I was born in Las Vegas, Nevada. My parents were married October 5th, 1963, and I came July 4th, 1964. Damn near 9 months to the day. I was a girl, much to the dismay of my mother, and hence the beginning of the disappointment that I obviously was to them both. My father was sent to Thailand when I was about 2, and my mother was then pregnant with my brother Frank. This was a turning point for me. When Frank was born, my mother was thrilled. She had her son, and then turned me over to my Grandmother and Aunt Leigh, stating that she couldn't deal with me. My Grandmother lived in Tempe, Arizona, and my Aunt was in high school at the time. I remember waiting for her to come home from school anxiously. I also remember the trees in the back yard, with grapefruit and lemons, running around the house with their dog Bo, my Aunt putting my hair in curlers, drinking out of the pineapple shaped cups, being picked up by my neck until I turned blue by my mother for knocking over her chocolates, then running and hiding in the closet for hours. Yeah...good times. My mother would tell the story to my kids later at holidays, laughing. Great story! Most mothers tell stories like that..how they had to take tranquillizers to be around their daughters. Great.
Most of my childhood, I knew, understood with much clarity, that I was not wanted, and was looked down upon by my parents. They had their own issues, and I always felt like I was simply in their way. They couldn't wait for me to be old enough to get out. My brothers were looked upon with great anticipation, to be something wonderful. They would swell with pride when they spoke of them. Me? I was just to grow up, find some schmuck to marry me...and if I was to redeem myself, maybe have sons.
December, 1979. It was about 11pm. I was sleeping in my room. It was freezing outside. Missouri winters are miserable, and our life there was not much better. The house was quiet, and all of a sudden, I hear the kitchen door open, the slam with such a force, I was sure the window had broken. Not two minutes later, I hear the door open and slam again, and THE fight began. It wasn't the first, but it was the famous one. Dishes began flying, and I know this because I heard them breaking. The screaming was so intense, my heart was pounding. My parents were yelling so loudly, I was sure the entire Base could hear every word. Apparently, my mother was pissed that my father was not home from work yet, and had gone down to the officers club, where he worked as a bartender, (second job) to see why. She saw our camper there in the parking lot, opened the door, and yeah, there was my father having sex with one of the cocktail waitresses. The fight continued, and now they came running down the hall. My mother ran into their bedroom, which was across from mine, and slammed the door. My door was shut. My father couldn't get in. He kicked in my door, backed up, kicked in their door...I got out of bed, and then watched, scared to death, as he grabbed my mother, threw her to the floor, and proceeded to punch her repeatedly in the face. He only stopped when he heard me screaming to "fucking stop!" and turned around to see me standing there. I ran to the kitchen, my mother running after me. I tried to get out the door, and she grabbed me, getting blood all over me. I asked her to let me go. She screamed at me to stay. I told her that they both were crazy...and I ran. I banged on my boyfriends door, across the street. His father answered, seeing me covered in blood. He asked if it was mine, I said no. He said, "go downstairs". This was where my boyfriends room was. I went downstairs, and laid on the couch, and cried. Moments later, the window was glowing with flashing lights, as just about every single cop car on base was parked in front of our house. The next day, my mother sat with sun glasses on in our living room. I came out of my room, and she said to me, "I came out of the shower, and slipped on some baby powder." WHAT THE FUCK? I saw it all with my own two eyes!! This was the beginning of my insane parents insisting that I am a liar. This was the beginning of me knowing the difference between "relatives" and FAMILY.
It happened. It wasn't the first time...it wasn't the last. Nobody is perfect. My father was not a "Prince" and my mother damn sure wasn't a "Princess". Life is not a fairytale. My ability to realize this, has helped me to survive. Please understand, I don't tell this because I am looking for sympathy either. No fucking way. I tell it because there are so many people out there who go around pretending like their life is perfect, and they can't be honest. They are so worried that they have to be, or need to appear, perfect to be accepted. Nobody has a perfect home life. Nobody...there is a little dysfunctional in us all. :-)
More to come..