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.

What A Cornball!

My grandson is 5 years old and we spend a good amount of time together. He is just learning to tell the silliest of silly jokes and then laughs and laughs at himself. You can’t help but laugh with him – it’s pure silliness in it’s best form. For a person with chronic illnesses, it makes life better when I can laugh. Thank you dear heart for being in my life.

         

“Imagination is given to a man to compensate for what he is not. A sense of humor is given to console him for what he is.” 

Francis Bacon

         

My husband and I have bought a piece of property at the beach where we plan to retire in a few short years. We spend weekends and vacation time working over there. Our next door neighbor is a 72 year old fellow who of course, is quite interested to see what is going on, as the property has sat au’naturel for the entire time he has lived in his home. He has an odd sense of humor and time and again, he reminds me so much of my brother. He’ll say something and he doesn’t think I’ll ‘get it’. I laugh and smirk, because I’m so use to this style of humor and he wonders why I understand him so well.

It’s really very endearing to think, that after all these years, (my brother died a little over 12 years ago now) God put me in a place where my new next door neighbor brings laughter and joy into my life, much as my brother did.

Let’s take a little ‘for instance’ here. My brother, Ron, liked “Hee Haw” – a goofy1960’s farm life comedy tv show. Then there was’The Beverly Hillbillies’, ‘Gilligan’s Island’ and ‘Mr. Ed’. He repeated conversations from these characters over and over, and they were always spot on for details. (I was 6 or 7 at the time and it drove me crazy – I hated those silly shows and he seemed like such a cornball to me. I wanted a cool teenage brother to look up to.)

I never understood why Ron was the way he was – until I was in my mid-30’s and talked with an aunt who told me of my Mother’s neglect, starving the poor little toddler until it did permanent harm. Even though my brother had brain-damage, he was still very functional. Being the little sister, I lost most of the arguments because he remembered details so vividly. From the time he was out of high school, he held odd jobs here and there, but never stayed employed for long because of his strong opinions and he didn’t want people telling him what to do. His speech was labored and his thinking and reading were very slow. I learned later in Ron’s life, there were many life lessons he just never learned. No one took the time to teach him how to understand basic life skills like patience, compassion and forgiveness. In those last years when we went for coffee, I began to comprehend that I needed to try to share these concepts with him. It wasn’t easy as he would get extremely frustrated and angry at me. Bless his heart (which was good) he had never learned to think of anyone but himself which resulted in the lack of close and long-term relationships.

Ron remained single his entire life. Oh, I’m sure he had girlfriends he whistled at and flirted with, through the years, but it’s no surprise, he never had a family. He was a transient-street person his entire adult life until the last few years when his health failed him. He traveled across the United States many, many times, hitch-hiking or riding a Greyhound bus, if a generous person would pay for his ticket. He chose to sleep under the stars whenever possible. This type of anti-social behavior didn’t allow him to function well in homeless shelters. Only extreme inclement weather brought him inside for a few hours at a time. I affirmed Ron for seeing a lot of our beautiful country – something I have never done. And he had a deep love for animals of all kinds, so he cuddled up with stray dogs, petted the farm animals and just enjoyed all the other wildlife he ran into in the amazing countrysides of America. He was able to find the unconditional love he was missing in his life.

In our coffeehouse chats Ron generously offered his sense of humor to everyone around us. Folks would look at him like he was from Mars! He was silly, awkward, unshaven – most people considered him a bum – unkept in rat-a-tat clothing. Through the grace that overwhelmed me when I was with Ron, I learned to laugh at his silly cornball jokes from yester’year. The shame and embarrassment I experienced well into my adult years grew into sincere admiration for him. He lived a life where he overcame severe neglect, abuse and humiliation. His sense of humor was a tool God gave him to console a broken heart and help him survive a very cruel world, one which would break most of us.

I praise God for giving Ron and me the time to sip coffee and appreciate the blessing of healing between us. He was my brother and I let everyone know how much he meant to me – as I assisted him to walk, hugged him tenderly and laughed at his silly quirky personality. He was my brother and I was proud of him. I loved him dearly.