Tim and I were like all other siblings. We fought, we laughed at each other, and we protected each other…okay, he protected me more since I was a peewee and he was a tall boy. Mostly Tim and I bickered. We bickered about every single thing. I was right, he wasn’t. Or at least that is the way I saw it.
I am certain that he cared a lot about me; he just never wanted to show it. When mom and dad separated I cried every night. He would crawl in the bed beside me and just lie there. Occasionally he would say something, but mostly I just knew he was there.
Tim always made me feel safe. Even when he and I were young, after mom and dad’s divorce, just knowing he was there was comfort for me. I always knew he would do anything to keep me safe.
We shared a lot of good memories too. We use to wrestle all the time. He would have me laughing so hard, I could carry my own. Now, I was like a skunk though, once I felt like I was trapped, a little gas would always get me out of a bind. Every single time. And he never learned…which was funny in itself.
One time we were wrestling when Mom was at work. Mom did ceramics and had several pieces here and there throughout our apartment. We were wrestling and one of our feet crashed into a little girl she had, off came the head. We were scared to death. We carefully sat it back on top of the shoulders of the girl and prayed that Mom would not figure it out. Yeah, we were dumb, our mom cleaned all the time, it was just a matter of days before she would dust near it and off the head would come. I don’t remember getting into trouble but I do remember being very scared.
I looked up to Tim when I was little. He was such the big brother that I thought every girl should have. We were 11 and 8 at the time. He was my big brother and often times I felt like he was all I had. We had each other. It was the only consistent thing we had.
It makes me giggle to remember that at this time of our life, Tim was not Tim, he was Timmy.I loved my big brother, I loved Timmy, I love Tim, I loved him no matter what he was called.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Chapter 4
The next morning my dad drove us over to our apartment, which was strange, since Mom and Dad did not go to each other’s home. We walked into the living room, there sat my mom, John, now us and my dad. Something terrible must have had happened, since mom, john and my dad were not prime candidates to be in the same room.
I noticed very quickly that my mom looked really bad. I got a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. We seemed to sit there for a very long time, it was probably no longer than a minute, but still. Finally, my mom began to tell us that the night before my grandmother was killed in an automobile accident. She and my grandfather were going home from visiting one of my mom’s siblings when he lost control of the car. My grandmother was ejected from the vehicle.
As I remember over hearing, my mom and John were having dinner at our apartment, when the phone rang. She answered and was told that the wreck had just happened. Someone had driven by and thought it was Grandma and Grandpa. Mom and John rushed over to the scene. The first thing my mom saw was her mother lying in the ditch, dead. She was so distraught, naturally, that John had to lock her in his truck. I just cannot imagine seeing that and ever being able to close my eyes and not see what she had seen.
I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral home for visitation nor to the funeral. I was okay with that.
I found out years later that the day my grandmother was buried, my mom and dad had to go to the courthouse to sign the divorce papers. I guess no one considered the fact that my mom was mourning her own mother.
Just seven days later, Mom had to put on the mommy face and play Santa to her two young children. She must have been in a daze that is unexplainable. It crosses my mind often if she thought we were insensitive to be excited and happy about Christmas when we just lost our grandmother, and she had lost her mother. If so, she never ever would have told us she even entertained those thoughts.
John started spending more and more time with us. He took us fishing, hunting, to ball games, anything that we could do, cheap, we did it. Mom and Pam became closer friends, as we did with Ian and Anderson.
I still got off the bus most days at my Mamas’ house. Tracie, my cousin, and I spent many afternoons playing school, church, bus, bank, dress up, dolls, or anything else we could get into. We were like sisters. For many years Tracie and I were always together, every one even thought we were sisters. We even argued sometimes like sisters. One afternoon she and I got into a spat, she was apparently really mad at me cause she went into Mamas’ sewing room and carved my name into her sewing machine table. Mamas’ sewing table was a big deal. My name is still there, I wonder if Mamas’ ever believed me when I said that Tracie did it and not me.
The stories between Tracie and I are numerous. One of my favorite stories was one about her cousin, who was a snob, was watching us for the night. She was so prissy, and we were snotty little girls that were a real bother to her. Before dinner, Tracie noticed that there wasn’t any diet coke there. (Tracie was a diabetic.) Mamas’ (whom lived right next door) always had extra drinks that she horded in the spare bedroom. Tracie and I walked over and got one. I am thinking that right before we left, Sheree made us mad. As we were walking back to Tracie’s house we decided that it would be fun to play a little game of catch with the hot diet coke. We walked into the house, with our no fail plan, and I immediately went to hide somewhere cause I knew I would end up peeing all over myself in moments. Tracie pretended to try to open the coke but acted as if she could not get it. She took it to Sheree, which by the way, had on brand new clothes to priss around the house in, and asked her to open the drink.
I have never seen coke go as far as this one went. The ceiling was covered, the floor, the furniture, but the best part was Sheree and her clothes all soiled, and her perfectly styled hair, was no longer perfectly styled. To this day when Tracie and I reminisce this story always comes up. I don’t think Sheree knows even to this day.
Oh the stories we share.
I noticed very quickly that my mom looked really bad. I got a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. We seemed to sit there for a very long time, it was probably no longer than a minute, but still. Finally, my mom began to tell us that the night before my grandmother was killed in an automobile accident. She and my grandfather were going home from visiting one of my mom’s siblings when he lost control of the car. My grandmother was ejected from the vehicle.
As I remember over hearing, my mom and John were having dinner at our apartment, when the phone rang. She answered and was told that the wreck had just happened. Someone had driven by and thought it was Grandma and Grandpa. Mom and John rushed over to the scene. The first thing my mom saw was her mother lying in the ditch, dead. She was so distraught, naturally, that John had to lock her in his truck. I just cannot imagine seeing that and ever being able to close my eyes and not see what she had seen.
I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral home for visitation nor to the funeral. I was okay with that.
I found out years later that the day my grandmother was buried, my mom and dad had to go to the courthouse to sign the divorce papers. I guess no one considered the fact that my mom was mourning her own mother.
Just seven days later, Mom had to put on the mommy face and play Santa to her two young children. She must have been in a daze that is unexplainable. It crosses my mind often if she thought we were insensitive to be excited and happy about Christmas when we just lost our grandmother, and she had lost her mother. If so, she never ever would have told us she even entertained those thoughts.
John started spending more and more time with us. He took us fishing, hunting, to ball games, anything that we could do, cheap, we did it. Mom and Pam became closer friends, as we did with Ian and Anderson.
I still got off the bus most days at my Mamas’ house. Tracie, my cousin, and I spent many afternoons playing school, church, bus, bank, dress up, dolls, or anything else we could get into. We were like sisters. For many years Tracie and I were always together, every one even thought we were sisters. We even argued sometimes like sisters. One afternoon she and I got into a spat, she was apparently really mad at me cause she went into Mamas’ sewing room and carved my name into her sewing machine table. Mamas’ sewing table was a big deal. My name is still there, I wonder if Mamas’ ever believed me when I said that Tracie did it and not me.
The stories between Tracie and I are numerous. One of my favorite stories was one about her cousin, who was a snob, was watching us for the night. She was so prissy, and we were snotty little girls that were a real bother to her. Before dinner, Tracie noticed that there wasn’t any diet coke there. (Tracie was a diabetic.) Mamas’ (whom lived right next door) always had extra drinks that she horded in the spare bedroom. Tracie and I walked over and got one. I am thinking that right before we left, Sheree made us mad. As we were walking back to Tracie’s house we decided that it would be fun to play a little game of catch with the hot diet coke. We walked into the house, with our no fail plan, and I immediately went to hide somewhere cause I knew I would end up peeing all over myself in moments. Tracie pretended to try to open the coke but acted as if she could not get it. She took it to Sheree, which by the way, had on brand new clothes to priss around the house in, and asked her to open the drink.
I have never seen coke go as far as this one went. The ceiling was covered, the floor, the furniture, but the best part was Sheree and her clothes all soiled, and her perfectly styled hair, was no longer perfectly styled. To this day when Tracie and I reminisce this story always comes up. I don’t think Sheree knows even to this day.
Oh the stories we share.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Chapter 3
We lived in this neighborhood, if that is what you would call it, for a year or so. Right after we moved in, this man came by to see Mom. He knew my name but I did not know him. It seemed very odd and I wasn’t so sure I liked it. He did not stay very long and I did not see him again for a long while.
At Christmas, my dad came to visit us on Christmas morning. Mom had let us strew everything we got for Christmas everywhere. Everywhere you looked was toys. Left over pieces of wrapping paper graced the floor as well. We were in heaven; Mom also had a smile on her face, finally allowing us to be kids. When Dad came in, his head about spun around. He immediately started in on Mom, she stayed strong and explained to him that this was her house and we could do whatever we wanted to. I don’t remember Daddy staying there very long that morning.
At one point my mom let a friend of hers from work move in with us. She, Pat, had two kids, Dawn and Matt. I think Mom needed the help with rent, and Pat needed somewhere to go. I don’t remember much about living with them, so I guess our co-existing was not eventful.
One day my mom told Tim and I that we were going to be moving to a new apartment. She was so excited. There was a new complex opening that was geared to single parents and based on your income. She had applied and her application had been accepted. I saw the gleam in my mom’s eyes. She was proud of herself.
We moved into apartment 15D. It was a two bedroom, one bath. Cute, it was very cute. Tim had his own room and Mom and I shared a room. There were sidewalks everywhere. There were lots of kids that we could hang out with. This was huge for Tim and me since we were so use to having neighborhood friends, the kids at our previous place were not the kind of kids any parent in their right mind would want their kids to hang out with.
At Coachwood Apts, it was almost like a support group for parents and kids. Every kid there was going through the same thing. Every adult there was going through the same thing. We all became a great big family in some ways. Everyone helped each other. My mom eventually met her best friend there. Her name was Pam. Pam had two sons, Ian and Anderson. I remember the night my mom met her. Mom took an aerobics class at our local recreation park. Pam was there and recognized mom from seeing Mom walking each evening in the complex. Pam introduced herself and that was the beginning of a relationship that lasted through the years. Pam and Mom went through a lot together.
Later, I found out that after mom put us to bed, and Pam put her boys to bed, they would both go outside and walk from our apartment to hers, and back again. You could see Pam’s apartment from our apartment. They would walk and talk about ex husbands, kids, bills, etc. Pam would help mom by watching us before the bus came. Mom would help Pam by watching her boys while Pam grocery shopped. We all became a little family.
Eventually I met John, the guy that had come to see us at our last house. John worked with my mom. They were friends. John and his wife were recently divorced; ironically, mom and her husband were almost divorced. John came over a few nights a week, until he was there about every night. I liked John. He was very caring. And he built me a doll cradle, which won him a few extra points. Mom laughed when he was there, and I liked seeing her laugh.
Tim and I would go to Dad’s every other weekend. Daddy would take us to eat pizza and take us to bowl. Soon after mom and dad’s separation, once dad realized he was not going to win mom back, he started to date. So on the weekends we were with him, we often would meet or stop by and see his girlfriend, if that is what you would call it. Dad also worked a lot so sometimes I would have to stay at Mamas’ house while he worked. I liked going to dads because my friends were there. I spent a lot of my time when I was at my dad’s with my friend Sharann and her family. Sharon became like a second mom to me. I did a lot of things with them and I ate a lot of meals with them.
When dad found out about John he was not a happy camper. In fact, he tried really hard to make life miserable for my mom. Sometimes dad would even be outside our apartment when John would leave at night, which by the way, was at 9pm every night. I guess that was a rule my mom would not budge on. 9pm, he was out, goodnight, go home, and see you later… Dad was there one night and was trying to start something with John. John being the calm guy he was walked away and left.
December 18th, 1982, we were at my dad’s and he got a phone call. It was the kind of phone call you see your parents get and you just know something is wrong. The next morning when we woke, Dad told us he was taking us to see Mom, she wanted to tell us something. Huh? Mom and Dad in the same room, no way. What was the occasion…?
At Christmas, my dad came to visit us on Christmas morning. Mom had let us strew everything we got for Christmas everywhere. Everywhere you looked was toys. Left over pieces of wrapping paper graced the floor as well. We were in heaven; Mom also had a smile on her face, finally allowing us to be kids. When Dad came in, his head about spun around. He immediately started in on Mom, she stayed strong and explained to him that this was her house and we could do whatever we wanted to. I don’t remember Daddy staying there very long that morning.
At one point my mom let a friend of hers from work move in with us. She, Pat, had two kids, Dawn and Matt. I think Mom needed the help with rent, and Pat needed somewhere to go. I don’t remember much about living with them, so I guess our co-existing was not eventful.
One day my mom told Tim and I that we were going to be moving to a new apartment. She was so excited. There was a new complex opening that was geared to single parents and based on your income. She had applied and her application had been accepted. I saw the gleam in my mom’s eyes. She was proud of herself.
We moved into apartment 15D. It was a two bedroom, one bath. Cute, it was very cute. Tim had his own room and Mom and I shared a room. There were sidewalks everywhere. There were lots of kids that we could hang out with. This was huge for Tim and me since we were so use to having neighborhood friends, the kids at our previous place were not the kind of kids any parent in their right mind would want their kids to hang out with.
At Coachwood Apts, it was almost like a support group for parents and kids. Every kid there was going through the same thing. Every adult there was going through the same thing. We all became a great big family in some ways. Everyone helped each other. My mom eventually met her best friend there. Her name was Pam. Pam had two sons, Ian and Anderson. I remember the night my mom met her. Mom took an aerobics class at our local recreation park. Pam was there and recognized mom from seeing Mom walking each evening in the complex. Pam introduced herself and that was the beginning of a relationship that lasted through the years. Pam and Mom went through a lot together.
Later, I found out that after mom put us to bed, and Pam put her boys to bed, they would both go outside and walk from our apartment to hers, and back again. You could see Pam’s apartment from our apartment. They would walk and talk about ex husbands, kids, bills, etc. Pam would help mom by watching us before the bus came. Mom would help Pam by watching her boys while Pam grocery shopped. We all became a little family.
Eventually I met John, the guy that had come to see us at our last house. John worked with my mom. They were friends. John and his wife were recently divorced; ironically, mom and her husband were almost divorced. John came over a few nights a week, until he was there about every night. I liked John. He was very caring. And he built me a doll cradle, which won him a few extra points. Mom laughed when he was there, and I liked seeing her laugh.
Tim and I would go to Dad’s every other weekend. Daddy would take us to eat pizza and take us to bowl. Soon after mom and dad’s separation, once dad realized he was not going to win mom back, he started to date. So on the weekends we were with him, we often would meet or stop by and see his girlfriend, if that is what you would call it. Dad also worked a lot so sometimes I would have to stay at Mamas’ house while he worked. I liked going to dads because my friends were there. I spent a lot of my time when I was at my dad’s with my friend Sharann and her family. Sharon became like a second mom to me. I did a lot of things with them and I ate a lot of meals with them.
When dad found out about John he was not a happy camper. In fact, he tried really hard to make life miserable for my mom. Sometimes dad would even be outside our apartment when John would leave at night, which by the way, was at 9pm every night. I guess that was a rule my mom would not budge on. 9pm, he was out, goodnight, go home, and see you later… Dad was there one night and was trying to start something with John. John being the calm guy he was walked away and left.
December 18th, 1982, we were at my dad’s and he got a phone call. It was the kind of phone call you see your parents get and you just know something is wrong. The next morning when we woke, Dad told us he was taking us to see Mom, she wanted to tell us something. Huh? Mom and Dad in the same room, no way. What was the occasion…?
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Chapter 2
We lived in a small neighborhood, the kind of neighborhood where everyone knew everyone and everyone knew everyone’s business. It was different then than it is now. Knowing everyone’s business then was knowing where they worked, who were their parents, cousins, or knowing if they went to church on Sunday. Today, knowing everyone’s business is so different.
We wondered the neighborhood every day. Mom did not worry about someone kidnapping us, or who we were hanging around with. (Remember, everyone knew everyone.) I had so many friends there. We went from one house to another house to play. Kim, Amanda, Sharann, Bobby, Larry, Chris, Rodney, Amy…just to name a few, were some of the residents/friends, sometimes enemies. We rode bicycles miles and miles over the years just in that small neighborhood. I also walked many miles barefooted around the neighborhood. (Once summer hit we threw the shoes away .)
In the evenings, my mom would open the door and yell our names, as would other moms, and we would run home as fast as we could. Funny how no matter where we were we could hear the yell of our names. After we ran home, it was time to wash up for dinner. Dinner was every night at the same time. We had a variety of food each night, but always, always had to have creamed potatoes. Every single night, per my father. And can biscuits, every single night.
We had a kitchen table, but we always ate at our bar that sat four people. The kitchen table was only for Christmas or something like that. We never hosted company, except on Friday nights, when a couple from our church would come over to watch Dallas.
My bedroom was so pretty. When you walked in the door, to the left was my white dresser, on the opposite wall was my white bed, with a patchwork bedspread. I had shelves too, for my dolls. My carpet was light green. My closet was perfect, as was every single corner of my room. Of course it was, my father would not have allowed anything other.
I insisted on the hall light being on every night. This was an inconvenience for my father, as he made a mad dash to the bathroom for his nightly shower. If I were awake, he would stop just before my door and tell me to cover my eyes, as he ran past my door in his whitey tightys.
Bedtime was the same time every night, wake up was the same every morning. I had maple and brown sugar oatmeal every morning. My dad had two fried eggs, bacon and can biscuits, every morning. Dad mowed on Mondays and Wednesdays every week during the summer. We actually had to plan our vacations around his mowing schedule. (Which is why we only did weekend trips.) Do you see a pattern here? Day in and day out, we had a serious routine. But, it was all we as kids knew. HOWEVER, it was not what my mother grew up with, making her life miserable. Should she stray from the routine, hell was to be paid.
We never went out of the house in the evenings other than the occasional treat. My mom was pretty much forbidden to leave at night, as it was not safe for women to be out after dark. Or so my dad said. My mother sought out her GED or high school diploma several times. My dad always made her quit, or made it so hard for her that she gave up and quit. Mom felt that my dad did not want her to better herself, possibly being better than he was. Both my mom and my dad quit high school at a very young age. They were married two weeks after my mom’s 16th birthday. I just cannot imagine!! My brother was born when mom was 18, and I came along when she was 21. Too young to be married, too young for children.
Mom and Dad did the best they knew how. I thought we lived a normal life.
Which is why when my mom sat us down to tell us that we were leaving, I was devastated. It seems that every night after I went to bed, there were huge arguments. I was 6,so once I was asleep, I was asleep. My brother, however, was 9 and he heard everything. Apparently Mom saw that he was starting to be affected by their problems and decided it was time to go. I was heartbroken. Completely heartbroken. We stayed with every one of my mom’s sisters. We went from house to house. This must have gone on for months. Finally my mom found us a house to rent. I hated the house. I hated that my dad did not live there. I worried everyday about who was taking care of him. I worried about the house work, the cooking, and the loneliness. I loved my daddy like every little girl loves their daddy. He was my hero
We wondered the neighborhood every day. Mom did not worry about someone kidnapping us, or who we were hanging around with. (Remember, everyone knew everyone.) I had so many friends there. We went from one house to another house to play. Kim, Amanda, Sharann, Bobby, Larry, Chris, Rodney, Amy…just to name a few, were some of the residents/friends, sometimes enemies. We rode bicycles miles and miles over the years just in that small neighborhood. I also walked many miles barefooted around the neighborhood. (Once summer hit we threw the shoes away .)
In the evenings, my mom would open the door and yell our names, as would other moms, and we would run home as fast as we could. Funny how no matter where we were we could hear the yell of our names. After we ran home, it was time to wash up for dinner. Dinner was every night at the same time. We had a variety of food each night, but always, always had to have creamed potatoes. Every single night, per my father. And can biscuits, every single night.
We had a kitchen table, but we always ate at our bar that sat four people. The kitchen table was only for Christmas or something like that. We never hosted company, except on Friday nights, when a couple from our church would come over to watch Dallas.
My bedroom was so pretty. When you walked in the door, to the left was my white dresser, on the opposite wall was my white bed, with a patchwork bedspread. I had shelves too, for my dolls. My carpet was light green. My closet was perfect, as was every single corner of my room. Of course it was, my father would not have allowed anything other.
I insisted on the hall light being on every night. This was an inconvenience for my father, as he made a mad dash to the bathroom for his nightly shower. If I were awake, he would stop just before my door and tell me to cover my eyes, as he ran past my door in his whitey tightys.
Bedtime was the same time every night, wake up was the same every morning. I had maple and brown sugar oatmeal every morning. My dad had two fried eggs, bacon and can biscuits, every morning. Dad mowed on Mondays and Wednesdays every week during the summer. We actually had to plan our vacations around his mowing schedule. (Which is why we only did weekend trips.) Do you see a pattern here? Day in and day out, we had a serious routine. But, it was all we as kids knew. HOWEVER, it was not what my mother grew up with, making her life miserable. Should she stray from the routine, hell was to be paid.
We never went out of the house in the evenings other than the occasional treat. My mom was pretty much forbidden to leave at night, as it was not safe for women to be out after dark. Or so my dad said. My mother sought out her GED or high school diploma several times. My dad always made her quit, or made it so hard for her that she gave up and quit. Mom felt that my dad did not want her to better herself, possibly being better than he was. Both my mom and my dad quit high school at a very young age. They were married two weeks after my mom’s 16th birthday. I just cannot imagine!! My brother was born when mom was 18, and I came along when she was 21. Too young to be married, too young for children.
Mom and Dad did the best they knew how. I thought we lived a normal life.
Which is why when my mom sat us down to tell us that we were leaving, I was devastated. It seems that every night after I went to bed, there were huge arguments. I was 6,so once I was asleep, I was asleep. My brother, however, was 9 and he heard everything. Apparently Mom saw that he was starting to be affected by their problems and decided it was time to go. I was heartbroken. Completely heartbroken. We stayed with every one of my mom’s sisters. We went from house to house. This must have gone on for months. Finally my mom found us a house to rent. I hated the house. I hated that my dad did not live there. I worried everyday about who was taking care of him. I worried about the house work, the cooking, and the loneliness. I loved my daddy like every little girl loves their daddy. He was my hero
Friday, December 5, 2008
The Beginning, For What I Know
I was born in at Alamance Hospital on June 21st, 1973, at 3:46am. My parents were Ann and Joe. I had a big brother, Tim, who was 3 years old. I am not sure about the first days of my life, except my Mom had a birthday just 3 days after mine. What a birthday present, huh?
The next few months for my mom were hell. I had colic, bad colic. I cried and cried and then I cried some more. The only person that seemed to be able to console me was my Grandma. She did not believe that I was colicky, no, she thought that I was a nervous wreck, since my mom was a nervous wreck. From what I have been told my dad was an ass at the time. He supposedly would get really mad and yell at my mom if I was crying. He wanted her to be able hush me immediately. She was so nervous, afraid of making him angry and I sensed that, so I cried. A vicious circle. My grandma would come over after her 3rd shift at work and sit and hold me, console me, and let my mom rest for a few minutes. I am sure that my Mom loved to see her come and hated to see her leave.
The next few years, I am sure they were filled with all the normal stuff that occurs in most families, with the exception that my parents were not in a happy marriage. They were married at a very young age, my mom only being 16. My mom had a very a rough childhood, which included alcoholic parents. She was the oldest of 7 children, 7 children that she pretty much raised. They were very poor. When my dad came along and the opportunity to leave home was offered, she took it. I am not sure that their marriage was ever really happy. Surely they had to have some point where they had the mushy eyes and the newlywed feeling, however, if they did, I never heard about it.
The nervous baby that I was transformed into a nervous child. My dad would get mad at my mom if he came home and we had toys out. He would allow us to have one thing out at a time. Only one thing. When he was at work, mom would let us play with as much as we wanted to, our living room would be wrecked, up until about 30 minutes before he would arrive. At that time, we would quickly return everything to our rooms, put in its place and make it back out to the living room to look as if that is the way it had been all day. One toy, no messes, just the way he demanded.
My dad was also the man that expected dinner at a certain time, bed at a certain (exact) time, up at a certain time, everything was planned out and it HAD to go just like that. As an adult, I have diagnosed him with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He still has his routines and if you get them off, he is totally out of sorts. We learned to live this way too, or mom caught so much hell.
My dads parents, my Mamas' and Papas', cared for us sometimes, well, actually they cared for me more than Tim. They played favorites terribly. When my mom was pregnant with my brother, Mamas' told my mom that she really hoped that it was not a boy, since she did not want her grandson to be called by their last name, since my mom was from a very poor and alcoholic, family. When Tim was born, it took them several days to even come see him. Things were different when I was born, guess they had no worries that I would carry their name.
I loved my Papas' dearly. He was the classic grandparent. He would "accidentally" lose change in his chair, so that when he would get up, I would find pennies and nickels. How exciting for a little girl like myself. He would play baby dolls with me, rocking them, patting them, pretending they were burping and puking on him. He made me laugh often. He would let me help him leave the squirrels water. He taught me all about God and his creatures. He was the kindness man I knew.
Mamas' tried to be nice, and I guess in her own way, she was. She was just a little up tight. She did, however, teach me to cross stitch, crochet, cook, bake and decorate cakes, she would let me decorate paper plates with the cake icing she was using to decorate elaborate cakes she made. She would also let me cut out patterns that she would then use to make dresses for me.
With all that said, I was by far the favorite grandchild, and that was so very obvious. Rodney and Tracie were. They could do no wrong. We could all make the same grades in school, but somehow they did better than us. I think that Mamas' was the one that felt this way, and my Papas' just did not say anything. He was that kind of man, avoid confutation at any cost. Many examples of the favoritism took place many years, in fact, even to this day.
My mom's parents, Grandma and Grandpa, they were the kind of Grandparents that had nothing but gave all. They loved each and everyone of their grand kids equally. Which had to be hard, since there were so many of us. One of my favorite memories with my Grandma is she had a dresser in her room. In the top left drawer, she hid Twinkies in there for us. That was the best thing for a little girl like myself. I now have that dresser in my room, and I refer to it as the "Twinkie Dresser."
My dad had two siblings, an older brother, Edward, and a twin sister, Brenda. I had three cousins on my dad's side. Edward and wife, Donna, had two kids, Rodney and Tracie, and Brenda had Donnie. Today, I have four second cousins.
My mom, as I mentioned earlier, had 6 siblings. Mom was the oldest. The others, Dorothy (Dot), Mary, Betty, June, Brenda, and William, the only boy. My cousins from my mom's side is quite a long list. There is, David, Jason, Angie, Kim, Marie, Amber, Bruce, Sherry, Sarah, Christina, Amy and Tiffany. The second cousin count from this side of the family is really long, at twelve.
These are the people I grew up with. Some I have fond memories with, some not so much.
The next few months for my mom were hell. I had colic, bad colic. I cried and cried and then I cried some more. The only person that seemed to be able to console me was my Grandma. She did not believe that I was colicky, no, she thought that I was a nervous wreck, since my mom was a nervous wreck. From what I have been told my dad was an ass at the time. He supposedly would get really mad and yell at my mom if I was crying. He wanted her to be able hush me immediately. She was so nervous, afraid of making him angry and I sensed that, so I cried. A vicious circle. My grandma would come over after her 3rd shift at work and sit and hold me, console me, and let my mom rest for a few minutes. I am sure that my Mom loved to see her come and hated to see her leave.
The next few years, I am sure they were filled with all the normal stuff that occurs in most families, with the exception that my parents were not in a happy marriage. They were married at a very young age, my mom only being 16. My mom had a very a rough childhood, which included alcoholic parents. She was the oldest of 7 children, 7 children that she pretty much raised. They were very poor. When my dad came along and the opportunity to leave home was offered, she took it. I am not sure that their marriage was ever really happy. Surely they had to have some point where they had the mushy eyes and the newlywed feeling, however, if they did, I never heard about it.
The nervous baby that I was transformed into a nervous child. My dad would get mad at my mom if he came home and we had toys out. He would allow us to have one thing out at a time. Only one thing. When he was at work, mom would let us play with as much as we wanted to, our living room would be wrecked, up until about 30 minutes before he would arrive. At that time, we would quickly return everything to our rooms, put in its place and make it back out to the living room to look as if that is the way it had been all day. One toy, no messes, just the way he demanded.
My dad was also the man that expected dinner at a certain time, bed at a certain (exact) time, up at a certain time, everything was planned out and it HAD to go just like that. As an adult, I have diagnosed him with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He still has his routines and if you get them off, he is totally out of sorts. We learned to live this way too, or mom caught so much hell.
My dads parents, my Mamas' and Papas', cared for us sometimes, well, actually they cared for me more than Tim. They played favorites terribly. When my mom was pregnant with my brother, Mamas' told my mom that she really hoped that it was not a boy, since she did not want her grandson to be called by their last name, since my mom was from a very poor and alcoholic, family. When Tim was born, it took them several days to even come see him. Things were different when I was born, guess they had no worries that I would carry their name.
I loved my Papas' dearly. He was the classic grandparent. He would "accidentally" lose change in his chair, so that when he would get up, I would find pennies and nickels. How exciting for a little girl like myself. He would play baby dolls with me, rocking them, patting them, pretending they were burping and puking on him. He made me laugh often. He would let me help him leave the squirrels water. He taught me all about God and his creatures. He was the kindness man I knew.
Mamas' tried to be nice, and I guess in her own way, she was. She was just a little up tight. She did, however, teach me to cross stitch, crochet, cook, bake and decorate cakes, she would let me decorate paper plates with the cake icing she was using to decorate elaborate cakes she made. She would also let me cut out patterns that she would then use to make dresses for me.
With all that said, I was by far the favorite grandchild, and that was so very obvious. Rodney and Tracie were. They could do no wrong. We could all make the same grades in school, but somehow they did better than us. I think that Mamas' was the one that felt this way, and my Papas' just did not say anything. He was that kind of man, avoid confutation at any cost. Many examples of the favoritism took place many years, in fact, even to this day.
My mom's parents, Grandma and Grandpa, they were the kind of Grandparents that had nothing but gave all. They loved each and everyone of their grand kids equally. Which had to be hard, since there were so many of us. One of my favorite memories with my Grandma is she had a dresser in her room. In the top left drawer, she hid Twinkies in there for us. That was the best thing for a little girl like myself. I now have that dresser in my room, and I refer to it as the "Twinkie Dresser."
My dad had two siblings, an older brother, Edward, and a twin sister, Brenda. I had three cousins on my dad's side. Edward and wife, Donna, had two kids, Rodney and Tracie, and Brenda had Donnie. Today, I have four second cousins.
My mom, as I mentioned earlier, had 6 siblings. Mom was the oldest. The others, Dorothy (Dot), Mary, Betty, June, Brenda, and William, the only boy. My cousins from my mom's side is quite a long list. There is, David, Jason, Angie, Kim, Marie, Amber, Bruce, Sherry, Sarah, Christina, Amy and Tiffany. The second cousin count from this side of the family is really long, at twelve.
These are the people I grew up with. Some I have fond memories with, some not so much.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Who, What, When, Where...How...
Who am I?
Where did I come from?
Why do I act this way?
Whose nose do I have?
Where did I learn this or that?
What was my Mom like?
Why did my Dad and Mom divorce?
How did I end up with so many step-siblings?
Where did I grow up?
Lots of questions. I know the answers to most of these questions, but there are lots of things I don’t know. I have always wanted to document my life story. Don’t know why. It surely will not end up on the bookshelf at Barnes and Noble. I would like for my kids not to have questions about me as I now have about my own Mom who passed away a few years ago. It has really bothered me that a few days after my mom passed away, my daughter asked me what was Grandma’s favorite color. I had no idea. She loved red shoes, maybe red. She loved pink flowers, maybe pink, she loved things with sunflowers on them, maybe yellow? I had no idea. I want there to be somewhere that my family can find these answers. I want them to one day know about my childhood, know about my teenage years, know about how I met their father, know about our dating days. There are things I would die if they knew now, only because they are way too young. But one day…
So this is where I plan on disclosing all these things about myself. I cannot imagine that this will be of interest to anyone else, but I love readers, so be sure to leave me a comment so I know you stopped by.
Where did I come from?
Why do I act this way?
Whose nose do I have?
Where did I learn this or that?
What was my Mom like?
Why did my Dad and Mom divorce?
How did I end up with so many step-siblings?
Where did I grow up?
Lots of questions. I know the answers to most of these questions, but there are lots of things I don’t know. I have always wanted to document my life story. Don’t know why. It surely will not end up on the bookshelf at Barnes and Noble. I would like for my kids not to have questions about me as I now have about my own Mom who passed away a few years ago. It has really bothered me that a few days after my mom passed away, my daughter asked me what was Grandma’s favorite color. I had no idea. She loved red shoes, maybe red. She loved pink flowers, maybe pink, she loved things with sunflowers on them, maybe yellow? I had no idea. I want there to be somewhere that my family can find these answers. I want them to one day know about my childhood, know about my teenage years, know about how I met their father, know about our dating days. There are things I would die if they knew now, only because they are way too young. But one day…
So this is where I plan on disclosing all these things about myself. I cannot imagine that this will be of interest to anyone else, but I love readers, so be sure to leave me a comment so I know you stopped by.
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