The Beginning - Part 3

Time moves, regardless of what is happening.  Sometimes it moves fast, sometimes slow.  Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, seasons change and so does the year.  Slowly the abnormal becomes normal, what was lost remains lost.  I walked through those years in a fog, but always trying to have a smile on my face no matter what feelings ripped through me.

Then I woke up and I was out of third grade, 8 years old, getting ready for another year of school.  A new change occurred.  Meeting Joe was very interesting.  Joe was the future.  I will never forget our first meeting.  I was 8 and still best friends with the boy next door, still as unsupervised as ever Monday through Friday.

When he began the debate, and it was a real debate about a young white girl having a friend that was black and a boy - to this Italian it just wasn't proper. Neither one of us won that debate.  He conceded that he had a best friend in the Navy who was black, but that was as far as it ever went.  I think I lost part of the battle, because soon we were moving across town - worlds away from my known and into the unknown world of West Pittsfield with the cute little brown cape set down behind a bunch of trees with a yellow smiley face on it which you could see when you were on Route 20 coming from New York State.

Life couldn't be bad in a little house on three acres with a river running through it and a HUGE pine tree in the yard next to the house.  Turns out the neighborhood kids were all afraid of the man that lived down that long driveway, but most of my experiences were good.

It was nice that we had dinner on the table, ate together and conversations at the table were always interesting, Sunday drives, Chatham Fair, Lebanon Flea Markets, dinners out - splitting Pu Pu platters with my brother, seeing who could eat the most pizza at the Pizza Hut all you can eat night, Sunday cookouts at the cottage, Misquamicut Beach for a week in the Summer with Mom's family.  My Mom had a job in a factory now, so she was home in the afternoon and went right to her room until dinner.  My Mom only cooks two or three things so Joe was the cook, unless it was during his working season and then I started dinner after I did my homework.

School still was a challenge socially more than academically, but now in the winter, as Joe was a seasonal truck driver and got laid off, I did learn the trick of pretending to be sick, going to the nurse, or the school secretary and calling home and getting dismissed.  I don't know how many times in a week for two years that I got away with that one!

I was sick with stress and anxiety. I tried my best, but this school was the exact opposite of my last school, it wasn't a poor neighborhood school.  The teachers were good and there was an actual cafeteria and a gym. I was still chasing the boys who picked on me and kicking them in the shins, but now I had wooden clogs which I am sure were much more painful than soft sneakers.  Nobody really noticed my stress or anxiety and at least I had an adult to talk to in Joe, who always listened and shared wisdom with me when I was younger.

It is funny what we remember.  I had to stop in between writing this piece and taking a brief intermission, as it were.  After a very bad day in which nothing bad happened other than my memories coming back to haunt me.

The day to day details of my life are unimportant.  I was a loner with a ton of woods right in my backyard.  Nature was my best friend, aside from our dog who licked my tears when I was sad and alone. He had the softest fur to bury all of my pain and sorrow and a sturdy shoulder to cry on.  He never bit me like the humans in my life.  He was consistently a good fellow.

One thing that didn't change was the desire to remain my father's daughter and I spent many a weekend at his parents house hoping that he would show up.  My Gramma loved to bake and when we knew my Dad was coming we would make his favorite desserts, and on his birthday my Gram would bake him an Angel Food Cake - which if you have ever made one, you know it is difficult.  I have tried and failed many times to succeed but my efforts remain futile.

We, my brother and I were not allowed to 'see' our father.  My mother hated him.  I didn't hate him and my brother was not too young to remember him, but too young to fight for his right to see our Dad.  When my Dad called at our house to talk it always made me happy and sad.  I was happy to hear his voice and sad that he wasn't in our life.  Then the fun came - the meanness from everyone in my family from my mother to my brother and Joe jumping in as well putting my father down.  It was depressing and it made me angry.  It would also leave me speechless and with tears welling in my eyes no matter how I tried not to - tears just made everything worse.  My mother and Joan Crawford  could have been related.  When "Mommie Dearest" came out and I was reading it my mother had a little fit, I only wish I was joking!

Life became more structured and routine.  If you think it is easy adjusting to being a part of a happy and loving family unit, having that disappear, along with seemingly, both of your parents at once, getting 'used" to that situation only to be dragged through a rabbit hole into a whole new universe along with renewed family unit, only your real parents are still absent, and instead you have a stranger who makes your decisions, cooks your meals and provides a roof over your head in a whole house with a bunch of land - you would be mistaken.

It might not have been that bad if my new Dad hadn't encouraged me to march to the beat of my own drum and be an individual - which I always have been I think.  But to encourage someone to be unique and punish them for it is a real kick in the pants to say the least, especially as I became a teenager and entered junior high and as it happens - beyond.

a brief intermission

Life was to me really good with a Mom and a Dad and a brother.  Dinners and shopping and hanging out with friends, fishing and all of the well, super close and committed family things, more so than I think most. That is why it hit me so hard I think when my parents split up.

No one said anything either, like I said, one day I woke up and everything was different.  I know that is why I like things to be routine and in its place.  I have gotten better, sort of. I remember years of my sons moving things out of their place just to get a reaction.

Speaking of reactions, I could go from calm to batshit crazy for a few and back to calm like nothing ever happened and never speak of it again.  Which is way better than no reaction until it is too late to have a normal human reaction.

The crazy part is, I never even knew that I was angry until Ms. Lydia and I stopped working together and she told me she was intimidated by my anger until she talked to me.   How long can you stuff emotions down before they turn inside out?  I am beginning to wonder if it is because I never grieved over the loss of my family unit.  After my Gram died, I couldn't cry for the longest time and I learned about grief and what happens when you don't do it.

I can't really blame myself, I was only a wee girl of 4, 5, or 6, whenever it was.  Still, I think I did take on blame and accepted it.  I tried to learn what I didn't know.  It is difficult to self diagnose when you are a child. I read so many child psychology books and stories about such extreme cases of abuse, not that I was, but books and research take you places.

I could never understand how people could just mistreat children so severely.  Many knowing and with intent and others not having a clue.  I know that what led me to counseling after my Gram died and my marriage of a few short weeks, months? who can recall, they occurred simultaneously, because what was life if it wasn't beating me upside the head, was the way I was talking to my own young children.  It was awful and automatic.

I swore to myself when I was little and roaming around my neighborhood with my best friend, that I would be a different parent than my parents were, so when my own behaviour and language was bordering on  abusive I sought help. I was able to regain my positive parenting once again.

Grief, it is a major bummer when not addressed.  Thankfully, this wonderful lady got me back on my path and helped me to mourn my grandmother and my husband.  One a much greater loss, but both were a loss, one was ripe with betrayal, so there is that because in my life it doesn't just rain when it rains, it pours with major wind and damage!

So, just recalling the first 5 years have been far from relieving my mind, or my spirit.  It has taken what seems like a million years to be able to write as much as I have in relation to Beginning part 1 and part 2.  Those years were relative lifetimes ago but remembering returns me to the time and the place of the crime, so to speak.

It would also be fair to say that the mixed emotions raised from a family reunion and some bad news regarding another family member on top of that and my high pain levels have been a bit of a challenge only adding to my sense of upheaval.

If I could take one silver lining it would be the previous two pages and the one that I wrote half of that I put aside.  That one gets me all the way to 8 years old.  A major feat it is to remember my timeline in a straight line with no holes.  It has been a long time coming.  I walled all of this up, good bad and in between. 

Remembering is not all it is cracked up to be and it may seem stupid.  Lately though, it seems important to me, for me and also so that someday instead of thinking, damn, "Mom was fucked up" my kids might understand a little bit of why Mom was fucked up.

On that note, I am off.  Dad is turning 72 tomorrow and I have a bunch to do to celebrate his life.  Isn't life ironic!

The Beginning - part II

At the beginning time my sense of my family was a tight unit.  We spent a lot of quality time together and I know that both my brother and I were nothing but loved, encouraged, taught by good people right and wrong, manners, how to cross the street and tell time, and oh yeah, we might have been a little bit spoiled - we had a whole room of toys.

I remember our home, which was just a second floor apartment, but so much more.  My brother and I had our own rooms which were good sized and my parents room was huge.  The kitchen was big and sunny and we had a cat clock whose eyes and tail moved.

I can admit that I had a bit of jealousy as any kid would have when a new baby arrives, especially when where there was one now there is two.  The oldest always gets a little less attention and my brother was so darn cute - the little buddha with a head full of curly hair and a great smile.

My parents dealt with sibling rivalry by getting us boxing gloves and we had a big dining room with no table and a huge oriental rug which was our 'ring' my father still laughs remembering our matches.  Fear of loss is a good exorcizor of jealousy, I remember once my brother was tagging along and came next door to my best friend's house for whatever reason, we never really hung out inside those days but my brother was there and we came down the back stairs and he fell and split his chin open requiring stitches.  I felt horrible that he was hurt and after that jealousy no more.

We went fishing with my Dad and Mom and they had friends and we all visited as a unit.  The adults were cool and hip and listened to music.  There was always music and concerts and dancing and laughter and life was really, really good in my little brain.  I had no idea that my whole life could ever, would ever explode into a kazillion pieces.  It was not in my scope of experiences or realizations.

After he left he told me to take care of my brother and all I ever did was try to be good and not be a problem.  As I said earlier, the times were important.  The new wave was divorce, single moms, latch key kids.  I in no way ever blamed my mom for not being there, I understood that she had to work and take care of us.  Women did not have the support when all hell breaks loose like they do these days.  Remember I mentioned social changes that we take for granted, well, back then there was nothing to take for granted because there was no help.

My mom struggled but strove to keep us with a roof and food and the basic necessities.  We were adaptable and change was just one of the names of the game.  Cold cereal for breakfast, Tang instead of orange juice and a Mom who could barely cook!  I don't even remember eating dinner as a family after my Dad left during these years. Like I said, time is funny and memories are few and far between.  Things become normal and routine.

At some point my adventurous dad was having his adventures and broke his neck in an auto accident when someone ran the light.  Life changing to hear that your Dad was in the hospital and probably going to die.  I was under 8 at that point.  Time had become something of a blur during these years.

Remember that hospital within my boundaries?  Well, that is where my Dad was - two streets away in a bed that flipped and having to wear glasses to see people when he was facing the floor.  My Mom's mom gave me the news one fine day in the Friendly Store.

To say my blood ran cold through my veins would not be an exaggeration.  It would be the first of many times I felt that feeling.  Quite unpleasant it is.  Almost as bad, I would say, but not quite as pieces of one's heart breaking.

Now would be a good time to point out that crying was a sign of weakness and rule number one was only babies cry, so no crying allowed.  No display of emotions were really acceptable in this land of family.  Which before my parents split up wasn't really a place that I do recall too well.  The only time I recall my Dad even over there was when my brother got hit by a truck on the causeway on Narragansett Ave midway between the cottage and the store.

These two families did not mingle and were complete opposites.  Polar opposites.  I don't really have too many memories of either sets of grandparents before my parents parted ways.  After that they played very important roles in my life.

One more place of importance during these changing times, even before my Dad got smoked in the car accident was the church at the opposite end of my street, but which was close to my school.  At some point in time I found myself walking up those enormous marble stairs leading up to the massive sets of Oak doors which even at 6 to me were beautiful.

I don't know how my mini self even managed to open one of those massive doors by myself, or what gave me the courage to walk the stairs to enter that sacred and holy place.  Me being me, I did it.  I entered this deadly silent sanctuary of St. Charles Catholic Church.  No one was there. No one stopped me.  I walked in and crossed myself with the holy water and one by one read the stations of the cross, examined the beautiful stained glass windows and the Altar.  I absorbed the peace of the place.  I was in awe and comforted at the same time.

My parents didn't push religion but all of my grandparents were religious and went to church weekly.  Church was not a thing in our household no rituals for us.  We were a non traditional family for sure.  The beginning of the end of the family structure - the bane of our society and I can tell you from experience there are not too many good things about that situation although I did not know that at the time.

It was during this time that I lost my voice and really turned myself inward.  I was a little girl, all alone, lost, forgotten and with no explanation and no idea what happened, why it happened how long it was going to last or anything at all other than home at school during the week in the 'city' and off to the 'country' for the weekend either at the Lake or else at Gram and Pops waiting for Dad and no one ever asked me if I was okay or what was going on or anything and I waited patiently for my Dad to show up.  No one even noticed that I stopped talking and nobody even cared.  It was so easy to be invisible, but it was so difficult at the same time

Oh yeah, that hospital which was right down the street where me and my best friend had been going to weekly look for change, the same one that my Dad was at, and by this point it was the forbidden dad.  Once he was that close there was no stopping me.  My best friend, my little brother and a box full of kittens found my Dad.  How, I have no idea.  That automatic radar was in high gear that day.

These days two young children with a younger child and a box full of kittens, unaccompanied by an adult with no clear idea where they are going would have been stopped and someone would have been called.  I would have been in so much trouble with my mother and grounded the rest of my life.

 The punishment for my Dad not being the fatherly and supporting Dad was the threat that you cannot see your children. Which wasn't really a threat to a man, especially a man who seemed to forget that he had children until he showed up at his Mother's house and his children just happened to be there visiting --- oops.

Sometimes I got lucky and he was there and then he would recite the 'fairy tale' from earlier to me and I would feel my heart fill with love and faith and trust and hope.  I believed in the happy ending.  Ya gotta believe in something, those who believe in nothing have no HOPE.

That my friends is its own kind of hell which I do not encourage any of you to feel for yourselves, and that I am sure will be a story for another day.  Alas, the hour is late and the day has been long.  My weary head my be empty enough to attempt to try sleep for the second time this long and painful eve.

The Beginning part 1

One day I woke up and everything had changed.  I didn't realize at the time, I was too young, how change would be a major theme of my life.

I was blessed with a few years of normalcy, if you could call it that. I know that no one I grew up with had an inkling of what had gone through, was going through, including myself.  We are blessedly born with these things called defense mechanisms which keep us from overload and mine worked very well. I also didn't know at the time, how much of a cultural shift the country was going through, or how important that would be some 50 years after my birth.

50 years is a fairly good stretch of time.  The children who are born during a cultural shift live through those changes and then get very accustomed to them.  It is like when you talk to someone who were alive before there were say, cars.  I know that is a stretch of imagination these days, some people can relate better.  I suppose a better - more modern equation would be the difference between a cell phone and a rotary phone in the house, I guess that is the stumper for these latest generations.

I stray, sorry, it has been a long time since my fingers had anything to say.  I guess it would be emotion driven to be sure, and a Saturday, which is a long way from Monday where I get to pay someone to listen to my deepest darkest, but Monday is forever away and my fingers again have something to say.

That first time that I realized everything had changed was when I was very young, I don't know if I was in school yet and I would have to say that I wasn't because I was standing in the kitchen with my little brother and it was daytime.  We were giggling by the closed door when our father walked in.  We were not giggling very long - I think next we were getting out of the way of all hell breaking loose.  When I woke up I didn't have a family any more.  The bottom had fallen out of the bucket.  Solid ground no longer under our feet.

First my Dad ran out the door after trying to put the fridge out the second floor window and then my Mom was seen mostly Friday afternoons to drive us to her parents for the weekend so she could work, and Sunday when we went home, unless it was summer or school vacations when we stayed until it was time to go home.  That became the new normal.  The only variance was going over to my Dad's parents house in the hopes of seeing who was to me, one of the most important people in my life prior to this time, along with my Mom and brother difference was I lived with them and I no longer lived with or had communication with my Dad which also became the new normal.

I couldn't tell you if I was in school or not.  I can tell you now, as an adult, I was in shock and had PTSD which wasn't a thing then.  So I do remember my mother bringing me to school the first day.  We walked the route I would walk everyday for the next four years.  I was in a purple skirt and top.  I can see it now.  It was a nice purple, so I can safely assume that although I love all colours, purple was probably my first love.

At this point, I think it would be fair at the very least to tag this time as the late 60's up to 71 as a reference point.  So add in the Vietnam War, my Dad was a soldier and his bride was barely 16 to his 21 years old.  He having been drafted from a small town in New England, she from the same small town. That is their story and not mine though.  They didn't talk about their lives and my Dad only talked to me about the war and how it changed him and how someday we would be together to sum it up in a nutshell.

He got pulled from the jungle of Vietnam to come home for a double funeral.  after 28 days and was able to not have to go back.  By this point you should know, but I won't assume, that no one died, but his very young bride and very premature daughter needed him more than Vietnam did.

According to the fairy tale, and I say this as I only have one source on this one - my parents fell in love and planned to have me and named me before I was even born.  I saved my Dad's life by being born.  My mom got them to let me come home from the hospital after three months because she couldn't be apart from me any more - incubator and all.  My Mom taught me to read before I was five and she got me into kindergarten early because I could read, I can say right now that I was not socially ready for this move and I think it is part of why I have difficulty fitting in.  I was foisted upon older kids and no one likes a little kid, especially one who is smarter than you.

My only saving grace at that time was the new kid in my class, who also happened to be my next door neighbor.  He lived with his mother who was never around either and went to his grandparents as well so we had much in common, aside from the fact that I was a girl and he was a boy and oh yeah, I was white and he was black.  Not that that made a difference to either of us.  He taught me how to run fast right there on Wahconah Street across from Adrian's Diner.

One minute I am all alone, my parents gone and wham, here comes that change.  My best friend and I spent many a day living within the confines of our boundaries.  There were some pretty slick places to check out, which we did almost daily until I was eight years old.

We used to go into Pittsfield General Hospital and check for change in the cafeteria which was just a room full of vending machines.  My best friend also taught me the importance of checking the change slot in pay phones.  (payphones you say, oh yeah, we don't have payphones anymore, but you used to put in a dime and dial up someone.  If you didn't have a dime and put in a quarter then change would end up in the little change receptacle.)  I jest, only slightly.  They were real, once upon a time.

We also used to go in and check out the plants at Viales greenhouse.  I am amazed they never said anything to us.  We also went between the greenhouses. I am not really sure how we managed that one, but it was fun and we felt like we were living on the edge.

Needless to say, we got teased for being friends.  I know from him what is is like to have someone have your back.  I do not think I would have made it through those years without him! Every bit of teasing was worth it to have such a wonderful friend to take me through some of the darkest days of that time.

I think that although these changes occurred they made me stronger, although I wouldn't find that out for a while.  They also made me angry, that I wouldn't find out for much, much later.  They most importantly made me one unique individual which is for another day.  My fingers grow weary, my neck grows weak and my back is aching.  My heart is aching but less than it was when I began so it is all good.

GRAMMA

I never realized how wonderful the title 'Gramma" was until just about five minutes ago.  My son and his family randomly stopped by, something that doesn't happen enough even if it occurred 7 days a week.  If that is selfish, so be it.

My grandson got his first taste of freedom at my house on Mother's Day, when they came over to bring me a plant.  Normal protocol is usually a meet and greet in the driveway through the window of the car.  On this day, he was sprung and the first thing he wanted to do was go into the house.  All those times dropping off his sister for sleepovers and pick ups - the first thing he wanted to do was go in Gramma's house.

Of course, I have a bunch of breakables and stuff on the walls and tables and shelves which are eye catching to just about everyone who enters my domain, but to a two year old child he spotted a car that I had bought for him and a stem project with gears, balls and track to go up, down and around, which I bought for the kids but worried about the little balls, so I saved it for my house.

Today, they arrived unexpectedly and we gathered in the driveway (out of the car).  The youngest member of our family bee lined it for the door - "inside Gramma...come play".  My heart expanded greatly as did my smile.  Alas, I had to put him off for a minute to explore the goodies my daughter in law had brought over.

I laughingly told him that clothes have priority even over grandchildren (wink, wink).  By and by he got curious and as we looked on he lifted the kitty entrance and glanced at his Mom who told him of course to think again.

Finally I finished and gave him the nod and we walked into the Great room where most of the fun is.  He went over to where the game was, but instead of that what interested him was my musical carousel horses.  They are almost all musical so I picked up one of the individual ones and pressed the button for the music and put it up to his ear.

His goal was bigger though and he wanted to check out one of the carousels, which I happily started.  As the music began he was like, "Me, Gramma".  I had to decline on that one, but assured him, in time when he got bigger he would be able to do it himself.

The minutes passed and they had lunch plans so we had to go, but not before he spotted his sisters play kitchen and attempted to engage, but the sound of the horn outside reminded us that there were others in the world besides the two of us.

Reluctantly, we walked to the car and I scooped him up and put him in his car seat so his Mom could buckle him in.  I gave Monkey Girl a hug and got the dirt on GRADUATION!  My girl is growing up so fast that I will have to think up a new nickname for her!

Meanwhile after hugs and kisses my grandson just stole my heart with his silliness reminding me again of the joy of life, the simpleness of children and my love of being Gramma.  

FEELING THOSE FEELINGS AGAIN

I wish I could explain all of the anger and the pain that creeps up inside of me
You choose not to listen or to see
It leaves a giant hole in me
If you would let me speak it would help me to heal
help me not to feel so much the pain, again and again.

You don't know how lucky that  you are
you do not carry the scars which cover me
I tried to save you from that which I had to endure
I wish I could ignore the anger and the pain
but here it comes to the surface again

Words escape these lips
I feel myself slip into the abyss I left so long ago
The anger and the pain it shows
you label me out of control
these things you will never ever know

Those things beyond my control
So difficult to let go
Attached  to my soul
that anger and the pain

They don't belong to me
but on me they cling
I wish to fling them back where they belong
Attached to me so long
not the way I roll, I own what I sow

I try to keep the faith
 At times there is a large trace
What  left me behind
Occupies my mind
Not a pleasant way
I wish they would go away

Down my face the tears do flow
that is all I control
If you choose to see or not
it is all okay
the pain always goes away
the anger has a place
far from the smile on my face

I hope for you it never becomes real
feeling what I feel
I will be happy in the end
and won't have to pretend
I did the best I could
I lived my life in the name of good
despite the anger and the pain

WHAT IF

What if when we were born we knew all that we knew
What if that was true?
What if all our lives we learned as we grew
What if we were encouraged to be whatever we wanted to be
What if life were like that, what would  you do?

What if everyday you knew what to say
What if each encounter were grand
What if it were easier to understand what we didn't know
What if you encouraged each and everyone to have some fun
What if it were easier to get the job done?

What if each and every day the badness went away
What if life wasn't sad and people were not bad
What if we all got a piece of the pie
What if only the elderly died
What if we all ended up as stars in the sky

What if...

YEAH

Yeah, at the moment shit is okay, but I really feel like punching certain people in the face via facebook.  Yeah, feeling like deleting anyone and everyone I know but never talk to except to reply to smart ass shit.
yeah, it is probably the lack of nicotine mixed with the bad sleep I have been getting.
Yeah, I know it isn't right to want to tell the world to go fuck themselves and name names.
Yeah, mostly people over the age of 70 or nearing it.  People I really don't know but know enough to know
Yeah, it could be the longing to smoke anything at this point.
Yeah, time to get off the computer and re open the book.  At least the story is good.
Yeah, life sucks sometimes and people make it worse.
Yeah, I know I would regret it all in the long run!
Yeah, but who really gives a Flying Fuck???