Part 1

Part 1

Sometimes I wonder...
how I even turned out fairly "normal" considering my childhood. I've spent too much time over the last few weeks thinking dragging up memories of my childhood. In some ways I have been in denial a LONG time about some experiences and how they have affected me. My darling hubby describes me as a boiling pot with a lid on it. That's not an anger analogy at all, more of a personality one. Little streams of steam escape, but for the most part I hold a lot in. Why? I have absolutely no idea. Maybe control? Maybe fear? I don't know and doubt I'll ever know completely, but in the mean time, I will blog.

My hubby advised that I write about my childhood. Starting from my earlies memories on. I think it will be therapeutic in that to me, if I see it on paper, I can deal with it and be done with it? I'm not sure that makes sense, if it's logical, or if it's just plain stupid. All I know is that it is the most wonderful feeling to have a super supportive husband in my corner!
So, I will begin with my very first memory.

I remember being about 3 years old and getting my diaper changed. I mostly remember the diaper pens that were used. They were blue ducks! I loved those. I remember my dad letting me hold them while he changed my diaper. I also remember a bottle that I had. It, too, was blue and had a clown face on it. It was kind of creepy, but I loved it and my grandma bought it for me. My mom would scold me about biting the ends of the nipples off. She really got frustrated with me. I remember my sister unclogging the nipple on my bottle with a sewing needle once. I also remember my mom asking if I wanted a 'cokey ba', which was just as it sounds. Coke in a bottle. Lovely. Now keep in perspective that at this time, sippy cups weren't used and lots of kids had bottles when they were 3 simply to save parents carpet.
I had THE best blanket ever. It was made out of "sheet" material and had these funky 60's blue and green turtles on it. I would hold it between my two middle fingers and suck my thumb. I think I sucked my thumb forever. Well, at least until I was in Kindergarten. My sister would put nail polish on my thumb hoping it would make me quit. It didn't. I don't know for sure, but I imagine it was peer pressure that finally caused me to quit.

I really don't remember too much about the preschool years except that I had stomach aches a LOT and had tonsillitis and ear infections constantly. My dad would take me to see Dr. Ramsey,who would give me a shot of penicillin and send me on my way. He had that cool ugly drinking bird thing in his office along with those story Bibles with the slightly unhappy pictures of Jesus. Dr. Ramsey had Mike Mulligan and his Steam shovel there, too. I loved that book! I would read it all the time. I was an early reader, probably out of boredom.

It was during my preschool years that my mom started having "issues" with her health. I don't really remember her ever being home. I remember visiting her in the hospitals and I even can taste the coke that came out of the machine at the Charleston Memorial hospital. They had the cool little ice squares there. I would just sit around and watch everyone cry. I usually couldn't see mom unless she was able to come down to the lobby, but I don't think she did that more than a handful of times. I don't think my family wanted her to. She was diagnosed as manic when I was maybe 3 years old. I don't remember for sure, but she scared me. Her behavior was totally erratic but my sister was good at escorting me to the back of the house when things were strange. She also took me for a LOT of walks. That was a lot of responsibility for a preteen.

For at least a year, I went to daycare as mom was in and out of institutions/hospitals and really when she was home, wasn't able to care for me. My grandmother lived 20 minutes away and she spent and incredible amount of time with me as well. God Bless her. She was incredible. I hated one daycare that I was at. It was just around the corner from my house. Huge house, beautiful yard, nice lady but nasty kids. She had really neat toys there. Once I brought my Pillsbury dough boy doll and the kids all laughed at me because I had colored on him with blue ink. I cried. I was always pretty quiet at daycare, mostly because I couldn't hear (ear infections) and because of the freaky things going on in my life. After a while I started going to my oldest sister's husbands grandmas(that's a mouthful) during the days. I don't remember much but that it was boring.

My dad worked at the University at the time, was working on his masters and doctorate and was also teaching extension classes. That translates into -I don't want to be home at all. He was so unhappy. He left for a while. I vaguely remember that. It happened during one of my Mom's insane moments. That was swell, Dad takes off and leaves kids with crazy mom. Great.

I guess I should describe some of the things that my mom did, at least that I remember clearly. For one thing, she was addicted to whatever psychotropic drug she was on at the time and liked to mix it with alcohol. Great. She was physically abusive at times to my one of my sisters.I remember my mom sitting on my sister's back screaming and yanking on her hair, slapping away. My dad was in the back of the house. He liked it there.

My mom would often do odd things when she was tripping, like once she was screaming at the top of her lungs and taking everything out of the hall closet and flinging it at my dad. I stood there watching. My sister came and took me outside, but I remember my dad just sat there and cried. I felt sorry for my dad.

When I was 4 I had a full blown panic attack. I remember it like it was yesterday. My grandmother had picked me up from kindergarten and my cousin was visiting so she decided to take us to the city park. She always did fun things like that. (My mom was in the psych ward at the time.) Well, she took us across the street to the Stop and Go quick market thing and bought us some of those rainbow drinks. You know, the kind in the little plastic barrel type bottles with foil peel-away lids. Anyway, we took them to the park and started to drink them. At this time I was having a lot of stomach aches and even migraines that were a result of stress(gee wonder why?) and as I took my first sip, my stomach felt a little queasy. Not too much , but I immediately panicked that I had been poisoned. Crazy--but my mom was always putting thoughts like that in my head, not just warnings but really going over the top. I started shaking uncontrollably, couldn't breath and was really hysterical. My poor grandmother felt totally helpless and called my dad. He came home and I remember when he walked in the door he had the saddest look on his face. He just sat on the couch and rocked and held me. As a parent now, I understand that look to be one of regret and fear. I know he felt awful about everything that was happening. Anyway, I had a lot of irrational fears as a child. I was terrified of being alone. I was terrified of the dark. Scared of being poisoned and the list goes on.

I know many of my fears were directly related to my families favorite pastime of watching scary movies on the weekends. Vampire movies, big foot movies, slasher movies. Nothing a child should be watching, and especially not a very very young child. But there is a reason for that I think. My parents were tired of parenting by the time I came along. They weren't really interested playing with me, or really I wonder if they forgot they had me. I came along 9 years after their last child and they were 37 when I was born. I don't consider that old, but they had been through a lot I guess, and they were just old in their behaviors. Or maybe they were just more interested in their wants and desires than raising another child. Whatever the reason, this still really bothers me today. Stupid , but it does. I don't remember EVER playing a game with my parents. My sister taught me some card games, but they weren't really interested. They never played with me period. My dad would rock me and watch tv. I spent most of my time planted in front of the tv watching Sesame Street, Electric company, Mr. Rogers, Captain Kangaroo and a plethora of HannaBarbera cartoons. I watched by myself. Alone. As usual.

When I was 5 my grandma showed me a trick to coloring in the lines of a coloring book and she spent lots of time with me developing my artistic abilities. My mom was a very accomplished pianist as well as an incredible painter, but she wasn't interested in showing me anything. She would shoo me out of the room if she was painting. I would sneak into the closet where she stored her paints and just fondle them. I loved everything about them, the smell, the feel of the tubes and the messy-ness of them. She didn't like me messing with them, so I only did it when she was asleep. I remember the smell of mineral spirits and turpentine as she cleaned her brushes. She had this glass jar filled with brushes of every size and shape, but I couldn't touch them. They had poison on them. I could die.

When I started Kindergarten that was a glorious day. I was so excited. My dad took my picture out in the driveway. I had a fresh haircut-thanks to my sister, and a Minnie mouse dress and ribbons in my hair. My teacher was amazing. Her name was Mrs. White and she let me paint and color to my heart's content. I missed a LOT of school that year. Probably 1/2 of the year due to illness. Chronic ear infections, tonsillitis and runny noses. My parents were both chain smokers and we had a house full of pets. I was allergic. They didn't make any personal changes for my health. They just gave me medicine. But I was a smart kid and learned a lot, I was already reading and was writing very neatly. I didn't do well in some parts of school , mostly the listening to the headphones and following the directions part. I couldn't hear. (ear infections-hearing loss)I learned to cope by copying what the other kids did. As a result of not hearing, I was quiet in school. BUT I did love to please my teacher. She was full of encouragement.

I loved playing with the kids. I never had any friends over, either because my parents wouldn't let me, or the other parents didn't like their kids at our house. I did have kids in the neighborhood to play with and I'll write about them later. School was an oasis for me, but at the same time, I hated it. I was scared of what would happen at home when I was gone. I was afraid my dad would leave, or he wouldn't be there. I liked to just disappear into the tv and live in my own little cocoon that I had spun for myself. a Great self-preservation techniques at 5, huh?

I lived about 5 blocks from my school, Mark Twain Elementary. When the weather was nice I would walk to school with some of the neighbor kids. I would cross 2 streets and managed fine -at 5. Sometimes my mom picked me up from school, sometimes my grandma, sometimes my dad, but a lot of times I walked home. Many times alone after I waited in front of the school for half an hour and no one came. The school understood and the secretary would just send me home-alone.

School life was the same in 1st grade. Only I walked to and from nearly every day, in spite of the weather. I enjoyed it. I talked with my friends. But when it was snowy, I remember feeling so sad because I was walking all alone. I spent nearly every weekend with my grandma. She would pick me up on Friday and my dad would come and get me late Saturday night or Sunday afternoons. In 2nd grade my life changed dramatically. New kids moved into the neighborhood and they were great playmates so I was outside nearly every day playing with them after school. However, on October 18th, 1977, my grandmother was killed in a tragic car accident. I lost my grandmother, who was about the only normal thing in my life. I didn't understand it at all, but I was sad. Thankfully, I had my friends to play with.

My grandmother's death changed my mother's life dramatically. My mother became kind of catatonic. She lived with us, but was completely lifeless. My aunt came and stayed a month to help with the transition. My mom was just in such a deep depression. It was awful. My aunt was cheery and fun and a lot like my grandma. She made me a terrific Halloween costume to wear that year and tried to keep life as normal as possible for me and my sister, who was 15 at the time. ( I should add that my 2 oldest sisters are 15 and 17 years older than me and both were married at 18. I don't have any memories of them living at home at all. When they were home, they weren't home. They were busy at school. )

Sadly, my aunt left in November and then it was awful. My mom went back into the hospital again. A new disorder now. Agoraphobia. No more leaving the house. She had anxiety and panic disorder, too. After my aunt left, she took me with her to the store. We shopped and had all of our groceries in the cart, but when we were waiting in line, my mom flipped out and we left the store immediately. She didn't leave the house after that unless it was to go to the psychiatrist in Springfield.

Having a mom who won't leave the house, and most times won't leave the couch, changes your life even more. I didn't think it could be any more odd but it was. I had maybe 3 friends come over to play all during elementary school. The rest of the time I played outside with the kids in the neighborhood or they had me over to their houses. I loved going to my friends houses. Did you know that their moms actually made snacks for them and talked to them? Lots of the moms even played games with us! Heavenly!

When I was in 2nd grade, still just 7 years old, I had and awful migraine. The school nurse called my dad but he was teaching a class and they couldn't get ahold of him. She called my mom. My mom said she couldn't get me. She just couldn't bring herself to come. She told the secretary to have me walk home. That was the longest trip home I ever had. I could only open 1 eye, I was nauseous, sweaty and just wanted to lie down. I finally made it home. I told my mom that I might throw up and she had me sit on the kitchen floor with a bucket. I puked , slept and felt great. But I was hurt. I felt sort of abandoned.

My life continued very much the same way all through elementary school. The kids knew my mom was weird. She didn't ever come to any school function - EVER. She never came to a Christmas program, concert or anything. My dad came if he could get out of his classes. He tried so hard to be mom and dad , but he was still trying to escape into his job. My dad took me shopping, my mom tried to order me stuff out of catalogs - she wanted to be involved, I really think she did, at least for a while. The only time she was really involved in my life or interacted with me was when she would surprise me with clothes from Penneys catalog or something from the Avon lady. The Avon lady was the only person who ever came to our house besides my grown sisters and their husbands. She also liked to interact with me by having me get her cokes to drink and helping with dinner. By myself. No real interaction.

About 4th grade she started to come to life a little. It wasn't good. She screamed and yelled constantly. She nit picked and argued with everyone. She slapped and screamed at me daily. Lovely. I was starting to grow to really dislike her. I quit viewing her as a mother, and more as a lady on the couch who yelled. She did do 2 things around the house. She would cook supper and do the laundry. But not all the laundry, and not mine after I was in 4th grade. She was a good cook!

It was about this time that I really started getting embarrassed about my family, and mad. In 4th grade I had tubes put in my ears and my tonsils and adenoids out. I was in the hospital several days. My mom wasn't there. My dad was with me every step of the way. I loved my dad. I felt like we were both victims of my mom.

I was embarrassed about our house. It was piled with junk everywhere. Animals everywhere. Cigarette smoke poured out of the house. I remember telling my mom that smoking was bad for her health. She told me to shut my mouth. We didn't have flowers outside anymore and the house started to look drab and sad. Just like I felt.

The few bright spots I had were that my oldest sister came to visit on the weekends often. She would spend time with me. She felt guilt that I was there. She took me everywhere with her and her husband while she was in town. She started having me come for weekends in 4th grade. My dad put me on a plane at our little county airport with my sister and sent us off. I loved staying with her. She was the mom I always wanted.

My sister at home by this time was a senior in high school and spent all her time with volley ball at school and then with her horse and 4H after school. My parents never went to her games. I went once with my friend and her family. I was so proud of my sister. Her life was just sort of passed over, too. But she had outlets, which were life savers for her.

To be continued....