As I started to understand the complexity of the world around me, I started to adapt. The routine: wake up to my mothers directions. Get up, she does my hair..wants to curl my eyelashes and put mascara on me. I begin to fight her on the clothes she has neatly placed on the banister outside of my bedroom. I'm insecure, as kids at school started to tease me about what I was wearing. Shoes are too small. My jeans are too short. I don't have the same brand name clothes that everyone around me wears. However, I try and limit my complaining because I need to get the bus at the top of the hill.
In the complex I grew up in, most kids went to the school that was in my district. My,other enrolled me in a " rival" school. Therefore, I did not play on the same sports teams as my peers in the neighborhood. At the time I hated this. Looking back, I'm grateful.
If I was able to make it out the door without a fight with my mother, it was a great start! If I was able to get the bus on time, it was even better! It was extremely hard for me to take the, " walk of shame" back to the apartment to tell my mother when I missed the bus. This meant that she had to take me to school. She would get so angry and physically abusive when I missed the bus. I was a bother, and it interrupted her time. I also felt really embarrassed if she had to drop me off in her red vw with rust holes on the floor boards. Looking back, at least I got to school!
School brought on a different kind of stress. Although, I always felt a sense of relief getting away for a few hours a day, I found it difficult to concentrate.
I was on the, " free lunch program" and every day around 11:30 am the teacher would call the kids to the front of the classroom to get our lunch tickets. I hated feeling singled out for the free lunch. In my mind, it was telling all my peers that I was poor. I was poor.
To this day, I can't remember ever having help with homework. I have no idea when I did homework.
When I would come home from school, I couldn't wait to go outside and play football, basketball or kick the can with the other kids from my rival elementary school! My mothers condition was so unpredictable.
I can remember coming home and praying for a snack. Occasionally, she would leave cheese and crackers ( with the little red spreader stick) on the arm of the chair that was placed to the left of the
front door. If it was there, she was usually upstairs in bed drinking. This scenario meant I was home free.... For a few hours at least.
I would go from kids to kids houses. I'm sure I bugged the crap out of parents all over the neighborhood! " Can you come out and play" ..."let's go to the cement block...get your cardboard...let's battle!"
I admired the older boys in my neighborhood. They were my idols for their sports ability. They played tackle football, and I was game! Although, I was born 1 month premature at a little under 5 pounds, I had HEART! I fought those boys on the football field, baseball field and basketball courts!
I would play until one of two things happened.
1- I heard my mothers blood curdling screams..." BRANDY...BRANDY...COME HOME"
2- I was too far away to hear, and her message would be delivered from another kid, " Brandy, your mom is calling you...you better go!"
Neither one was comforting to me. She had several hours of drinking under her belt, so anything could happen. So much happened when I closed that door behind me.
Dinner. She was angry, especially if I showed any dislike over the TV dinner I was being served.
Salisbury steak...can't eat it to this day.
My mothers paranoia was unbelievable. I was always accused of something that I didn't do. The conversation would start something like this:
Mom:" I was talking to some neighbors today, and they told me that you have been stealing my vodka."
Me: "I didn't take your vodka"
Mom: " Admit it...you took it..I won't be mad"
Me: " but, i didn't take it!"
Out of frustration and a total lack of control, she would begin acting, well...literally crazy. She would start to scream over and over...ADMIT IT ADMIT IT..then she would express her anger before hitting me by clenching her fists and biting her hands..knuckles then moving to her arms. If she was able to catch me ( depended on the level of her intoxication) the. She would grab me by the arm and attempt to tear my skin off with her teeth. It was brutal and barbaric.
This is how I started to adapt. I started to admit to whatever she said just to get it over with. I would take the punishment for something absolutely absurd for an 8 year old.
This would be one of many times I was told to, "admit it". I was never told to "admit it" when the police came to the house because of my screams at night.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Saturday, March 8, 2014
In the beginning...
One of my first memories is probably at the age of 3. I was walking hand in hand with my mother before the sun came up. 1977. She had a job at the telephone company starting at 5:00am. I was barely awake, cold and shivering as it seems to always be cold in New England. She dropped me off at a pre- school for the day. I remember having a mat that I would lay on when I got there. I played with various toys until the other children arrived. I loved playing outside when the weather was warm....I would run around...go on the monkey bars and see how high I could get on the swings!
My mother never worked again past her young age of 26. I don't know why she stopped working. All I knew was that my mother was always home...and waiting for me to come home from school. A terrifying thought, since I never knew who she would be...
I have more fluid, concrete memories of " events" around the ages of 4-5 years old. I begin to realize that my mother is " different". She cried a lot. She was angry a lot. She had to go to the same store on the traffic circle, and buy the clear bottle with the red letters on it called POPOV A LOT! She had different men around the house. I start to understand that although I'm small, I am in the way a lot.
I remember thinking a lot. My father lived in a town about 10 miles away. He came to pick me up every weekend. I loved going to my fathers house. He would take me to the beach, hike with me through the woods behind his house, take me ice skating, he taught me how to ride a bike along with how to how to dribble a basketball. My father represented FUN! He was a source of comfort. He was my refuge.
Another person in my life that I sought comfort from was my grandmother. Although, my mother was inconsistent when allowing me to see her, I prayed that my grandmother would come by the house to visit. On a good day, and when my mother had to do laundry, we would go to " Grammys" house!
Grammy was always so sweet and gentle. My mother was so hostile and mean to her. I never understood her anger toward me, but I REALLY couldn't understand why she treated the most angelic woman like the devil. Grammys house sat on a hill with a backyard with big maple trees to climb. I found splice climbing as high as I could and just sitting on a branch, swaying in the wind. I can still hear Grammy saying, " Brandy-kins, you're too high, please come down, you're making Grammy
nervous!" A voice that soothed my soul! Grammy had a small, silver poodle named Gidget. This was
the first animal that I could hug without sneezing and having itchy eyes! I found love in this tiny creature! My heart melted every time I saw her little tail wag!
I distinctly remember the day that my mother broke my heart along with Gidgets. After arriving home from school, my mother informed me that we had to go to Grammys to do laundry before she came home from work. I was beyond excited because my silver haired buddy was waiting! However, my mother was in a terrible mood. I listened to her yell about total nonsense for the 15 minute ride to Grammys. When we arrived, I was greeted with sloppy kisses as my mother headed to the basement to load the washer. Eventually, my mother came back up into the kitchen and ordered Gidget to get into the basement. Although I knew I didn't stand a chance in combating her, I tried to plead with her to allow my tiny friend to stay with me. She grew more angry with every plead, and kicked Gidget down those basement steps. I was crushed, I felt my heart sink. I thought she had killed my best friend. That was the first time I can remember weeping for something that my mother hurt besides myself. That day had a profound effect on me. At 6 or 7 years old, I was devastated. I didn't know what to do. My grandmother surely would not approve of this! Why did she do that? I was so confused. Then, my mother told me that what I had just seen didn't happen. She explained to me that the dog WANTED to go down there, and not to tell Grammy that she forced Gidget down there. What was she saying? I knew the dog was kicked. I knew that Gidget and I were having a good time before my mother had her crazy idea of kicking her down the stairs! Why? This is just one example of the beginning. The beginning of my realizations that what I knew to be true was not how my mother wanted me to remember it....
My mother never worked again past her young age of 26. I don't know why she stopped working. All I knew was that my mother was always home...and waiting for me to come home from school. A terrifying thought, since I never knew who she would be...
I have more fluid, concrete memories of " events" around the ages of 4-5 years old. I begin to realize that my mother is " different". She cried a lot. She was angry a lot. She had to go to the same store on the traffic circle, and buy the clear bottle with the red letters on it called POPOV A LOT! She had different men around the house. I start to understand that although I'm small, I am in the way a lot.
I remember thinking a lot. My father lived in a town about 10 miles away. He came to pick me up every weekend. I loved going to my fathers house. He would take me to the beach, hike with me through the woods behind his house, take me ice skating, he taught me how to ride a bike along with how to how to dribble a basketball. My father represented FUN! He was a source of comfort. He was my refuge.
Another person in my life that I sought comfort from was my grandmother. Although, my mother was inconsistent when allowing me to see her, I prayed that my grandmother would come by the house to visit. On a good day, and when my mother had to do laundry, we would go to " Grammys" house!
Grammy was always so sweet and gentle. My mother was so hostile and mean to her. I never understood her anger toward me, but I REALLY couldn't understand why she treated the most angelic woman like the devil. Grammys house sat on a hill with a backyard with big maple trees to climb. I found splice climbing as high as I could and just sitting on a branch, swaying in the wind. I can still hear Grammy saying, " Brandy-kins, you're too high, please come down, you're making Grammy
nervous!" A voice that soothed my soul! Grammy had a small, silver poodle named Gidget. This was
the first animal that I could hug without sneezing and having itchy eyes! I found love in this tiny creature! My heart melted every time I saw her little tail wag!
I distinctly remember the day that my mother broke my heart along with Gidgets. After arriving home from school, my mother informed me that we had to go to Grammys to do laundry before she came home from work. I was beyond excited because my silver haired buddy was waiting! However, my mother was in a terrible mood. I listened to her yell about total nonsense for the 15 minute ride to Grammys. When we arrived, I was greeted with sloppy kisses as my mother headed to the basement to load the washer. Eventually, my mother came back up into the kitchen and ordered Gidget to get into the basement. Although I knew I didn't stand a chance in combating her, I tried to plead with her to allow my tiny friend to stay with me. She grew more angry with every plead, and kicked Gidget down those basement steps. I was crushed, I felt my heart sink. I thought she had killed my best friend. That was the first time I can remember weeping for something that my mother hurt besides myself. That day had a profound effect on me. At 6 or 7 years old, I was devastated. I didn't know what to do. My grandmother surely would not approve of this! Why did she do that? I was so confused. Then, my mother told me that what I had just seen didn't happen. She explained to me that the dog WANTED to go down there, and not to tell Grammy that she forced Gidget down there. What was she saying? I knew the dog was kicked. I knew that Gidget and I were having a good time before my mother had her crazy idea of kicking her down the stairs! Why? This is just one example of the beginning. The beginning of my realizations that what I knew to be true was not how my mother wanted me to remember it....
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