool. WOW was I wrong! He followed me up the stairs to my room, I got my suit and said, “ok lets go Ill change at yours house” feeling a little strange about the way he was looking at me. But he told me that my mother said it was ok for me to change at home, and for him to stay and watch. I tried everything I could to avoid contact with him, so much so that I went to the bathroom to change and got stopped mid way there and dragged back into the bedroom. Then (I will never forget the smell and sounds of this incident) Kim’s brother leaned me back on the bed so that my legs were spread apart and he entered me, right about the time he was about to be done, he pulled out and made a mess out of my chest and belly. I ran to the bathroom and jumped into the shower and scrubbed till I couldn’t scrub any more or I would have no skin left. The smell would not go away. We left the house, after what seemed like hours and then Kim and I went to the pool. I never told my friend that my mother had sold me to her brother, for the pot and coke that our mothers were doing on the kitchen table.
I never told anyone until I was much older that I was a money maker for my mother as well as a pawn in her marriage to the only dad I would ever know. As I recount this part of my life, the tears are flowing so much that I have to write at night time, so my own children will not be exposed to this ugly part of life and how sad it makes their mom. The only way my dad (step dad John, my brothers birth dad) found out about my mother’s escapades is because she was sleeping with his father, and got angry at him for something so she left a message on his home answering machine for my grandmother to find, it shook the family like a tsunami. Every week my grandpa used to come to my house and tell my brother and I that he had to “talk” to my mother in her bedroom, they would lock the door and be gone for hours on end. It was understood that we were not to interrupt them for anything, not even if the house was burning down. On this indiscretion I blame both my mother and my grandfather, she shouldn’t have been sleeping with her father in law and he shouldn’t have been sleeping with his daughter in law.
I had never seen my Ninny as old prior to this moment, age was not a consideration in my brain but it was like time stopped for a moment and I saw every wrinkle, every swollen knuckle from arthritis, as well as every strand of grey hair. My Ninny was fragile? The thought had never occurred to me that my Ninny, my mother figure was old, I only ever saw her through my eyes filled with love. But at this moment, I saw lying on that floor a frail old woman, and because I was being carried out I could not help her, all I could do is hope that the girls living in the downstairs apartment would find her on that floor and help her. For now all I could do was cry and scream as I was placed into the car, and driven away. I do not know what happened to my Ninny after that other than weeks later I visited her and she looked no worse for the ware and the incident was never to be spoken about again. I found out later in life that she had spent all the money she had to hire a lawyer to fight to regain custody of me. I do remember going to court at this age but my mother dressed me up in a beautiful frock, and placed a flower in my hair. She warned me with a whisper prior to speaking with the judge, that I was to tell them how happy I was with her and that I wanted to stay. Little did I know that by following her orders I would seal my fate and waste all the money that my Ninny spent to save me from such an awful fate.
The city I moved to is known as Somerville, it is not as cultured as the Alston Brighton area of Massachusetts, and my home life went from being a wonderland to the equivalent of hell for me. I now had a mom and a dad, many people would say that was better than a single old woman raising me, those folks would be very wrong. I wish a million times that I could live this time over and tell the judge the truth rather than the lies I was fed by my birth mother. I would have told him about the many days we spent walking in Boston Commons, how we rode the swan boats, watched the tree lighting ceremony downtown Boston during Christmas. How I got to walk to school and talk to my Ninny every day on the way to school and on the way back. How I got to have dance school, learned how to play solitaire while that old woman listened to me chatter about anything I wanted to talk about, weather she was interested or not. I would tell that judge about my large back yard that had loads of grass to play on, that the old woman raising me pushed a revolving human powered mower that she painstakingly sharpened herself every year. How she did all of this for me, and how I was loved by my Ninny and “needed” as a pawn by my mother rather than loved.
Adults fighting like children
My birth mother and step dad where always fighting both physically and verbally over one thing or another, and all I could think about was going back home. Little did I know, this new place was going to be my home. Although, I would not call this place home by any stretch of the imagination, sure I had my own room, a rather large one at that, and more toys and things than I ever imagined having, I even had my own television in my room, but the environment was not conducive to raising a child. When I was brought back so was my brother Bruce who had lived with his father’s parents for a time.
My step dad tried to make it fun for both my brother and I, by playing around with us and taking us to his parent’s weekend home in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. This place in New Hampshire was magical as well, because we were right on the lake, and my aunties spent a lot of time with us, teaching us how to swim, water ski and even driving the boat. But none of this made up for the fact that I was missing Ninny and my only wish in the world was to return home with her. She tried to regain custody of me but failed because of the lies I told for my mother, and she was getting older so the courts sided with my mother. (Sometimes newer and younger isn’t better, sometimes it turns out to be a lemon, that can’t make lemonade.)
My mother and step dad always knew how to polish my brother and me just right to make it appear as though we were living a great life, all the while we were huddled together on many occasions when my mom and dad would fight. I remember calling the police because an argument would get out of hand and blood would be shed. I don’t know why I wasn’t sent back to my Ninny’s to live where I was not only happy but also safe from harm. My bed was still there, as where my clothing and toys, but most of all my imagination was left there. I understand now that this was the time in my life where I ceased to be a child and became a quintessential adult, because I learned at that time that the world was an ugly place.
I made new friends in my new neighborhood (Kim and Gina) but visited with my old friends any chance I got. I was never told and to this day still do not know why I was taken from my Ninny in such a violent way. She has since passed on, my mom and dad are divorced and neither wants to discuss it. I once ran away from home not long after I had been removed from my Ninny’s home, out of an act of desperation and desire to go back to the way things were. I got up early in the morning, packed a suitcase with wheels and a handle that I could pull it with and walked the nearly 26 miles from my mother’s house in Somerville to my home in Alston Brighton. My uncle who is five years older than I found me walking about a mile from my (Ninny) home. I was picked up and taken back to my mother; my punishment was being banned from seeing my Ninny for a very long time. My mother would go over and speak with her in the home we shared for so many years and I would know she was going so I would cry and scream begging to go. Once when my mother left the house to go and locked me in my room, I kicked at the window so hard that it broke and glass shattered all over the car my mother was in, in the drive way. She came up to my bedroom and hit me over and over and over again, left me laying on my bed sobbing and locked the door behind her. I remember thinking at that age that I wish I could just escape. I felt like a prisoner in a place that I was supposed to call home. It isn’t that I didn’t stay with my mom from time to time prior to my twelfth birthday as I had for many weekends, and summers, a few months at a time sometimes. None of the time at my mother’s was a happy time for me.
I do not have an understanding why I was passed back and forth the way I was, all I remember was that my mom would send me back when it wasn’t a good time for her to have me around. Little did I know that she was battling mental disease, you see my mother has dissociative personality disorder better known as multiple personality disorder and manic depression.
I wish my mother’s problems didn’t turn into my problems. My mother had a drug problem, and was known to prostitute herself to pay for her habit. In many cases my brother and I were brought along as she had no one to watch us, so we would watch TV while she was handling her business. As I got older and grew a figure, I was turned into part of a “package deal” that got my mother more money. I remember crying at one point because my “girly parts” didn’t look right, so I asked my mother to take me to the doctor. Rather than take me to the doctor she looked at it herself, stimulated them and said “they seem to be working fine you are ok, go get your bath”. On another occasion I was at my friend Kim’s home and was asked if I wanted to go to the local pool. I of course wanted to go, but didn’t have a suit with me. My mother was sitting at the table with Kim’s mom and brother, smoking dope. Our house was only a few doors down from Kim’s but my mother insisted that I have Kim’s brother take me home to get my suit. I didn’t know he had already paid her for time with me. I got home expecting him to wait outside while I ran up got my suit on and then went back to Kim’s to go to the pool. WOW was I wrong! He followed me up the stairs to my room, I got my suit and said, “ok lets go Ill change at yours house” feeling a little strange about the way he was looking at me. But he told me that my mother said it was ok for me to change at home, and for him to stay and watch. I tried everything I could to avoid contact with him, so much so that I went to the bathroom to change and got stopped mid way there and dragged back into the bedroom. Then (I will never forget the smell and sounds of this incident) Kim’s brother leaned me back on the bed so that my legs were spread apart and he entered me, right about the time he was about to be done, he pulled out and made a mess out of my chest and belly. I ran to the bathroom and jumped into the shower and scrubbed till I couldn’t scrub any more or I would have no skin left. The smell would not go away. We left the house, after what seemed like hours and then Kim and I went to the pool. I never told my friend that my mother had sold me to her brother, for the pot and coke that our mothers were doing on the kitchen table.
I never told anyone until I was much older that I was a money maker for my mother as well as a pawn in her marriage to the only dad I would ever know. As I recount this part of my life, the tears are flowing so much that I have to write at night time, so my own children will not be exposed to this ugly part of life and how sad it makes their mom. The only way my dad (step dad John, my brothers birth dad) found out about my mother’s escapades is because she was sleeping with his father, and got angry at him for something so she left a message on his home answering machine for my grandmother to find, it shook the family like a tsunami. Every week my grandpa used to come to my house and tell my brother and I that he had to “talk” to my mother in her bedroom, they would lock the door and be gone for hours on end. It was understood that we were not to interrupt them for anything, not even if the house was burning down. On this indiscretion I blame both my mother and my grandfather, she shouldn’t have been sleeping with her father in law and he shouldn’t have been sleeping with his daughter in law.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Music and Prayer Shapes A Life
The music I was exposed to was anything you would find on the Lawrence Welk show. My Ninny on any given Saturday evening could be found in the living room with me standing on her feet and holding her hands dancing to the music from the large cabinet television, tuned to the Lawrence Welk show. When Bobby Vinton appeared on the music scene and had his own show I was allowed to view that as well. I can remember sitting in front of the television set watching Bobby Vinton, as my Ninny read a book sitting in her brown mohair arm chair, and turning to her saying “I’m going to marry him one day” little did I know that he would age well beyond my years and I would never have a chance to even meet him. You see it had nothing to do with him being a handsome man; it was the fact that his voice enchanted me. I have had a fascination with all types of music, because I was exposed to music more than anything else in life. To this day I can still sing the closing song to Lawrence Welk and be transported back to the old living room, reliving the sounds, smells, sights and feelings that I felt as a child experiencing life for the first time. “Goodnight sleep tight and pleasant dreams to you, here’s are a wish and a prayer that every dream comes true……” I cannot tell you how many times that song was my queue that it was bed time. I would run to brush my teeth, have my hair braided (because it snarled in the night) and be tucked in after saying my prayers. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray my Gods my sole to keep, if I should die before I wake, I pray my Gods my sole to take. If I should wake before I die, I pray my Gods my life to guide. Athena take my mind to grow in wisdom from the darkness throws. Aphrodite teach me compassion and love, to keep my sweetness as it was. Hestia keep my morals pure, so I shall know my worth is more. Hephaestus grant me determination against adversity, while others may fail me I shall not fail myself. The fates know my way, I thank you all for the life I lead, and will lead, my death I fear not, my life I live to harm none but rather do what is best for me and mine.” I didn’t realize the power of this prayer or what it meant for my life, never mind my faith as an adult. The hardest lesson learned by this prayer was the harm none rule.
Think about it the harm none rule means that you cannot cause another’s pain in any way, even if it is a ripple effect of your words on a random stranger. As a child I did not know the enormity of that rule, but as an adult it has shaped who I am, just as music has given me an appreciation for the arts.
Later in my life I would find out just how much music and prayer would play in my life, but not much later. Music being my escape, and prayer being my faith for a better day, I learned respect for life. My friendships would even be shaped by this existence of faith and music in my life. My childhood friends Marsha and Marni were from completely different backgrounds than I. Marsha lived in a home that was built much like mine with the upstairs belonging to her parents, herself and her sister Liz. The downstairs was a grandmother and an aunt. She lived with an intact family that remains intact to this day even though her mom, dad, grandmother and aunt have since passed on. Marni was a child of a single mom; her mother was what many would call a hippie today. I remember her sunbathing under a home sunlamp naked and never knowing if her mom would be clothed or naked but never caring either as we played as young girls we were innocent.
Marsha’s parents would take me to church with them, the local Baptist church. My Ninny would dress me in my best dresses, I would have a small purse that held inside cloth handkerchiefs, in case I had to sneeze or blow my nose and a lowly dime for the collection plate. I would attend Sunday school with Marsha and have such a fun time in the basement of this little small church in Alston MA, I learned so much about religion and how people should act within their lives, but most of all I learned about community. Many people think that if you live in the “big” city that your surroundings are so large that you do not understand the value of community. Just the opposite is true about children in the large city back in my day, for myself I was only allowed to go up to five homes away on either side of my own home. I did not even realize until later in life that I lived so close to the Boston University. Life really was innocent during these years but it was not to last. I suppose innocence doesn’t always stay around as you are growing up, but who knew that my innocence would be ripped out from under me in such a violent way, that to this day I have anxiety over a knock at the door.
Think about it the harm none rule means that you cannot cause another’s pain in any way, even if it is a ripple effect of your words on a random stranger. As a child I did not know the enormity of that rule, but as an adult it has shaped who I am, just as music has given me an appreciation for the arts.
Later in my life I would find out just how much music and prayer would play in my life, but not much later. Music being my escape, and prayer being my faith for a better day, I learned respect for life. My friendships would even be shaped by this existence of faith and music in my life. My childhood friends Marsha and Marni were from completely different backgrounds than I. Marsha lived in a home that was built much like mine with the upstairs belonging to her parents, herself and her sister Liz. The downstairs was a grandmother and an aunt. She lived with an intact family that remains intact to this day even though her mom, dad, grandmother and aunt have since passed on. Marni was a child of a single mom; her mother was what many would call a hippie today. I remember her sunbathing under a home sunlamp naked and never knowing if her mom would be clothed or naked but never caring either as we played as young girls we were innocent.
Marsha’s parents would take me to church with them, the local Baptist church. My Ninny would dress me in my best dresses, I would have a small purse that held inside cloth handkerchiefs, in case I had to sneeze or blow my nose and a lowly dime for the collection plate. I would attend Sunday school with Marsha and have such a fun time in the basement of this little small church in Alston MA, I learned so much about religion and how people should act within their lives, but most of all I learned about community. Many people think that if you live in the “big” city that your surroundings are so large that you do not understand the value of community. Just the opposite is true about children in the large city back in my day, for myself I was only allowed to go up to five homes away on either side of my own home. I did not even realize until later in life that I lived so close to the Boston University. Life really was innocent during these years but it was not to last. I suppose innocence doesn’t always stay around as you are growing up, but who knew that my innocence would be ripped out from under me in such a violent way, that to this day I have anxiety over a knock at the door.
Friday, June 3, 2011
An age of Innocence
My memories take me back to so many times that I cannot tell the order in which they came. Some days when remembering I am transported back very early in my life, the most clear early memories being between five years of age and seven years of age. People who visited, friends made and adventures of my innocent time in life, before I saw the horrors that life had to offer.
I was five when my cousin mark graduated high school, his mother my cousin Bevy Anne drove to our home and picked us up to attend the graduation. I believe this was my first car ride, or at least the first that I remember. The car as a station wagon with wood sides and I remember looking out the window during the entire ride marveled by the sights of the country side. It would be my first trip out of the city. There were trees and animals that I had never seen before, horses and cows. We were taken to a place where the graduation was held; as I sat there I remember thinking how marvelous it was that there were so many people watching such a thing as a graduation, to which I had no word, going on. After the ceremony, we headed to what I remember being a picnic, though I do not remember where it was, what I do remember of the place was how green it was, and how many trees there were, so many that the air was thick with the smell of pine. I think it was somewhere near Holbrook MA, but I cannot be sure. My Ninny’s brother Harold was Bevy Anne’s dad, thus being Marks Grandfather. I loved my uncle Harold dearly he and his sisters my Ninny known as Winni, Dorothy better known as Dotti and Clara who died when I was very young were frequent visitors within my home. My Ninny was one of five children two boys and three girls; Ethel Winifred (my Ninny) Dorothy, Clara, Harold, and Archie (who died before my birth.) All of her siblings were very close and though as adults they all lived far from each other they still kept in touch and visited our home often. The siblings were so close that it seemed not one of them raised their own children, Dottie couldn’t have children so she raised Clara’s children, and Uncle Harold raised Bevy Anne who he adopted from Archie’s wife. (this fact I may have wrong though I know she was adopted.) all of this shuffling of the children was normal for the day but kept very secretive to the shuffled children as well as their children and grandchildren.
Some weekends there were men in suits and women dressed very nicely who had come to play cards with my Ninny. One evening I remember the most was when my Aunt Clara was very ill and in bed in the front bedroom, I would visit her often in this room but this evening everyone was around and she was very ill. People were playing cards and going to check on Clara. I remember loving her dearly, I do not know if I was shielded from her death or I just do not remember attending her death, but my memory banks remember one day she was there and the next she was gone and the house was quiet again. Just as Clara was someone who slept in that front bedroom when she was ill, prior to her stay was that of my Ninny’s own mother Nana (Caroline) Burdon.
Nana Burdon from my memory as a child, loved the rocking chair in the kitchen that sat by the window where outside grew a large pear tree. I would sit as a very young child in her lap and rock for hours on end, when a limb of the pear tree was close enough we would open the window and pick a pear to eat together. I remember her smile more than anything else about her; she would light up as I entered the room. I do not remember the year of her death, rather what I remember is the empty rocking chair and how quiet it was after her departure. After my Nana Burdon and Aunt Clara passed, my Auntie Dot would come for frequent visits. My Auntie Dot lived in Philadelphia, PA and we at times even visited her in her home, though I do not remember how we got there. Was it by car or by plane or train I could not tell you but I remember how wonderful it was to be reared with so many strong women of their era. The values were different from those of the day and this kept my world simple and enchanted. You could say I was born in 1969 but raised in 1939. I only wish they could have let go of all the family secrets by the time I was born, but for fear of shame all of them kept the secrets that started with my Ninny giving birth to my Nana. I sometimes wonder if she ever thought about how many generations of our family would be effected by the domino effect that secret would have. It was such a strong impact that it has sent shock waves six generations removed from her thus far, and it is yet to be seen how it will affect the seventh generation. While many in the family were very angry with her for starting the secret sonic boom in our family, I am not angry or even resentful, because I know how much she loved me and her true heart was love of her family. Had she been born in my generation, life would have been very different for all of us, as the shame of the 1920’s would not be a factor in her unwed pregnancy. You may be asking if anyone ever knew who my Nana’s father was. Yes it was let out later in my Nana’s adulthood that her father’s last name was Katchedorian, and he is of Armenian descent. It was also revealed that they loved each other but that his family refused to allow a marriage between the two because of the difference in ethnicity. It is funny for me to think about ethnicity being a reason to keep young lovers apart. You ask why? Well because my Ninny was pure Welsh off the boat at 10 years old from Wales, the father of her first and only child (my Nana), was pure Armenian, a sailor she met on the docs of Boston Harbor. This makes my Nana half Welsh and half Armenian. Now my Nana married her first husband (the father of my own mother and 3 of her siblings), his name is Clarence and is a mix of Scotch Irish and Cherokee Indian. So my mothers biology is Welsh, Armenian, Scotch Irish and Cherokee Indian, but the mix doesn’t stop there. My mother’s first husband (my birth father) was Indonesian, black and Philippine. So this makes me; Welsh, Armenian, Scotch Irish, Cherokee Indian, Indonesian, black and Philippine that I know of (I’m sure there is some other stuff in there someplace). You could say that I am the quintessential melting pot of America; I am first generation American on my birth fathers side and 4th generation American on my mother’s side. But remember I have children now and they are even more mixed up than I am. My children’s dad added German, Scottish, and Black Foot Indian to the mix. Because our “bloodline” is so mixed up with so many different ethnicities, I cannot fathom a person not being able to claim a child and marry their love because of an ethnicity. The only thing that type of pride does to a family is leave behind many generations of unwanted children.
Because my Nana felt unwanted by her “mother and father” she passed on that attachment problem to her children, who have passed the same love and attachment issues on to their own children. The only exception being my aunt Laurie, who has only one child and is a very good mom. My mother gave birth to two children, both by different dads and adopted one (later you will be asking how that happened, I don’t know!) My aunt Debbie who has four children 3 girls and a boy, my uncle Keith who has one child (that he knows about, and has nearly nothing to do with her), My uncle Glen who has two beautiful girls who live with him (after his wife’s death at 35 years old) but he doesn’t know how to show them love so they feel sadness and loneliness for the love they desire from their dad, and you already know about my aunt Laurie. Now of the cousins my mother birthed the first two (myself and my brother Bruce), My aunt Debbie had the next four ( Alan, Jennifer, Mellissa, Jane and a daughter by her husband’s first wife named Allison), My aunt Laurie had the next child (Tiffany), then my uncle Keith’s girlfriend had a child (Nicole) and last but not least my uncle Glen only 6 years my senior and his wife had two daughters (Jessica and Kimberly). Within this substructure of cousins, none of us are really close, though we long to be. We all know we have a large family, but none of us know what a large tight knit family feels like, because we were all raised apart from each other. The separate raising was partially because of the age differences, but mostly it is because the secrets that began with my Nana’s birth have spawned more secrets that have lived through the generations and the cousins have been kept apart for fear of the old secrets and new secrets being let out in the sunlight, to be analyzed. The secrets now are not so much an illegitimate child anymore, it is more secrets of infidelity, STD’s, drug use, prostitution, child abuse, and mismanaged funds. All these secrets are kept by our parents, and then the cousins have their own secrets that stem from being gay, lesbian, and bisexual to marriages to keep people in the country, suicide attempts and alcoholism and drug use.
But I digress, let’s get back to the beginning of me and how my life twisted and turned so much you would have thought that it was Ginger Rodgers dancing a tango. Yes that’s right I used a Ginger Rodgers analogy and I am only 40. I told you I was born in 1969 but raised in 1929. So of course my movie and musical choices reflect this raising, I love old black and white films, swing and jazz music (my favorite singer being Rose Marie Clooney).
I was five when my cousin mark graduated high school, his mother my cousin Bevy Anne drove to our home and picked us up to attend the graduation. I believe this was my first car ride, or at least the first that I remember. The car as a station wagon with wood sides and I remember looking out the window during the entire ride marveled by the sights of the country side. It would be my first trip out of the city. There were trees and animals that I had never seen before, horses and cows. We were taken to a place where the graduation was held; as I sat there I remember thinking how marvelous it was that there were so many people watching such a thing as a graduation, to which I had no word, going on. After the ceremony, we headed to what I remember being a picnic, though I do not remember where it was, what I do remember of the place was how green it was, and how many trees there were, so many that the air was thick with the smell of pine. I think it was somewhere near Holbrook MA, but I cannot be sure. My Ninny’s brother Harold was Bevy Anne’s dad, thus being Marks Grandfather. I loved my uncle Harold dearly he and his sisters my Ninny known as Winni, Dorothy better known as Dotti and Clara who died when I was very young were frequent visitors within my home. My Ninny was one of five children two boys and three girls; Ethel Winifred (my Ninny) Dorothy, Clara, Harold, and Archie (who died before my birth.) All of her siblings were very close and though as adults they all lived far from each other they still kept in touch and visited our home often. The siblings were so close that it seemed not one of them raised their own children, Dottie couldn’t have children so she raised Clara’s children, and Uncle Harold raised Bevy Anne who he adopted from Archie’s wife. (this fact I may have wrong though I know she was adopted.) all of this shuffling of the children was normal for the day but kept very secretive to the shuffled children as well as their children and grandchildren.
Some weekends there were men in suits and women dressed very nicely who had come to play cards with my Ninny. One evening I remember the most was when my Aunt Clara was very ill and in bed in the front bedroom, I would visit her often in this room but this evening everyone was around and she was very ill. People were playing cards and going to check on Clara. I remember loving her dearly, I do not know if I was shielded from her death or I just do not remember attending her death, but my memory banks remember one day she was there and the next she was gone and the house was quiet again. Just as Clara was someone who slept in that front bedroom when she was ill, prior to her stay was that of my Ninny’s own mother Nana (Caroline) Burdon.
Nana Burdon from my memory as a child, loved the rocking chair in the kitchen that sat by the window where outside grew a large pear tree. I would sit as a very young child in her lap and rock for hours on end, when a limb of the pear tree was close enough we would open the window and pick a pear to eat together. I remember her smile more than anything else about her; she would light up as I entered the room. I do not remember the year of her death, rather what I remember is the empty rocking chair and how quiet it was after her departure. After my Nana Burdon and Aunt Clara passed, my Auntie Dot would come for frequent visits. My Auntie Dot lived in Philadelphia, PA and we at times even visited her in her home, though I do not remember how we got there. Was it by car or by plane or train I could not tell you but I remember how wonderful it was to be reared with so many strong women of their era. The values were different from those of the day and this kept my world simple and enchanted. You could say I was born in 1969 but raised in 1939. I only wish they could have let go of all the family secrets by the time I was born, but for fear of shame all of them kept the secrets that started with my Ninny giving birth to my Nana. I sometimes wonder if she ever thought about how many generations of our family would be effected by the domino effect that secret would have. It was such a strong impact that it has sent shock waves six generations removed from her thus far, and it is yet to be seen how it will affect the seventh generation. While many in the family were very angry with her for starting the secret sonic boom in our family, I am not angry or even resentful, because I know how much she loved me and her true heart was love of her family. Had she been born in my generation, life would have been very different for all of us, as the shame of the 1920’s would not be a factor in her unwed pregnancy. You may be asking if anyone ever knew who my Nana’s father was. Yes it was let out later in my Nana’s adulthood that her father’s last name was Katchedorian, and he is of Armenian descent. It was also revealed that they loved each other but that his family refused to allow a marriage between the two because of the difference in ethnicity. It is funny for me to think about ethnicity being a reason to keep young lovers apart. You ask why? Well because my Ninny was pure Welsh off the boat at 10 years old from Wales, the father of her first and only child (my Nana), was pure Armenian, a sailor she met on the docs of Boston Harbor. This makes my Nana half Welsh and half Armenian. Now my Nana married her first husband (the father of my own mother and 3 of her siblings), his name is Clarence and is a mix of Scotch Irish and Cherokee Indian. So my mothers biology is Welsh, Armenian, Scotch Irish and Cherokee Indian, but the mix doesn’t stop there. My mother’s first husband (my birth father) was Indonesian, black and Philippine. So this makes me; Welsh, Armenian, Scotch Irish, Cherokee Indian, Indonesian, black and Philippine that I know of (I’m sure there is some other stuff in there someplace). You could say that I am the quintessential melting pot of America; I am first generation American on my birth fathers side and 4th generation American on my mother’s side. But remember I have children now and they are even more mixed up than I am. My children’s dad added German, Scottish, and Black Foot Indian to the mix. Because our “bloodline” is so mixed up with so many different ethnicities, I cannot fathom a person not being able to claim a child and marry their love because of an ethnicity. The only thing that type of pride does to a family is leave behind many generations of unwanted children.
Because my Nana felt unwanted by her “mother and father” she passed on that attachment problem to her children, who have passed the same love and attachment issues on to their own children. The only exception being my aunt Laurie, who has only one child and is a very good mom. My mother gave birth to two children, both by different dads and adopted one (later you will be asking how that happened, I don’t know!) My aunt Debbie who has four children 3 girls and a boy, my uncle Keith who has one child (that he knows about, and has nearly nothing to do with her), My uncle Glen who has two beautiful girls who live with him (after his wife’s death at 35 years old) but he doesn’t know how to show them love so they feel sadness and loneliness for the love they desire from their dad, and you already know about my aunt Laurie. Now of the cousins my mother birthed the first two (myself and my brother Bruce), My aunt Debbie had the next four ( Alan, Jennifer, Mellissa, Jane and a daughter by her husband’s first wife named Allison), My aunt Laurie had the next child (Tiffany), then my uncle Keith’s girlfriend had a child (Nicole) and last but not least my uncle Glen only 6 years my senior and his wife had two daughters (Jessica and Kimberly). Within this substructure of cousins, none of us are really close, though we long to be. We all know we have a large family, but none of us know what a large tight knit family feels like, because we were all raised apart from each other. The separate raising was partially because of the age differences, but mostly it is because the secrets that began with my Nana’s birth have spawned more secrets that have lived through the generations and the cousins have been kept apart for fear of the old secrets and new secrets being let out in the sunlight, to be analyzed. The secrets now are not so much an illegitimate child anymore, it is more secrets of infidelity, STD’s, drug use, prostitution, child abuse, and mismanaged funds. All these secrets are kept by our parents, and then the cousins have their own secrets that stem from being gay, lesbian, and bisexual to marriages to keep people in the country, suicide attempts and alcoholism and drug use.
But I digress, let’s get back to the beginning of me and how my life twisted and turned so much you would have thought that it was Ginger Rodgers dancing a tango. Yes that’s right I used a Ginger Rodgers analogy and I am only 40. I told you I was born in 1969 but raised in 1929. So of course my movie and musical choices reflect this raising, I love old black and white films, swing and jazz music (my favorite singer being Rose Marie Clooney).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)