That Damn Kid!

I asked myself over and again for the first 32 years of my life – WHY? What did I do that was so bad that my mom had to hit me with a broom and pull out my hair time and again? Why was I such a horrible kid?

Brought up in a Naval family, I knew it was critical I ‘tow the line’. My mom wasn’t clear in giving directions, but one thing I knew, was I HAD to be home by 5:00 p.m. for supper, NO later, and hopefully a couple of minutes early, so I could just wait outside until she would let me in to wash my hands and face. In those days kids played outside with their friends (when they weren’t in ballet classes).

My two best friends were cared for by either their grandparents or an older sister. They paid no attention to all the kids around their home, and certainly did not tell me when it was getting close to 5:00. I had to ask my friends to go inside and find out what time it was – which distracted their playtime and they didn’t want to do it.

IF I came home after 5:00 pm – I was wacked and slapped and screamed at for being ‘a stupid idiot’. I suppose I was like most kids today – a bit sassy? I remember feeling like I didn’t KNOW what time it was and I shouldn’t be punished for it. IF I said anything, it got so much worse. I got my hair pulled out and ended up with bruises all over my body. I wore my ballet tights to school under my dresses, so teachers and kids couldn’t see the bruises or make fun of me. It was San Diego, where the weather was warm all the time and there was no need to wear tights. I remember one teacher asking why I had patches of blood in my hair – I didn’t answer but thought, maybe I can find a headband to help cover the patches next time.

My mother was small – 4’11”. I was taller than her before I knew it. I imagine it may have been intimidating to have both your children bigger than you when you were in your late 40’s, near 50. My brother, Ron, never got into trouble with her. He was never beaten. He would be teasing and sassy to me – but never to her. I guess I just never learned to respect her the way she so desperately needed for me to do after my dad died. I don’t really know – it just seemed she hated me with a vengeance and I never understood why.

I tried running away from home, but I never had anywhere to go, so I came back. We didn’t have any family in the area (that I knew of). In actuality I learned decades later, my older cousin along with his wife and their 6 kids lived within a mile or so from us, but my mother was such a hermit, she never let me know of them. Child Services was not as prevalent in family lives in those days, otherwise I’m confident I would have been in the court system shortly after my father’s death. Ron, although an adult, lived on and off with my mom and me. He too joined her in drinking on a daily basis. They made fun of me and laughed at my expense – and when it made me mad, Ron would hold me while my mom beat me with the broom. I thought I could get away from them by hiding under the bed. It only trapped me in a small space where the hits where more concentrated on my legs. I remember thinking a couple of times, I had a broken leg because it hurt so bad, but after being screamed at to get out from under the bed, I was able to get up and hobble out of the house, and “lick my wounds” outside in the yard where I often fell asleep.I would never tell my friends about the beatings. They didn’t have anyone that hurt them like I did. I decided, I was just plain bad – and I deserved everything I got.

I now understand as a parent and grandparent how frustrating a sassy child can be, one who doesn’t listen or obey what you ask of them. But it’s ‘YOUR JOB’ as a parent to teach children, not hurt them. My mother never learned the skills to teach – she only hurt, me. I believe she took her shame out on me. She died of alcoholism at 52, when I was 15 years old. I was never able to ask her the many questions I have had throughout my life.

Kids are a precious gift. I always wanted a family of my very own. It is my philosophy, that children deserve to have someone wake them up each morning with a cheerful hug and kisses; they deserve to have clean clothes to wear; to have food in their bellies, and most of all to have LOVE in their families [as children’s song artist, Raffi sings].

My earliest memories are of my dad, playing with me outside in the yard, of sitting on his lap and feeling his scratchy whiskery face next to mine, feeling him squish me with his bear hugs and kisses. After his death, my life changed dramatically. At age 8, I made breakfast for myself or didn’t eat at all. I washed my own clothes by hand and hung them outside to dry and often cried myself to sleep. I never had my own bedroom until I went to live with an aunt and uncle after my mom died. There too I cried myself asleep, as I have done much of my life.

Through the years, I put messages inside my head, that I wasn’t worthy of love. I was bad and that’s why God took my daddy away from me. I was even SO bad, He took my mom away. Whenever there was strife in my marriage, it was because I wasn’t a good enough wife. I figured I wasn’t very smart because I have been told I was wrong so often. I’ve had a lot of confusion within me, because I do believe I’m smart and capable – it’s just others can’t seem to see it – and I just don’t understand WHY?

In my early 30’s I called an aunt to ask questions about my family that had come up in counseling. I learned about Ron’s brain damage from my mother’s neglect. I learned that my father was a gambler and he lost our home within a year after retiring from the Navy. I learned my mother had been an alcoholic from the time she was 17 years old. My aunt was honest with me about my family. I appreciated the information. It finally made sense to me and empowered me to change the messages that were stuck in my head about being unworthy. I found my voice – but it hasn’t been easy, pleasant or graceful. I would have preferred to go through many of the transitions in my life with more tact and gentleness – but I didn’t know how. I am thankful God brought me through the darkest of times when I didn’t want to live anymore. My family is so precious to me.

I have two really great adult kids and a precious son-in-law, who love me. I have two terrific grandkids who adore me. I have a caring and gentle husband who has stood by me through all the difficult times. And God in His great mercies, has brought me through this life with great strength and has put a lot of love in my heart.

Wow, what a sobering coffeehouse story but that happens sometimes, if we’re lucky. Ron and I were able to talk about the child abuse. He said he didn’t remember it. I told him I wasn’t surprised because he was drunk. He apologized to me and said he was really sorry. He never meant to hurt me. He grew to know that he and alcohol didn’t mix well and he told me he had been sober for close to 10 years by then (more or less). i was really proud that he could overcome something my mom never could. I appreciate that we were able to have time to talk through the things we remembered. I love that he could voice his intent. It deepened our love for each other and healed places within each of our hearts.