New School Shoes

The year I was going into fourth grade, I started to feel very grown up. I would be ten that school year, and even though it would be more toward the end of the school year I still felt that entering my tenth year of life would be special for me somehow. I'd convinced myself that Gran might allow me to get my ears pierced. I wanted that so badly. All the other girls in the class had their ears pierced, and I was fascinated by the tiny little gemstones in their ears. It looked so delicate and beautiful. I'd read the book, "All of a kind family" and the subsequent series, and was absolutely convinced that I should have my ears pierced at ten years old, as Sara did. I asked my friends endlessly about the process, and was not one bit scared. I didn't care how much it hurt. The payoff would be worth it. I wanted little pearls in my ears, and would suffer any amount of pain to get them.

Before the school year started, we went on our yearly trip to Buster Brown, to get new shoes. This always excited me, it was my favorite part of back to school. I loved the smell of the new shoes. They were an ugly maroon oxford shoe, terribly sensible, and very uncomfortable for the first month. But they were brand new, smelled wonderfully leathery, and were very shiny and new. We didn't have to share them, as we had to share every single other thing in our lives. They were all ours. I loved new shoe shopping.

As we rode to the store, I heard Gran tell Gramps that the prices of new shoes were going up, and it would be quite a bit more expensive than last year. In my young nine year old mind, I thought about another book I had read in the "Little House" series, where they were too poor to afford shoes, and worried that we might be too poor to keep getting new shoes. I was an avid reader even back then, and what I read really resonated with me. I started wondering if Gran would love me more if I just wore Maureen's hand me down shoes. I started thinking about it, and as much as I wanted the new shoes, I wanted Gran's love and approval even more.

Gran scared me most of the time. She could be fine one minute, then in an instant, she'd change, fly off the handle, and start screaming at us and then the spankings would start. Or worse, that dreaded window shade stick would be wielded. That stick really hurt. Maybe if I showed her that I really was willing to help by wearing hand me down shoes, she might not scream at me so much.

We got to Buster Brown, and started getting fitted for new shoes. Maureen was having her foot measured, and I turned to Gran and timidly asked her if she thought Maureen's old shoes might fit me this year. She looked surprised, and said she didn't see why not. She went over to Gramps, who was helping Harlan with his new shoes, and whispered something to him. I saw him nod his head, smiling, and I pressed on by saying that they didn't need to buy me new shoes, that I'd shine Maureen's old ones and wear them for that year. I felt a disappointment in my chest at missing out on new shoes, but the look of pride on Gran's face, ever fleeting, was enough for me.

By the time we rode home, she was back to her usual grumpy self, and even yelled at me for singing too loud in the van.

Once home, Maureen unpacked her new shoes, and I compared them to her old ones. They looked dreadful, all scuffed and old looking. They didn't have that wonderful new shoe smell, and I wondered if they'd even look good after I polished them.
I tried to look on the bright side, as I didn't have to endure the blistered heels while breaking them in. That was something at least. They were already quite broken in and comfortable.


I never got new school shoes again after that. I always had to wear Maureen's old ones.

No good deed goes unpunished.

In May, my birthday came and went, and I was not allowed to get my ears pierced. I was bitterly disappointed. It seemed that no matter how good I tried to be, there would be no reward. I resolved to get my ears pierced the very instant I got permission to do so. I wondered why the people in the books had such a much more loving family than I did. They were poor, they didn't have much, but they had the unconditional love of their parents, and I really craved that. I was learning in my young mind that love is completely conditional. I hoped that someday when I had children, that I would never make them feel the way I felt growing up. Instead of a kind word, I'd get yelled at to shut up. No accomplishment was met with pride, but derision. If I showed any pride at all in an accomplishment, I was told I was conceited. So, I stopped doing anything that would make me feel at all accomplished. I learned to take no pride in anything I did, as I was afraid I'd be "conceited" if I did so. I often wonder what went through Gran's mind when she'd teach us to despise ourselves. Was she doing it because she thought it was proper child rearing? Or did she get a sick rush of glee at the misery on our faces?

It has been thirty some years since that year, and I am only now beginning to realize that it is ok to like myself, be proud of my accomplishments, no matter how small, and to be good to myself. It hasn't been easy.

Irish Dancing Lessons

My very first memory of St. Patrick's day was when I was six years old, and in first grade. I woke up with a horrible stomach ache, which was fairly common for me back then. I had what was later described as a "nervous stomach" and would be plagued by the most horrible stomach aches that would give me the sweats, and keep me doubled over for hours at a time. I pleaded with Gran to please let me stay home from school, and she relented. I dressed in a very festive green striped shirt, in honor of St. Patrick's day that day. I stayed home, miserable, unable to stand for long periods of time, and suffered for many hours that day. Gran's daughters came over, and wanted to know what was wrong with me. Gran told them that she believed I was faking, that I simply did not want to go to school, and they took one look at me and told her that they didn't think I was faking at all. I have always had dark circles under my eyes, and that day they were very prominent, with a greasy sweat on my face, and pale complexion. I didn't eat much for breakfast or lunch, which seemed to convince Gran finally that I was not faking. I always ate. I was a hungry little kid, and always ate whatever was in front of me. I remember sitting, doubled over, on the couch most of the day, until it was time to pick my brother William up from his day at Kindergarten.

The walk seemed to do me a bit of good, and by later that afternoon I felt a bit better. Maureen came home from her day of second grade, and we played under the dining room table till dinner time. That day we would be having ham, potatoes and cabbage for dinner. I disliked the cabbage, but I loved the ham. It was delightfully salty, and I loved anything with more taste than a bland potato, which Gran seemed to favor. Nothing was ever enhanced with butter or salt, so I choked down the dry mealy potatoes and bitter, uninspired cabbage with tiny bites and lots of swallows of milk. We were never allowed to have any meat for our first helping of food, and when we were finished with our potatoes and cabbage, only then were we granted a small portion of meat, usually a tiny two inch square of meat which we would gobble up gratefully with large bites of yet more potato and cabbage. Every year on St. Patrick's day we would suffer the same meal.

Every dinner time, Gran would stand over us expectantly, waiting for the dutiful, "Mmm, this is delicious!" If we did not say it, she would demand to know what was wrong with the meal, so it was always better to tell her it was delicious, rather than suffer the consequences of not enjoying it. If our young taste buds did not agree with one of the bland suppers she prepared for us, she took it personally, and we'd get the cold shoulder for hours afterward. Sometimes she would be in such an ill humor about it, that she would pick at us until we were crying at the table. It was always better to pretend it was delicious. I was always a very slow eater, but never more so than when we had cabbage and potatoes, or the dreaded fish cakes. Gran was well aware that I detested fishcakes, but forced me to eat them anyway. At the end of every meal, we would announce; again, dutifully, "Thank you, Gran, that was very delicious." Gran would then nod her head and we'd be excused from the table.

One evening after supper, she announced that she had a big surprise for my sister and I, and told us she had arranged to have dancing lessons for us. We were so excited! Many of our friends at school took ballet or tap, or jazz, and we longed to join them. She walked us next door to the Democratic club, where a large room full of people waited. She told us that we were to be taking Irish dancing lessons, and we were mystified by this, as we had no idea what this was. I looked around anxiously for my school mates, but saw no one. She introduced us to our teacher, whose name was Donny Goldin, and left us there. Donny was a harsh taskmaster. We were put in the beginner's group, and taught stretches that would strengthen our calf muscles, and taught us the steps to the Irish jig. He demonstrated the steps over and over, and was very strict about our hands remaining straight and stiffly at our sides. We were not allowed to dance these steps yet. We had to walk through them very slowly for weeks, and not to any of the merry music that played and reverberated throughout the Democratic club. I loved the sound of the fiddle music, it sounded both merry and mournful, and had a lilt to it that I felt to my soul. Over time, I'd grow to dread that music, though.

We went to Irish dancing lessons every single Thursday night. In some ways, I enjoyed it, but I'd soon grow to hate it.

Donny was a very harsh teacher. If for some reason, our hands did not remain at our sides, or our calf muscles did not extend the way he wanted, he would hit us with a stick. I hated that stick. Many Thursday nights, I felt the sting of that stick. We grew to become very accomplished Irish dancers, however, we hated it at the same time. Soon we'd be allowed to dance fast, like the more experienced dancers. Some nights, Donny would favor Maureen, and on other nights, he'd favor me. I seemed to be the one who would get hit more often with the stick.

One night, I was feeling a bit more clumsy and made a few mistakes. Donny would yell, and I'd get more and more nervous and flustered, and kept making mistakes. Donny hit me relentlessly with the stick, and I became so hysterical, that I almost vomited. Maureen was very angry, she was always my protector, and as I was excused by a disgusted Donny, she went over to tend to me, against his orders, and she devised a plan to destroy his stick. I was wearing a green sweater that night, and she spotted his stick laying on the floor. While he was busy with another pupil, she threw my sweater over the stick, and carried it outside, and threw it behind the building. My sister was SO BRAVE for doing that. I was in awe of her, and how fearless she was. We wanted to break that stick into a million peices, but we couldn't. It was one of those sticks you would get on a hanger, from a dry cleaner's place, and Donny had removed the hanger and kept the stick. We could only bend the stick, but boy would that thing sting!!

The next week, Donny was a bit nicer to us, and was on to torture the next hapless pupil. He kept looking at us though, and had a brand new stick, this one was wooden, and we were worried about that stick more than the first one. He kept smirking at us, and we decided that he knew all along that we had stolen his first stick. Thank God Sean was picking us up that night.

I did not know why our teacher was allowed to hit us with a stick, but when we told Gran about it, she was unconcerned for us. She seemed more concerned with us not embarrassing her, and told us that we must have deserved it. She seemed to be on Donny's side, and told us that she did not want to hear about us being hit with the stick anymore. If we got hit with a stick in dance class, that meant we weren't listening, and if we got in trouble with Donny, we'd be in worse trouble when we got home. This taught us very quickly to not tell Gran about our troubles with Donny's punishments. Some nights, Sean would walk us down to the Democratic club for dancing lessons. We would beg Sean to come in with us, so that Donny could see him, and know that we had a big brother who would protect us. Sean ALWAYS came in with us, but only stayed for a little while, before he'd leave. It seemed that on those nights, Donny was not as mean to us. Sean would pick us up and have a quick word with Donny, asking how we did that night. As with most bullies, Donny was a sycophant, and would tell Sean that we were his best pupils.

As I entered fourth grade, one of the older students, Patrick, started paying attention to me. He was in seventh grade, and had started out liking my sister. Maureen was "in love" with Patrick, and I was very intrigued by this. I decided that I too, was in love with Patrick, and developed my very first crush. Patrick went to our school, and we used to devise many ways of getting his attention. It never occurred to me that I shouldn't have a crush on him, that it was disrespectful of me to like someone my sister liked, as I was very young, just a little kid, really. Maureen started getting angry with me when Patrick started paying attention to me, and I couldn't understand why. I thought she'd be proud of me, for liking someone she liked, and consider me as grown up as she was. In my eyes, no one was more a hero to me than Maureen, and what she did, I did.

This crush I had developed over time, and for my birthday, Patrick gave me a St. Christopher's medal, and took me behind dancing school and kissed me on the lips. I had just turned ten that day, and thought I was the most grown up person in the world, having been kissed by an older boy. I thought he was terribly grown up, as his breath smelled of coffee, and decided that Patrick was the boy I would some day marry. The next day at school, he ignored me, and started paying attention to another girl in my class. I was crushed. I asked him why he didn't like me anymore, and he disdainfully told me that I was too young for him, that when a guy kisses you, you should kiss back, not just stand there like a dummy. Patrick made the rounds, and got all the girls in St. Margaret Mary's school in such a state, that we were all fighting over him. I didn't know why he had said I was too young, as he was now paying attention to another girl in my same grade. Why was I too young and she wasn't? I turned to my sister for sympathy, but she wasn't having it. She told me I had stolen Patrick from her, and she was glad he didn't like me anymore. Maureen and I eventually made up, but I'd never forget the hurt in her eyes. It never occurred to me that I had hurt her by liking Patrick.

One night, Donny announced that there was going to be a Feis. A Feis was an Irish dancing competition, and he picked my sister and I to be in it. We were honored, but also VERY scared. Were we good enough? He was always telling us how terrible we were, but then he picked us for a competition? What if we lost? We'd be humiliated!!! We trained for weeks, trained HARD, and got very good. We went to Patrick's house for practice, as arranged by Donny, and Patrick's mother. We endured Patrick being nice to one girl after another, and his sister Eileen watching our reactions smugly. We hated Eileen, she was always mean to us. She was always encouraging Patrick to do mean things to us, and those practices at his house were miserable. We wanted to drop out of the Feis because of it all, but Gran wouldn't let us.

One week before the Feis, Gran told us we were not going to be going to the Feis, that she had already told Donny. We asked why not, and she defensively told us that she did not want us to be in a competition. We were crushed. All that hard work for nothing. All those nights with Donny and his horrible stick. He was even more fevered, more driven, and drove us harder than ever, in preparation for the Feis.

After the Feis, we were too humiliated to return to dancing school. We begged Gran to let us drop out, and she refused. We went to a few more classes, and were miserable, as Donny told us it was too bad we didn't go, that he knew we were good enough, but it was too bad we didn't have the nerve to compete. We knew it was useless to try to convince him that we wanted to compete, wanted it in the worst way, because grownups never believe kids.

At every single family event, Gran would parade Maureen and I like circus monkeys, and tell us to perform our Irish dancing for the amusement of her family. We hated this. But we dutifully performed, humiliated, and her family would clap for us. At one function, her nephew's graduation party, she told us to get up there and dance. We begged her not to make us do it, but the flash in her eyes was enough to quiet our objections. We danced, in front of all those people, while Gran smirked with feigned pride, enjoying our discomfort. Her nephews were very good looking boys, and Maureen and I were 13 and 12, respectively, and had developed a crush on these boys. There was one who was 14, and one 15, who Maureen and I had secretly liked for a couple of years. We rarely saw them, and every time we did, Gran would make us go up and do the blasted Irish jig in front of them.

Why couldn't we have had ballet lessons, or even tap? Nope, it had to be Irish dancing, as Gran was obsessed with everything Irish, down to the bland mealy potatoes she served with almost every meal.

To this day, I cringe just a little bit when I hear Irish music, but I also feel a bit of pride, too. We were very good little Irish dancers, and knew we were good enough to compete, even though Gran tried to convince us that we weren't.

I am half Irish, and am proud of my heritage. I love the Irish side of me. I'll never forget the day she finally let us quit Irish dancing, it was a scant few months after that fated Feis, when we finally wore her down enough to let us quit. Sean would take us to dancing lessons, and we'd beg him to take us somewhere else, anywhere else, for that hour, and just TELL Gran we had gone. He never dared, but he did speak to Gran on our behalf, I think, because finally we were allowed to quit.

It was the most releif I had ever felt in my young life, and Maureen's, I think, to be able to end those dancing lessons.

These days I enjoy Irish music, anything celtic, as a matter of fact, and I make corned beef instead of ham. I spice up my cabbage with salt and pepper, and serve it with plenty of butter. It's one of my favorite meals.

Knitting needles

Gran knitted. She was an extremely talented knitter. She also knew how to crochet, and actually taught us how to knit and crochet.

She taught me how to crochet, at first, because I was younger than Maureen, and crochet is a bit simpler than knitting. She taught Maureen how to knit. I had a deep desire to learn how to knit, but Gran did not want to teach me right away. So, I contented myself with crocheting scarves, slowly moving up to afghans. I crocheted pot holders, and nonsensical things, all for the love of the art. As I got older, I moved on to more intricate things, such as doilies. I still wanted to knit; it looked like such a cool thing, and Gran knitted so fast, needles flying, flashing, clicking. It was an amazing thing to watch. She knitted so fast that she could have a whole sweater done in two weeks. She always promised Maureen and I our own Fair Isle sweaters. I loved Fair Isle design. It was so beautiful, and such an amazing thing to behold, the pattern emerging from the needles. I loved yarn work so much. Maureen ended up teaching me how to knit, and Gran supervised, and I shakily learned how to knit. I knitted a VERY crooked scarf for my first project. I wanted to knit a fair Isle sweater, but knew it would take years to learn. I think I was ten when I learned how to knit.

We were all having dinner one night when there was a frantic knocking at the door. One of Kathleen's friends was at the door, crying. Gran had been teaching her how to knit, and apparently while knitting at her own house, she had put a knitting needle through the palm of her hand. I watched, wide eyed, as Gran treated her cuts, and spoke reassuringly to her. Gran was so nice to her! That incident affected me in a strange way. I feared Gran so much, but not everyone did. Not everyone was afraid of her. Wow. Gran was nice to some people, it seemed. People who were not kids anymore. I sort of began to hero worship Gran after that, still afraid of her, but very much in awe of her at the same time. I was very proud of Gran that night, that this scared, hurt girl would seek her out, of all the people she could have chosen, but she chose Gran, that must have meant that Gran truly had a heart, and truly could help her.

I resolved to become a great knitter and a great crocheter, to prove to Gran that I was worthy of the craft. She said I'd have to become very accomplished at knitting in order to deserve to be taught Fair Isle. I decided that Fair Isle must be VERY difficult to learn.

Several years passed, and I became quite good at knitting and crocheting. I learned how to crochet mittens, and wore them to school. I got teased mercilessly for wearing "homemade" mittens, but I didn't care, for once. I was very proud of what I had done for myself. I asked Gran to teach me Fair Isle, but she said no. I was knitting at quite a good rate, and was working on an afghan of different colored squares, with different patterns of stitching on them. My favorite was and still is, the moss stitch, also known as the seed stitch. I loved the nubby texture of it, and it looked so interesting and pretty. I did basketweaving of knit and knit/purl squares within squares, and decided that if Gran didn't teach me Fair Isle, I'd teach myself. I studied her sweaters for hours. I realized that this was simply a matter of weaving a different color yarn in with the main color, thereby forming a pattern. I decided to try a heart. It worked!!! I showed Maureen, and she was excited enough to call for Gran and show her. Gran was not happy. Gran did not think it was great. Gran was angry.

I did not understand her reaction at all. I was so proud of myself to have figured out this difficult pattern myself. She was almost angry at me for having "taken on too much" with my knitting. She said I was a beginner, and that I was acting "too big for my britches" and "showing off" in trying the Fair Isle. My face burned with shame. I was not trying to show off at all. I was very confused and hurt by her reaction.

Well. I didn't stop practicing it, and became quite good at it. A month after my heart, I learned a snowflake, and a reindeer. I made a Christmas afghan for my best friend's mother. I started making it for Gran, but she got so angry every time I knitted around her that I felt it was best to give her something crocheted instead. I was learning some amazing crocheted patterns too, so I'd make her a beautiful afghan.

Maureen and I spent hours and hours with our knitting. Maureen had no desire to learn Crochet. I wanted to teach her so badly, as she had taught me how to knit. I was so grateful for that. Finally she decided she wanted to learn, she had asked Gran to teach her, but for some reason, although Gran could teach Maureen how to knit she had a hard time teaching her crochet, because Maureen is left handed. Gran gave Maureen a VERY hard time teaching her crochet, so Maureen just gave up on it and the entire craft left her with a bad taste in her mouth. I taught her, eventually, and now Maureen crochets things that absolutely blow me away, she is so enormously talented. She made the most beautiful Barbie dresses I had ever seen, I had never seen anything so beautiful. She far surpassed me when it came to the art of crochet, and I was so proud that I had helped her learn.

To this day, I love knitting and crocheting. I have also learned cross stitch and that was a real passion for a while. I always had a burning desire to be an artist, to draw, to paint, to create. Cross stitch is the closest I can come to creating something onto a blank canvas. I absolutely love it.

Maureen and I never received our Fair Isle sweaters from Gran. Yet another promise, unfulfilled. She knitted sweaters for everyone else, even virtual strangers. I always wondered why she would promise us something and then never deliver... I guess I'll never know.

Some of my cross stitch work... An Amish farm. Nearly solid stitching, and it took me a year to complete.

Repost from Pitfalls of life

I had written this back in February, on my other blog, The pitfalls of Life, and thought it was more appropriate to put on this blog.

So lately I have been doing a LOT of soul searching, and introspection.

I often do this when I have gone through a particularly rough period in my life, and in the travels in my head I have started a blog that tells the story of my life as a child, from age 3, on up.

This blog is written from my perspective as a child, but the memories are crystal clear. I do not embellish, everything is precisely as I remember it. The only deviations may be that certain things did not happen in the correct time line. As they are my personal memoirs, however, I am willing to forgive myself that small transgression, even though at times I am an insufferable perfectionist.

So there will be several "random side notes" in this blog, as things come to my memory. For years and years, I remembered certain things with bitterness, and anguish. Time has softened my perspective, and I see my life now as a challenge that I gracefully overcame. No, I am not wildly successful and rich by society's standards, but I am grateful for the successes I have had. There have been many.

My path has never been an easy one; from the start there were horrific obstacles to overcome, at a very young age. Going into young adulthood, the scars of very painful obstacles carved out a difficult path for me. I made horrible choices, but lived with those choices as I only had myself to answer to. I made a good thing of my choices, and the bitterness slowly faded away.

The bitterness has been replaced with joy so often that I have to ask myself... How is it that I continue to see my past as painful? That makes no sense. In writing all of these memories, I am purging myself of that bitterness, slowly but surely. It is better than any therapy I have tried thus far. Interspersed with writing, I am also having dreams, not fearful and dark dreams as I have always had, but good life lessons that I can draw strength from. I no longer see Gran as an object of fear from my past. I no longer feel inadequate as I did for decades, compared to everyone else in that family. I no longer despise my ex husband, as I did for years. I was not forced to marry him. I was not forced to stay with him after that first violent encounter. Every emotion, every reaction, and every perspective is a choice that we make. I do not always choose wisely. But I always reconcile the choices that I have made, and if I cant change them, I find a way to live with them. I overcame much in my life, and I am very very proud of that. I did it without succumbing to drugs or alcohol. I did it without using anyone. I did it on my own.

I have taught my amazing girls that yes, you have it within you to change a bad situation and make it good for yourself, as no one can do that for you. I have taught them that nothing gives them a better start than a decent education. If nothing else, it gives you a fair shot in life. Education does not make you smart. It does, however, supply a person with the information and data to make informed decisions throughout your life. It also supplies a person with a piece of paper that enables them to get a decent job with a decent salary. Money has never been the most important thing in my life, but in this day and age, one must have a certain amount of it in order to make it through. I do not possess that piece of paper, but someday I will. That is one of my goals. Not for money. Not for information or data, as I have educated myself quite sufficiently. But to say I did it. I have always wanted to do it, never followed through on it, and now I want to follow through and accomplish it. For me.

So, facing the world with yet another, fresher, happier perspective, alone but not alone, I have come into contact with some extraordinary people from that far away, long ago place I once knew. I am very glad of this; I have lived many years struggling alone. It is time now to let someone in.

Seamus

When I was in really little, we were introduced to a "cousin" named Seamus. He was two years younger than I was, and I thought he was the cutest little boy in the world. He was blond haired and blue eyed, and just adorable. We played with him endlessly. Gran's daughter, Margaret was his mother. We grew very close, and as we grew up, we looked forward to whenever Seamus would come over to the house. He came over a lot, as Margaret worked as a nurse. Many times she'd work overnight.

One day it was announced that they were moving away. I am not sure why, or what took them there, but they were moving to Denver, Colorado. I was heartbroken, and remember sobbing into Miss Murray's shoulder, telling her about it. I did not know where "Denver" was, but I knew it was far enough away that we'd likely never see Seamie again. Yes, we called him Seamie, a nickname that pained him as he got older, and he insisted we stop. (Pronounced, Shamie)

Apparently the move did not work out, because they came back not too long after moving there. I was thrilled to have my friend back. Seamie and I were good buddies. We'd play in the yard for endless hours, somehow being locked out of the house for hours at a time didn't seem so bad when Seamie was there.

Of course, Gran never locked Seamie out. She always let him in any time he wanted, and would give him a delicious looking treat, and if we asked for any, she's bark, NO!! It isn't lunch time yet!!! We did not understand this, but even that wasn't enough to make us resent Seamie. We loved him beyond all reason.

Besides, he was SO brave!!! I remember one time when he stared Gran down, with a stony glare, IN FRONT OF GERARD, and told Gran he hated her for being so mean to us. All Gerard did was say gently, "OK, Seamie, calm down now." Gran beat our butts for "influencing Seamie badly" but boy was it worth it. We'd talk about it for months afterward, Maureen and I.

Even younger than us, I pretty much hero worshipped Seamie. He didn't get along very well with William, even though they were nearly the same age. He said William was a baby, that he cried too much, and he'd rather be with "the girls" than be with William. Sadly, Maureen and I were very smug about this with William. Sometimes I had a pang of guilt and would try to include William, but then William would do something bratty, and that was the end of that. He'd be ostracized again. We couldn't understand why William acted the way he did, but we were used to it. Seamie wasn't.

Poor William was a pathological liar. He'd continuously make up stories and actually believe them. We could never understand it. He'd make up stories about us, and get us all angry at each other. William was labelled a "troublemaker" and we avoided him as much as possible. I could not abide my beloved Seamie being angry with me for something I didn't do, something William said I did.

Seamie often came to the farm with us for a few weeks in the summer. We looked so forward to this, as it offered us a bit of a respite from Gran's cruelty to a degree. Gran seemed to be on her guard when Seamie was around. It was as if she didn't want him to know just how nasty she could be toward us. She did a lot of pretending, Gran did. Seamie wasn't fooled.

After the two weeks were up, he'd be absolutely frantic to leave. We felt hurt by this, as he'd say, I hate you guys, I can't wait to go home!! We didn't realize at the time that he didn't hate us, he was just desperately homesick. When we spoke to Margaret about it, she tried to explain how he felt. Homesickness was not a concept we were familiar with. We looked forward to being away from Gran any chance we got, as she was such an oppressive and domineering force in our young lives. Any chance to get away from her was golden as far as we were concerned. We lived for the short respites from her cruelty and never ending supply of stony glares. So it was hard to imagine actually WANTING to be home. Although, we could somewhat understand, as we loved Margaret, and wished she was our mother too. She was amazing. She was a very talented artist, and painted constantly. She painted portraits of nude women. Beautifully. We loved her art, but Gran got annoyed with it.

Margaret was wonderfully open with us, and if we ever had a question, she'd answer it honestly. She was a nurse, and did not think questions about the human body were disgusting or dirty or "piggish" as Gran did. She once heard Maureen and I referring to our private parts as something outlandish (which Gran instructed us to call it) and told us what it was really called. Mind you, we were a bit older by then, about ten and eleven years old, respectively. We were mystified as to why Gran didn't want us to know what our own body parts were called. Then Margaret told us what a boy's private part was called. We were amazed!! It was all so clandestine and forbidden!! I decided that the next time we went to the library, I'd take out a book on the human body... But how to get it past Gran??? Seamie was staying for an additional week with Margaret, a fact that enormously pleased us. Maybe if I got caught with the book Seamie would cover for me. Maureen and I always took out the maximum amount of books allowed, so maybe she wouldn't check on my books.

So after we got to the library, Gran and Margaret went off to thier own corner of the library to look for a new Agatha Christie book for Gran, and Maureen, Seamie and I went off to our normal section. Seamie said that all the girls in his class were reading books written by Judy Blume, and that they would be the most helpful. We seized on these books, and got four each. Then we went to our normal section of the library, feeling like "bad little girls" and proceeded to select four more "normal" books. I could NOT WAIT to get home and start reading. So began my education on the human body and what it was supposed to do.

I also took out Tom Sawyer. I loved all the Mark Twain books, and this one spooked me again and again, the stories of Injun Joe in the cave. I loved that book. I had read it once before, but a condensed version, and I felt I was ready to read the unabridged version. Both Maureen and I were at least five grades ahead in reading, a fact that we took in stride. We felt no pride at this, even though our teachers marvelled at it. We were told at home that we were stupid, so this did not convince us that we were anything but unintelligent freaks who could in fact, read.

Maureen and I fought over "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret" and I finally let her read it first. I read "Deenie" I did not understand it much, but I had always thought being a model was the most glamourous job in the world, and this was about modelling. I really think I was too young to "get" the book though. It wasn't ONLY about modelling. It confused me, actually.

Gran did check the titles of our books, and when she saw them, she thought they were about good Catholic girls who prayed. We were safe!! She rarely ever checked our books, but every so often she'd ask what we were reading. Since we weren't allowed to watch television, books were the bulk of our entertainment. Yes, my brothers were allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons, and "The A team" when it came on, and we were allowed to watch "Mickey Mouse club" and the "Brady Bunch", but that was about it. Maureen and I were not even allowed to watch "Little House on the Prairie" because Gran said it was too emotional for us and we wouldn't get it anyway. We had read all the books, what wasn't to get? But we never dared ask, it wasn't worth her inevitable rage.

Maureen and I both finished our books in a day, and quickly exchanged them. Boy, were we getting an education!!! I had never even heard of a period, it sounded kind of scary, and since Margaret in the book was about Maureen's age, we figured she'd be getting hers any day.

We finished all our "bad" books, and I started on Tom Sawyer. One Sunday afternoon, we were all outside in the sunshine, reading, and I came across a passage in the book that I didn't understand. "Becky sat down and had what her sex called, a good cry" I was on my beloved maple tree, on the little hump at the base of the tree. Seamie and Margaret had gone home that morning.

I looked up from my book, and asked Gran, "What does sex mean?"

Gran snapped to attention, charged at me, and walloped me, knocking me off the tree, demanding "What are you reading??!??!??" I was stunned, and instantly the tears sprang up into my eyes as I shakily handed her Tom Sawyer. I couldn't catch my breath, and was trying hard not to cry. She grabbed it, and demanded to know which passage I had just read.

She read it, her lips pressed into a thin line, and a look of understanding came onto her face. "oh" she stammered, "Um, that means, er, well, it just means a girl or a boy". I still had no idea what she meant, or what it meant, but I felt it was best not to continue questioning about it. Gran handed me the book and told me to keep reading, that the rest of the book would explain the meaning. My face stung, and my head hurt, and I just wanted to run into the woods sobbing. But I didn't. I sat there, trying to read, but the print just ran together, and I could no longer concentrate. I hated Gran at that moment. It was obvious that she hated me, too.

The next time we went to the library, I went to the enormous dictionary and looked up the word sex. What I saw was too confusing, and did not explain a thing.* Most of all, I was looking for something that would explain to me why Gran reacted the way she did. I saw nothing. There would never be any rhyme or reason to her rages, no explanation, and no warning. She was an irrational person, and I did not understand it. I only got angry with someone if they were mean to me, I'd never get angry or hit someone for doing NOTHING. I couldn't imagine what she thought I had done, to elicit that sort of reaction.

We were getting older. Gran seemed to hate us as we got older. We felt bereft of any kind of affection, any kind of understanding. Maureen and I turned to each other for our solace and comfort, and the boys turned against everyone. They were becoming more and more disturbed. Darek was the angriest. William was living in a fantasy world. Harlan was the baby, four that summer, and the only one that Gran seemed to love.

I was feeling more and more isolated from the world. More and more hopeless that anyone would ever really make an attempt to understand us, understand that we desperately needed someone to be kind to us. There was no one.

*sex
Pronunciation[seks] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1.
either the male or female division of a species, esp. as differentiated with reference to the reproductive functions.
2.
the sum of the structural and functional differences by which the male and female are distinguished, or the phenomena or behavior dependent on these differences.
3.
the instinct or attraction drawing one sex toward another, or its manifestation in life and conduct.

Gerard

Gran had a son named Gerard. We were in absolute awe of him; he was a grown up, and was very tall, terribly brave, and incredibly important in his job.

Gerard drove a motorcycle. Gran was very distressed by this, and we heard her speaking to Gramps about it several times. She was worried he would get hurt. Gerard was a fireman, and a policeman. He wasn't a policeman for very long, but he was a hero in our young eyes.

He was very stern and would sometimes be really sweet to us, but other times he would jerk us around roughly by our skinny arms, growling at us to behave. We were very afraid of Gerard, and any incident of this nature would make us cry uncontrollably.

One particular incident was on a winter day. Maureen and I were outside playing in the bitter cold, and wanted to come inside. Our teeth were chattering, and our toes were painfully cold. We stood at the back door, crying to come in, as Gran would not open the door. Suddenly the door flew open, and Gerard stood there, bigger than life. His face was red and angry. I will always remember how he looked, red faced, blue eyes standing out coldly, dark curly hair in need of a cut, as it was wild and out of control looking. I thought in my 8 year old way that he looked like a monster. I was terrified. Gerard was scary when he was angry, we never knew how far he would go. Maybe he would spank us! Given how painful the spankings were when Gran delivered them, they would have been so much worse if Gerard did it!
Gerard grabbed both Maureen and I by the arms, and dragged us inside. The basement door was open, and I could see all the way down the stairs, and the familiar unpleasant smell of packed dirt wafted up to us. Gerard growled at the two of us that we'd BETTER learn to behave, and furthermore, we'd BETTER keep the boys in line too. Maureen and I immediately started crying, and we were frozen to the spot. We were terrified that Gerard would throw us down the basement stairs, turn the light off, and we'd be trapped down there in the dark. We had no rational reason for thinking this, it just seemed like something he would do in proportion to his anger.

We huddled in the kitchen, still in our winter coats and mittens, and soon Sean showed up. He looked at us, concerned, and asked why we were crying. We were crying too hard to answer him, and even if we could, we were too frightened to tell him what happened. He kept asking us what happened, and we just cried harder. He gave up, frustrated, and told us to take off our winter clothes and put them away before we caught pneumonia. We knew what pneumonia was. Our brother Harlan had double bronchial pneumonia soon after he was born, and nearly died from it, so we quickly did what we were told.

Maureen and I went upstairs to our room and talked about Gerard and how scary he was. How we hadn't done anything wrong, yet he still yelled at us. We couldn't understand how he could be so nice sometimes, then so mean to us when we hadn't done anything wrong. We decided that he was on Gran's side and it was safer not to trust him. It was hard to figure out, why he would be so nice at times, but then so mean at others. He told everyone he met that we were good kids, yet treated us at times as if we were rotten from birth.

Tuffy

Gran and Grandpa had a dog named Tuffy. Tuffy was a beautiful white fluffy dog with large black spots, and a brown golden retriever-like head. He was obviously a mix of some sort, probably Australian shepherd and Golden retriever.

I adored Tuffy beyond all reason. He would sneak upstairs, and come into our room and sleep at the foot of my bed. This gave me unspeakable joy. I felt so honored, so special, that Tuffy loved me enough to pick MY bed to sleep on. I loved that dog.

One night, I must have wriggled to the foot of the bed in my sleep, and stretched out and apparently kicked Tuffy accidentally. He snapped at me, and I woke up, scared, confused and not sure what was going on. The light was on and Gran and Grandpa were yelling at me. "What did you do to the dog???" they demanded. I was too sleepy to know what had even happened, and Gran took Tuffy off my bed and said that would be the last time he would be allowed to sleep with me. I cried myself to sleep that night, and missed him terribly from then on. I tried every way I could to entice him to come into my room again, and sometimes he would sneak in, but Gran always came and got him and took him away. I worried that Tuffy would think I no longer loved him, and did not want him on my bed. I worried that he would wonder what he had done wrong to be punished in such a way.

Gran always said that Tuffy was Bridget's dog. She said they brought him home as a puppy when Bridget was 16 years old. I thought Bridget was the luckiest person on the planet to own such a wonderful pet. I loved Tuffy so much.

Tuffy was my constant companion when I was very little. We went outside and played together, and I tried to get him to come back when he would roam the neighborhood. I worried that one day he would never come back.

When we went on our long trips to the farm upstate, Tuffy would come with us. He did not like the car at all. He cried and whined the whole time. Sometimes he would howl. It must have bothered his ears, because Gran and Grandpa took him to the vet one day, and he had an operation on his ears. I burst out crying when I saw them taking Tuffy out to the van, he was unconscious, and Grandpa and another man were carrying poor Tuffy upside down, by the feet, out to the van. Poor Tuffy's tongue was hanging out, and a little blood and yellow stuff was draining from his ears. I vowed to nurse him back to health. It took Tuffy a long time to wake up. I wondered what had been wrong with his ears, but Gran said she didn't know.

One day Tuffy was lying on the dining room floor, and I noticed two black lumps near his back end. I asked Gran what that was and she yelled at me to mind my own business. I did not know what had made her so angry, so I did not ask again. When she went into the kitchen, I went up to Tuffy and touched the black lumps to see what they felt like. Gran saw me, and came flying at me from the kitchen, spanking me soundly. It was just another one of her usual unexplained rages, where I never saw it coming, and never knew why she had gotten so angry. She never explained why I got hit, and never told me what those black lumps were. I never tried to touch them again, but I did feel a sense of detached shame that I had touched them to begin with. Gran had called me "piggish" as she was hitting me, said I was disgusting and had a filthy mind. So I figured it was one of those same instances where I must have just been born bad, as she said over and over, and would do evil things without even knowing it.

Tuffy hadn't seemed to mind. He never even woke up. I wondered if it were just "dog poop". That maybe It was stuck there, amongst his fur, near his back end. I didn't always see these black lumps, Tuffy was very fluffy, so maybe when he went to the bathroom, it would become stuck in his fur. I decided that was why Gran got so angry with me, and said I was piggish. She did make me wash my hands after she was finished spanking my bare bottom. I figured that must be it. I warned my brothers against ever touching Tuffy there, telling him that it was dirty and telling them what had happened to me. They listened, wide eyed, and we all speculated as to what it could possibly be, hanging from the dog's hind quarters.

We unanimously decided it was dog poop. Dog poop that would stay forever, and Gran never helped the dog rid himself of it because then she might get dirty and feel piggish.

One day, Maureen and I wanted to play "house" under the dining room table, our very favorite place. There was a tablecloth on the table, so we couldn't see the floor. We had our Barbie dolls all ready, and she had her beloved Barbie clothing case. Maureen had a Malibu Barbie, and I had a Malibu Francie. I was a bit jealous of Maureen's doll because hers had beautiful clothes, and mine was smaller and wouldn't fit into the same clothes. The year was 1974, and I was 8.

Well, we decided to play with our dolls, and I pulled up the tablecloth to go under the table. Tuffy was sleeping under there, and he looked up, startled. I made a face at him, due to the fact that he was taking our spot that we wanted, and unexpectedly Tuffy LUNGED at me, teeth bared, and bit me on my left thigh. I was so shocked and scared, I did not know what to do. I heard Maureen screaming for Gran, and yelling that Tuffy had bitten me. I started crying, my leg hurt so badly, but my feelings were hurt more than anything. I could not beleive my beloved dog would do such a thing. My only friend.

Next thing I knew, Gran had put me on a chair in the kitchen. She and Bridget were discussing the cut and what to do. It was a very deep cut, and was bleeding. They were being very quiet, trying not to let me hear. Gran had this horrible stuff we called "red spray". It burned like fire when it was sprayed into a cut. Gran had it, and a band aid on the table. I started crying again at the thought of the red spray, and Tuffy came slinking into the kitchen to see me. He looked sorrowfully up at me, and gingerly placed his head on my lap, which started a fresh flood of hiccupy tears from me. I loved that dog so much and it seemed to me that Tuffy felt very badly for what he had done. I forgave him instantly, even though Gran yelled at him to get away from me. I had extremely mixed feelings about this. Gran never stuck up for me, yet she was yelling at my beloved dog in my defense. I chose to keep my mouth shut, but I did reach out carefully and petted Tuffy's head. Gran then said something to Bridget about possibly pouring the red spray into the cut. Bridget said doubtfully, "In the cut, Mom???" I was terrified. I knew it would burn and hurt worse than it did already. Gran did not seem to know what to do about it.

It took me a long time to stop crying and calm down, and when grandpa came home from work that night, I started crying again, when he asked me about it. He then asked what I had done to Tuffy to make him bite me. I told him I did not do anything to him, that I pulled the tablecloth up, and made a mad face because he was in Maureen's and my favorite play spot. Grandpa gently told me that under the dining room table was Tuffy's favorite spot to sleep, and if he wasn't there then it was ok to play there, but if he was there, then we needed to leave him alone. I tried to assure Grandpa that I hadn't bothered Tuffy, but he nor Gran believed me. They said I HAD to have done something to make him bite me. I decided that Tuffy did not like mad faces, and tried to keep a pleasant face on around him from then on.

Side note::

Obviously those black lumps were the dog's testicles. Back as a small kid though, I did not know about such things, so when I noticed them on Tuffy, and touched them, I had no understanding as to why Gran reacted the way she did.

Also, I saw it as a punishment that Gran prevented Tuffy from sleeping with me. In reality, and in hindsight, I realize she was probably scared that he would hurt me if I inadvertently kicked him during the night. Perhaps they had heard Tuffy growling at me while I slept, and that is why they were already in the room when he finally snapped at me. At that time, we were still their foster children, and they would have been liable for any grievous injuries to us. If it would have only been EXPLAINED though, I perhaps would not have grown up so resentful of Gran and her methods.

First Holy Communion

I was in second grade, and would soon be making my First Holy Communion. I was so excited, as it was a very long year since Maureen made hers. I had longed for this day for a many months, and it seemed as if it would never get here.

Before the first holy communion, however, we as a collective 2nd grade class had to have our very first Confession, in the confessional. I was intrigued. I always wondered what those little boxes looked like on the inside. They had such rich deep red drapes on the entrances, I imagined that perhaps they were like the "I dream of Jeannie" bottles on the inside and were quite opulent and decadent, and comfortable. I couldn't wait to get a look in one.

Before we could do this, however, we finally learned what an "Examination of conscience" was. This entailed a long boring quiet moment of closing our eyes, and putting our heads down, and thinking of all the things we had done to displease God. I was completely stumped. I really did not think that conning my brother William out of his two o'clock treat was THAT bad, but then again, I couldn't really say. They taught us what a mortal sin was and I knew I had never ever even thought of doing any of those things, but they left the definition of regular every day sins rather vague, I thought. So I was at a loss. I figured I'd just tell him of the few lies I'd told and maybe a few fights I'd had with my brothers. I did not want to tell Father Mullin about the box. I figured he'd throw me out of the church and tell me I was going straight to hell for that sin. I still had not forgotten the beating I had received for that.

Before we were able to make our very first penance, Father Mullin decided we had to review all of the sacraments up to the point of Penance. Basically, all we had done thus far was the Sacrament of Baptism. I was very worried about this. I had no proof at all that I had been baptized. Did my parents care enough to see that we were baptized? I asked Gran several times, but she never gave me a straight answer.

I worried that I'd have a fatal accident and go straight to hell due to not being baptized. I was convinced that it never even happened. One day, Father Mullin picked two kids from 2nd grade to participate in a mock baptism to enable us to see what happened during a baptism. I raised my hand to participate, frantic to be picked. I thought, "This is my chance to be baptized, in case it hadn't happened yet!!!" I did not want to take the other sacraments unless I had been baptized, as Father Mullin, Father Miller AND Father Dorney all said it was a mortal sin to receive the body of Christ if you had not been baptized. I did not want to commit a mortal sin.

Father Mullin picked ME!!! I was so happy. Now it would not matter if I had not been baptized, because it was about to happen for real!!! No one would ever have to know that I was not sure if I had been baptized as a baby, no one would ever suspect a thing, and I could go on to receive all of the future sacraments without committing a mortal sin!! This made all of my stresses go away until Father Mullin started off the ceremony by telling us it was only for a demonstration. I got very worried and asked him if we were still using Holy Water. He said that all of the water in the church had been blessed, so yes, we were still using Holy Water. I was very relieved and did everything Father Mullin said to do, and was very soon baptized.

Father Mullin instructed the class to write a short report about our experience, and what we had gotten out of it. In my relief, I told all that had happened, and finished up the report with, "It was so funny, it was almost as if I were being baptized again!!" For some reason, Mrs. McKee and Father Mullin found this very funny, and sent my report to the bishop. This was a great honor, but instead of being proud, I worried so much that the bishop, who was quite important and Holy, would realize from reading it that I was not sure I had been baptized the first time, and keep me from making my first holy communion.

It never happened. I was greatly relieved, and we went on to make our very first confession. I was disappointed to realize that we were not going to go into the confessional, that we were to kneel at the alter, and each of my classmates was to speak in a low soft voice to the priest. We had to start off by saying, "bless me Father, for I have sinned. This is my very first confession" Then we were to tell the priest our sins and wait for him to tell us what our penance was.

I worried that I would mess up in some way, but I did fine. I was very relieved when it was over and I could go kneel in my row and do my penance. Two weeks later I would be receiving my FIRST HOLY COMMUNION!!! I was so excited!!

The evening before my communion, Gran took me to Grant's for new underwear, socks, and shoes. She was also going to take me for a special dinner, just the two of us. I was in heaven as we walked around the store together. I never had Gran all to myself, and she was really nice to me! When we got dinner, we went to the little diner in Grant's, and ordered. I got pot roast, green beans and mashed potatoes and gravy. Gran let me order a soda!!

The dinner was so good, some of the gravy got on the green beans, and I decided that any time thereafter that I had anything with gravy, I'd dip my vegetables in it because it made them taste delicious!

The next day was my communion, and it passed in a blur. I did everything right, and we had a party afterwards. I got a Scapular medal as my gift. It was beautiful, and gold, and I was incredibly proud to wear it. It was much nicer than the cloth scapulars.

Sadly, I wore it to school the next day, and someone asked to see it, and to pass it around the classroom, and someone stole it from me. I never saw it again.

To this day I do not know who took it, but I was heartbroken for a very long time.

The box

One day my sister and I came home from school and went up to the room we shared. In the middle of the floor was a large cardboard box. I was intensely curious about this box, and went downstairs to ask Gran about it. She glared at us both, and told us not to touch the box, and not to look inside of the box. We said ok, and did not bring it up again. After supper that night and after the rosary, we were put to bed at our customary 7pm. As always, Maureen and I could not sleep that early, and looked out the window and talked. It was still light outside, and we could see the Verrazano Bridge from our window. We wondered where it led to, and talked about being grown up and traveling to exotic places. Our "cousins" had just gone to Aruba, and we saw pictures of their trip. They were rich, and went to lots of wonderful places that we wished we could go to. They got to go on an airplane and everything.

We heard Gran coming down the hallway, and scrambled back up to the top of the bed and pretended to be asleep. She came in and yelled at us to go to sleep, and looked sharply at me and asked if I had looked into the box. I said no. She looked at the box, and back at me, and said, "you'd better not!!" It scared me to think that she might not beleive me, and punish me anyway.

I was too afraid to look in the box. That night, Maureen and I pondered what might be in that box. We imagined all sorts of treasures. We decided that it held some of the most precious things we could imagine, things from our parents, that Gran never let us have. Every Christmas, our parents would send gifts, but Gran would never let us have them. Maureen and I decided that the box in the middle of our room contained all the things that our parents had ever given us.

The next night, the box was still there. Maureen asked if I were going to look into the box, and I got brave and got out of bed. I went to the box, and cautiously opened the cardboard flaps. It was full of the most beautiful clothing we had ever seen!!! They were all our size, and there were some beautiful dresses in there too!!! We got excited, my hands diving deeper and deeper into the box to try and see all the things at the bottom. Maureen was above me, on the bed, but I was in the middle of the floor, with my arms in the box. We heard Gran coming, and I quickly replaced everything and folded the flaps back up and jumped back into bed. Gran yelled at us to go to sleep, and went into her room, which was right next door. Grandpa was downstairs watching a fight, and Gran watched "Little house on the prairie" in her room. Maureen and I liked when Gran watched TV in her room, because it meant we could talk quietly and Gran wouldn't be able to hear us over the TV.

We excitedly discussed what was in the box, and why had Gran left it in our room? It would have made more sense to leave it in her own room, we thought. Then we would never know it existed. I was 7 years old then, and Maureen was 8. We could not make sense of much that happened to us back then, but we never questioned anything, because to do that meant a slap in the face, or a severe spanking.

Most of the time, I never knew when a slap was coming. It always seemed so sudden, so violent, and SO unfair. I never knew what I had done to deserve it. It seemed I must have just been a naturally very bad kid, like she said we all were, to get hit and not know why. I must have done things I shouldn't have done, without realizing it. Gran always said we deserved everything we got, and probably more.

The next night we were sent to our room, and Gran said, "you had better not look in that box!!"
I assured her I wouldn't, and as soon as I heard her go downstairs, I was in the box looking to see if there were anything I missed the night before. I took every single thing out of the box, and put it back in again. My arm was again deep in the box, when Gran came bursting through the door. My heart sank, then came up into my throat as I saw Gran go over to the window shade and pull out the long narrow stick of wood that was inserted in there to keep the shade flat.

I had scrambled up onto my bed for safety, but Gran grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me down the length of the bed to the bottom. God, that was a long trip. I knew what awaited me, though. She wielded that stick and raised it high, shouting with each connection with my butt and legs (each syllable was its own slap with the stick, almost like a punctuation), "I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK IN THAT BOX!!! YOU HAVE DELIBERATELY DISOBEYED ME!!! HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY ME? DID YOU THINK I WOULD NOT FIND OUT? DID YOU THINK I WOULD NOT CATCH YOU???" Gran was relentless with that stick.

I laid there, sobbing, and she slammed out of our room, saying I should think about what I had done.

She came back a short time later, and I said I was sorry, in between sobs and hiccups. She sneered at me and asked, "Are you really sorry? Or are you just sorry because you got caught?"

I cried that I was really sorry, but knew it would not do any good.

The box stayed there for 3 more days. I never touched it again. We never saw the clothing that was in that box again either.

The mixture of psychological torture along with the physical abuse was what ultimately took its toll on my overall self esteem. She set us up to fail, over and over again. Then punished us for that failure. I loved her so much anyway, for so long.

The Rosary...

When I was six or seven years old, Gran announced to us all that we would be soon praying the rosary all together as a family. This entailed kneeling down and reciting the same prayers over and over until it was finished. I felt a small pang of dread in my stomach at this news. Even at that young age, fanaticism of any kind made me very uneasy. I did not see why we needed to do this. I did not want to do this. Perhaps I have always been rebellious in regard to religion, but truthfully, sitting in the church every single Sunday, with the greasy bacon and eggs weighing heavily on my stomach, seemed to be more than enough as far as I was concerned. I never enjoyed church the way Gran seemed to. I did not see why anyone really went to church. I didn't get it. It seemed a very dreary place to be, and I never wanted to go. As a small child though, I realized I had no choice in the matter, and just simply went because I had to.

Now, though, we'd have to do even more. After supper was over, we all knelt down to say the rosary. Naturally, we did not know the prayers yet, "by heart" and with Gran, there was never a learning curve. She berated us for not knowing, saying that we should know all of this by now, we heard it at church, so there was no reason to not know.

In a standard rosary, there are 5 "decades".

Within each decade, there is the Lord's prayer (Our Father) ten Hail Mary's, and the glory be. This is repeated 5 times, and is reportedly the way to appeal to the Virgin Mary for whatever you want. It never worked for me. I, in my childish way, asked for many things over the years, most often asked for my parents to come back and take us to that farm they promised us so many times. It never happened. I fervently prayed to the virgin Mary for Gran to love us like her own kids. It never happened. I prayed for them to stop being mean to us. Yeah, dream on, kid. I felt as if Mary mocked me. I much preferred Jesus. I read about how Jesus lost his temper in the temple, when the high priests were turning it into a market place. There was a hero I could relate to, and look up to!! Mary was entirely too perfect, too pure, virginal, etc. Jesus was HUMAN! He got MAD!!! I could so totally relate! I started talking to Jesus in my own words, at night.

While the rosary got longer and longer, as Gran would tack on new prayers at the end, so it seemed it would NEVER end, I grew to resent it more and more. I dreaded supper time, as it meant kneeling on the hard floor reciting prayers for nothing. I hated it. I hated everything about it. At least at church we could look around and observe the people, and watch the candles flicker, and sing, stand, sit, and kneel. It wasn't as much of a crushing bore as the stupid rosary was. No one else in my class had to do it. I think their parents recognized that catholic school and Sunday church was enough. Not Gran. She was relentless. Then, on Good Fridays, she made us say 3 rosaries in a row. Another reason to hate good Friday, and I could never understand why it was called Good Friday anyway. Seemed kind of sacrilegious to me... I tried to explain this to Gran one day and was slapped across the face for my impudence.

My faith, such as it was, was shaken at a very young age.

Another reason to despise Good Friday, was that we had fishcakes for dinner EVERY YEAR on good Friday. I despised fish cakes with every fiber in my being. I did not vomit, ever as a rule, since I was very little, but fish cakes made me gag instantly. I despised the texture, the taste, everything about them. She served them with dry, mealy mashed potatoes (no butter), and corn. UGH. And exactly 1/2 cup of milk (yes, folks, she measured) with which to wash it down. I begged her to let me forgo the fishcakes, and my brothers piped up, "I'll have hers!!" I joyfully started to give them the horrid puke inducing things, but Gran said no, I'd have to eat them.

After about twenty minutes of my eyes watering from gagging so hard, I finally convinced Gran to PLEASE pour me more milk so I could wash them down. She relented, more so that she could finish up dinner so we could say the rosary. Good Friday after-dinner-rosaries were the worst, my poor stomach leaping about in protest...

The Easter basket I looked forward to getting was not at all worth the torture of choking down those fish cakes.

Just a side note on how to pray the rosary:

Make the Sign of the Cross and say the "Apostles' Creed."

The Apostles' Creed

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting. Amen.

Say the "Our Father."

Say three "Hail Marys."

Say the "Glory be to the Father."

Announce the First Mystery; then say the "Our Father."

Say ten "Hail Marys," while meditating on the Mystery.

Say the "Glory be to the Father."

Announce the Second Mystery; then say the "Our Father." Repeat 6 and 7 and continue with Third, Fourth and Fifth Mysteries in the same manner.

After the Rosary:

HAIL, HOLY QUEEN, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope! To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary!

V. Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God.

R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us pray. O GOD, whose only begotten Son, by His life, death, and resurrection, has purchased for us the rewards of eternal life, grant, we beseech Thee, that meditating upon these mysteries of the Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we may imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise, through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.

After each decade say the following prayer requested by the Blessed Virgin Mary at Fatima: "O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy."

As suggested by the Pope John Paul II the Joyful mysteries are said on Monday and Saturday, the Luminous on Thursday, the Sorrowful on Tuesday and Friday, and the Glorious on Wednesday and Sunday (with this exception: Sundays of Christmas season - The Joyful; Sundays of Lent - Sorrowful)

See why I hated it? The entire process took well over an hour! And then Gran added on countless random other prayers at the end, then endless "blessings" for this and that, mainly for God to exorcise the devil out of us kids... Yeah, it never actually worked, lol.

Pictures of the old homesteads...

This is the big blue house. It is no longer blue. Over the years it has been gray, brown and now, yellow. It is amazing how homesick I get when I look at it. The townhomes next door are new, they were not there back then. It was an empty lot.







This is the "farm". This house is new, whoever bought the property had to tear down both the house and the barn. Note how far away our nearest neighbors were, off to the far right. It was like living on another planet sometimes, especially during the high school days. The house is in the same place as the old one, except it is a bit bigger. They took down my beloved tree, that was directly to the right of the house.


This is another view of the farm. Notice the creek that runs along the side of the house, along the property to the road. It was so peaceful here. I didn't ever appreciate how peaceful until now.

As a side note:

All of the music on this particular blog are songs I remember hearing a lot throughout my childhood and adolescence. I am still in the process of collecting songs as I remember them. I will do you all a favor and leave off the Winnie the Pooh songs that I remember throughout the years, although there are several that I hear even now that bring tears to my eyes, particularly the one from my sixth birthday, where I waited endlessly for my father to show up, as promised, and he never showed. I bought my kids that tape when they were little, and that song hit me like a ton of bricks. I could not listen to it without tearing up, and it took a bit of soul searching to remember why. I got that very record for my sixth birthday.

Music is an amazing thing. Besides fragrance, it is one of the most powerful memory triggers the world has ever known. You can make beautiful memories to music, or it can unwittingly bring a tear to your eye.

The Led Zepplin songs on the player remind me most powerfully of my adoptive brother Sean. Oh, how I adored Sean!! He was my big hero brother! When I was a teen, he took me to see Cujo, and we both bitched endlessly about how they deviated so much from the book. I patterned every man I was ever with, after Sean, which was unfortunate, as at the time I did not realize just how broken and sad a human being he truly was. He was a mere 9 years older than I, yet the years disappeared once I got older. We kept in touch although I left home at 16 years old, then once I came back, we were farmed out to foster homes once again. Sean was in a rock band, named Runaway.

I went to a couple of his band practices, and stood in awe of him, watching. He was a direct influence on my musical tastes. Oh, how I adored Sean. He was never mean to us. Never. He always stuck up for us to Gran. He was a perfect big brother to us, and yet we never realized just how difficult his life must have been, due to us being in his home.

He never held it against us. No matter how many times Gran would rail at us, tell us what an inconvenience we were to her, he never did. And he would have had the most right to. He was only twelve years of age when we came to that house. Just a kid.

I feel extremely lucky and privileged to have had him as my brother. I will miss him for the rest of my life. For my darling Sean, my big brother who I idolized and adored beyond all reason, died in mid September, 2004, at age 48, from pneumonia, due to complications from drinking. My poor Sean was an alcoholic for most of his life. But he still remained an amazing man. I will always love him.

When our parents abandoned us to those sometimes cruel foster parents, Sean was there to show us the only affection we ever knew from that point on. He was taken too young, and lived a cruel and sad existence, but is finally at peace. Godspeed, Sean. I love you.

GALLAGHER, Sean V.; 48; (b. Bayonne NJ) 
Midland Beach SI NY;
2004-09-11; Irene NAVERAN

The farm...

It became obvious even to us kids, that our father was never going to buy us that farm. I would never have horses to play with, never have farm animals, and we were never going to live with Daddy ever again, even though he promised us. Maureen and I stayed up late night after night talking about how we wondered if maybe he died. We just never ever heard from him again. It had been nearly a year since he and Uncle Lyndon came to visit. We never heard from our mother again, either.

This broke our hearts, as we did not know why they just stopped coming to see us. We asked Gran why they didn't come, and she said they were getting a divorce. We did not understand that, but all she would say was that they "didn't see eye to eye". That was not at all helpful. Why did that mean they couldn't come and see us?

When Gran got angry with us for asking too much, she would snap, "Who would want to see you kids??? Look at how you act!!"

We knew not to ask too often where our parents were. It made Gran very angry. When Gran got angry, she stayed angry all day, sometimes for days.

Soon we just accepted that our parents were never coming back. We talked about them from time to time, amongst ourselves, but tried not to bring them up to Gran, as she was just too nasty about it, and usually made us feel as if it were our fault somehow that they disappeared.

Summer was coming, and we went on a long car trip. We stayed at Gran's daughter Geraldine's house overnight, as it was halfway between home and where we were going. Geraldine had just gotten married to a man named Ron. We loved Ron, he was so funny, and so nice to us. We had gone to their wedding earlier that year. They lived in Pennsylvania now, near the Delaware water gap.

Later that week, we continued to wherever we were going. We arrived at an office, where Gran got out of the VW bus we were riding in, and went inside. A woman came out, and told Gran and Gramps to follow her, and they did. We arrived at a small white house down a long driveway. There was a barn to the left of it, a huge barn. We started getting excited. Was this a farm?

We got out of the car, and Tuffy was so excited that he ran around and around the house about ten times. He ran so fast he was just a fluffy white blur!

We went inside, and as we went up on the porch, my foot went through a rotted peice of wood, and I fell. I screamed, terrified that I would get sucked under the porch, where it was dark, and Gran told me that if I did not stop the theatrics, she would give me something to cry about.

I already did not like that place. It was really old, and smelled funny. The woman, whose name was Imogene, said the former owners died, and the house was for sale really cheap. She said the house came with 41 acres, and there was a nice creek out to the left of the house, that ran alongside the barn. She said the barn was fully functioning, that it only needed a little bit of care to bring it up to code. We didn't know what that meant, but I couldn't wait to go in the barn and see if there were any farm animals in there.

We realized of course, that this was not the farm my father promised us. I didn't like this farm. Gran was already being mean to us, and the woman showing it to us kept glaring at us. I needed a tissue, my nose was running, and I was scared because there was blood on my leg from falling through the porch. Soon Harlan started crying, and everyone was tired, hungry and out of sorts. Grandpa left Gran and took us to the bus. There was a cooler in there, and he got out sandwiches and milk, and we ate lunch, right in front of that old house. Gran was excited by the peony bushes in front of the house, and there was a beautiful rose bush off to the right side of the house. It seemed to go on forever, a tangled little forest of thorny branches. There was an enormous maple tree to the right of the house, on a small hill. It was a giant gnarled thing, and I instantly wanted to climb on it, and have a tea party around it. It had a small lump at the base of the tree, and it was the perfect little seat. I loved the tree instantly.

We asked if we could go walking around, and Gran said yes, just dont go too far. Imogene told her that the creek runs just below the left side of the house, alongside the barn, and Gran told us to keep the barn in sight, if we couldnt see the barn anymore, we went too far. We went down to the creek, and the path was so overgrown that we kept getting scratched by all of the thorny bushes that Gran kept calling blackberry bushes. The creek was wonderful!!! There were flat rocks all around, and water, and several deep areas and it was just beautiful! We could probably go swimming here when it got really hot. Maureen, William and I all explored each nook and cranny of the creek, and played pretend games until we heard Gran call us up to the house.

We went up there, and she said, "how would you like to spend the summer here?" I wasnt sure. I loved the creek and the outside, but the house scared me badly. I worried that it was haunted. It was so OLD. We decided we didnt have to stay in the house at all, and besides, I wanted to explore that old barn in the worst way.

The house had neither electric nor running water. There was an outhouse out in back of the house, and several chamber pots in the house. This would be different. An adventure.

I was 7 years old that summer.

5 little kids named Larrow...

One day, my father came to visit with Uncle Lyndon. Uncle Lyndon was my father's much younger brother, and we didn't see him that much because he was in the Army. He came wearing his uniform, and we were all so impressed!! How important he must be!

The difference between when our father visited, and when our mother visited, was that my father got down on the floor and played with us all, and my mother spent most of the time talking to Gran. They were no longer allowed to visit together. We don't know why. My father said that he was going to buy the farm anyway, and take us to live there. We asked "what about mommy?" and he said that maybe someday she could live there but not right now.

It was all very confusing to us, but we were so happy to see him and to see Uncle Lyndon. We cried when he left, and Gran put us all to bed.

The next day we had church. I did not like church. It was boring, and they made you kneel, stand, sit, and you had to be very quiet. When Gran went up to stand in line, I would cry, and then get in trouble for making noise.

But we had to go. We had to stay quiet. People remarked on this, and told Gran what good little kids we were. Gran always said, "Good??!?? You should see them at home! Little demons, they are!" But they always said how well behaved we were. It didn't seem as though Gran liked for people to be nice to us. Several of the ladies at church offered to take us to give Gran a break for a couple of hours, but she always said no. We would have loved to get away from her continuously stern and stony influence for a while too, but she always said no. When we asked why, she said she didn't know them very well. We wondered about that. Gran always said going to church made you a good person, and that lady was always at church too, so didn't that mean she was good? None of it made sense to us. Gran often stayed after church talking to people. She often complained about Sean, our "big brother" I caught the tail end of one conversation where Gran was saying she'd like to "knock his teeth down his throat at times". I wondered why. We loved him. We were terribly proud of Sean. We adored him beyond all reason. He was wonderful, and so "cool"!! He slouched around the house, smoking cigarettes, yelling at Gran, doing whatever he wanted. By this time he must have been about age 16. He did not seem very happy. He grew his hair really long, almost down to his butt, and we all marveled at his wonderful hair. We absolutely adored Sean. He moved out after a while, moved in with Briget and Kathleen, his older sisters. We went to their house one day to visit, and it was a really cool, scary looking old Gothic Victorian house, that they all rented together. Briget and Sean were really good artists, and would paint pictures. There were pictures of naked ladies all over that house. I was shocked, but also transfixed. What would Gran say??? Wow!!!

We loved all of Gran's kids, even Gerard. He was always mean to us back then, always threatening us and making us cry. We loved him, as he was sometimes nice to us, but then he would ruin it by being mean. We did not understand Gerard. We admired him so much, he was so big and strong, and so grown up!! He was handsome, and always had beautiful women around him. He would bring some of them home, to meet Gran. Gran was always really nice to them.

I remember when Gerard got a motorcycle, and Gran was very upset. She said that he would surely kill himself.

Side note:
(In retrospect, she should have worried more about Sean than Gerard, as Sean was always drinking, and I mean ALWAYS. It killed him at a very young age. I am still not over it. I adored Sean. He died at age 49. )

One day, Maureen told me that she was going to have her "First Holy Communion". I did not know what that meant, but I INSTANTLY wanted to have mine, too. I felt quite injured and put out that Maureen was again getting to do something I wasn't. It meant lots of extra time at church, and days spent after school. She had Mrs. McKee as her teacher, and I really liked her. I wanted to stay after school too! Maureen got to do everything first.

Gran told me that I would be making my first holy communion the very next year and to stop being so jealous. I wasnt sure what jealous meant yet, but I figured it out every time I had a burning feeling each time I thought about how special Maureen was for making her first holy communion. The feeling got stronger when Gran announced one day that she was taking Maureen out for a special shopping trip, so she could buy her new shoes, tights, underwear, and a new veil for her dress. Maureen was going to be dressed up like a bride! In spite of my jealousy, I was so excited for her. She got to walk down the aisle of the church, and receive her first holy communion!!! Maureen told me not to think it was so exciting, that first we had to go to confession. It was called "The sacrament of Penance". It sounded so scary! You had to sit in the confessional, and tell the priest all of your sins. I did not want to do this. I loved Father Dorney, and if I told him every single thing I ever did wrong, he might not give me a skull crushing hug every Sunday like he did now. Father Dorney was my favorite priest ever. What would he think of me? I worried about that all year, while I waited to take my first sacrament of Penance. I hoped for Father Mullin. Or perhaps Father Miller. He was old. Perhaps he wouldn't hear all of what I had to say. I was a pretty bad kid. Gran always told me I'd be in the confessional for hours, telling all of my sins.

Maureen proudly outlined all of what would be expected of me during confession. She said I first had to do an "Examination of conscience". I was terrified. How could I do this when I had no clue as to what that was??? Maureen did not know either. She said she just knelt down before, and made it look as if she were praying fervently. It sounded like a test to me, and what if I failed? I was surely going to hell. Surely. I knew it in my very bones.

Maureen said that she had Father Mullin, and he was very nice to her, and only made her say 3 hail Mary's and an act of Contrition. I was relieved, although I knew that Maureen was a much better person than I was, after all, she was older and taught me things. I was the one who was jealous of her, and wanted things before I was ready, like my first holy communion. It wasn't fair. Gran took her for a special dinner, just her and Maureen. But the best part of that was? We got to stay home with Gramps!! He let us stay up late, and made French toast for dinner. We had sweet hot tea, and he explained boxing to me. He let me watch boxing! He even let me stretch out on the couch with him while we watched it. I felt terribly grown up and acted as if I truly understood boxing, so as to impress him.

So, even though I was still jealous of Maureen, when I told her everything we got to do while she was at her shopping trip with Gran, she actually acted a bit jealous of us!! I didn't understand this.

The day came when Maureen was to make her First Holy Communion. Even Sean came to the house to bring her a present! It was like a birthday! I didn't know you got presents! Now I couldn't WAIT for mine.

She had a party afterward. Church was longer than usual, but it was ok, because MY BIG SISTER was up there, making her first holy communion. I was so proud of her. She looked so beautiful, all in white, with a little veil. She looked so pious, with her hands folded, as she closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue to receive her communion. I decided that she so impressed me with the way she looked, that I would do that same thing when I received my first holy communion too. Perhaps I would be as holy as Maureen was at that very moment. I had no jealousy on that day. I just felt so proud and happy for Maureen. She was so happy, and was extra nice to me that day.

Aunt Bonnie

One day, Aunt Bonnie came to visit.

I loved Aunt Bonnie, she was always generous with hugs and was ALWAYS nice to us. She had a special place in her heart for my brother Darek, as she had taken care of him for nearly a year before he came to live with us. She wanted to adopt Darek, but the courts wouldn't let her do it, as my father would not give permission to his own sister to adopt one of his kids.

I watched Aunt Bonnie and Gran sit in the dining room having tea, and listened to Aunt Bonnie talk about my parents. Gran seemed very uncomfortable with her, and did not seem to know what to say when Aunt Bonnie said, "Jane nearly killed Karen on 3 separate occasions!" It seemed that my mother had tried to drown me in the bathtub after getting shampoo in my eyes, and I wouldn't stop crying. Aunt Bonnie had come in, and knocked my mother across the room. I listened, wide eyed, as Aunt Bonnie told Gran about how she also came in and found my mother hanging me outside our 3rd story window in an old apartment in Stapleton when I was two years old, and threatening to drop me if I "didn't shut up!"

I did not know what all of this really meant, I was too young to comprehend it. But I never forgot that conversation, because Gran saw me, and her eyes were very red, and she asked me to come over to her, and gave me a hug and said "I love you". This was the first time Gran ever said that to me without me having to say it first. I loved her so much at that moment. There were so many conflicting emotions with living with Gran. Most of the time she acted as if she hated us so much, always screaming at us, and hitting us for seemingly no reason. The worst was when she would slap our faces. But at the same time, she always said I love you, and she would give out hugs every so often. It must have been true, right?

The third time was when I used to climb into the toy chest to hide from my mother. I apparently hid in there, and fell asleep. The next morning, I tried to get out, but couldn't open the lid. At some point I passed out because I remember coming awake, drenched with sweat, and my mother holding me. Aunt Bonnie said that my mother was really not capable of taking care of so many kids, it was just too much for her. She said that sooner or later one of us would be killed or die from neglect.

Aunt Bonnie left, and later that night Maureen and I were in bed talking about it. Maureen and I talked all the time at night, and it would more often than not get us into the worst kind of trouble, Gran storming in, grabbing us by the ankles, dragging us down the bed (that was a long, terrifying trip down to the bottom of that bed) and beating our bottoms soundly until we could not breathe from stifling our cries. It made her more angry for us to cry, and she hit us even harder.

For some reason, Gran did not come into our room that night, even though we knew she heard us talking. We saw her shadow at our door several times, but she never came in to spank us that night.

A random side note...

So, last night I had a dream about my foster father. He and my foster mother adopted us five when I was 12.

He was definitely the more gentle of the two of them, and I did love him very much.

He died when I was 18 years old, after we had all been farmed out to new foster homes. We thought this aspect of our lives was blessedly over, as we were legally their children. We were wrong. My sister was the only one who escaped this fate, having been 18 already, and moved in with her boyfriend already.

Once we were all settled into our respective homes, they told me I was not allowed to see my sister or my brothers for 2 months. Some stupid rule or other, designed to make the caseworker's job easier, I imagine.

I was heartbroken, and had never been separated from my siblings before. I'll never forget that lump in my throat.

Anyway, getting back to Grandpa. I was doing my candy striper volunteer work at the hospital, when one day I saw him. He was painfully thin, and looked as if he were about to die. He was in a hospital gown, and I immediately went up to him and asked him why he was there. He told me gently that he was in there for treatment for cancer. I was there with my cosmetology class, and if I did not perform my duties for the people on my list I would get a zero for the day. I was way too upset to finish my ladies' hair, so I went up to my teacher and requested a pass from the rest of the day. She saw I was upset, and since I never before asked to get out of my volunteer duties, she granted me a pass. I spent the remainder of the time in Grandpa's room, talking with him.

Each day after that, I rode my bike to Corning hospital, and sat with him after school. It was an eight mile trip from my new foster home to the hospital, (four each way) but I went every day. I needed this. I had so much healing to do, and despite all the trauma we kids went through at the hands of an often cruel adoptive/foster mother, I loved Grandpa, as he was the gentler of the two. I sat with him each day after school, and rode my bike home each night. My new foster mother Anna was very understanding about this, and never complained that I was late to dinner. She was truly a wonderful woman and the exception to the foster parent rule.

Grandpa and I healed many deep wounds during the times I sat with him. I talked to him about many things, my first broken heart, my feelings about being put in the foster home even though I begged not to be placed. I told him that if I could come home, I would do whatever they needed me to, to make their lives easier. He told me that he would be there for me no matter what. I think he said that because he didn't know what else to say.

I came to realize that he was dying. I had never had anyone close to me die before, and did not want to face it.

He was ready. I was not. I had only just healed our wounds, and mended our fences, and wanted more time. I did not get that time. He died shortly after my 18th birthday, and I still had a month left of high school.

It was a cruel time for a young adult. The only father I had ever really known was taken from this earth and I was to face my life alone from then on. We had not mended our fences enough to where I would not make horrendous choices when it came to choosing a mate. My self esteem was still in tatters. My confidence was non existent.

I have been strong, however. I survived a violent, abusive marriage, and dodged many bullets in the eight years since my divorce. I have done this without hurting anyone, without selling out, without using anyone to get by. I have done it all on my own, and if I didn't have the means to get something I wanted or thought I needed? I did without. I am no stranger to deprivation. I am a stranger to using people for my own gain.

Would it be easier to just take a man, use him to make my life easier, and get by? Maybe, on the surface. But would I be able to live with myself? I dont think so. I would be trapped into a situation I did not really want. I dont think I could live that way. Jail is jail, just with more comfortable pillows.

I could have made thousands of better choices for myself, in my life. But if I regretted them all, I would have to regret all of the good things in my life right now, and I could never do that. I am happy with my life as it is, mistakes and all. I am free to love who I want, I am free. I can have a man in my life, or I do not have to. The choice is mine, and I like it like that. I can raise my kids with no interference from anyone. The girls' father knows I have always put them above all else in my life. He is confident that I have done a good job, and will continue to do so. I am confident finally that he does the same, when they are with him.

Life is not easy. But I am still happy.

So a thank you to Gramps for visiting me in my dreams last night. He showed me lots of things last night. Compassion was at the top of the list. He had all of these journals he had written in, and showed me all of them. Gran had journals too.

Maybe that is why I blog. Getting it all out is risky, it leaves you wide open to criticism, negativity and scorn. But it is helpful for getting it all off your head, and if a well meaning person comes along and leaves a nice comment of good advice? All the better.

Some very rare photos...

My sister Maureen and I. I was 4 months old. This was the day of my baptism.








This is a picture of me with my maternal grandfather. He died of a heart attack when I was about 3 years old. I remember his funeral. This was also taken on the day I was baptized.









This was the day I turned 5 years old. This was the day we received the swing set. This is the most rare photo I own. It is the only photo with all us five together, and one of the only pictures I have of Grandpa.









This was Maureen's birthday party when she turned 7 years old. I would be six the next month.

Left to right: William, Maureen, and me.
Notice the Singer sewing machine in the background...









Later that same day. We were still painfully small for our ages, Maureen did not look as old as 7 years, and I was about the size of a three year old. William was 4, and looked his age having had time to thrive after we arrived at the big blue house.

First day of school

The time came where I would be going to school just like my big sister. I was very excited, yet very scared at the same time. I did not know what to expect.

The morning of the first day of school was very rainy. As we walked to school, we saw a rainbow. I was wearing a bright yellow raincoat and rubber boots. The shirt I wore was green with brightly colored stripes.

Gran walked me to my first day, and we went into the classroom. The teacher, Miss Murray, took one look at me and exclaimed, "Oh, Karen!!! You look just like your sister Maureen!!!"

She told me where I could hang my raincoat, and I proudly hung it in the little cubby. I also put my boots on the floor of the cubby, and Miss Murray beamed at me and called me a very smart girl.

I knew I was going to like Miss Murray, she was so nice. I was not used to grownups being nice.
Gran left me there, and I did not even cry.

What a wonderful day!! We heard stories, and sang songs, and played duck, duck, goose. I loved school. No wonder Maureen had felt so important when she went to school. I vowed to teach William everything I had learned while in school.

One day after school, some of the kids were playing in the school yard, and invited me to stay and play with them. It looked like so much fun, so I said yes. I had only played for a little while, and Gran came up to the school, glared at me and said, "You had better get home!" I was suddenly terrified, and knew that she would really spank me hard. I did not realize what I had done wrong, but I'm sure I was about to find out. We walked the 8 blocks to the house, and she yelled at me, spanked me, and put me in my room to think about what I had done. I never did find out what I had done wrong. She never told me. Therefore, I did not know what to think about what I had done. I did know never to stay after school again, as she told me never to come home late again, but I did not know why.

Soon it was Maureen's birthday, and she was seven years old. Gran made a cake, and put the festive birthday tablecloth on the dining room table. There were presents, and we sang happy birthday to her. I wanted it to be my birthday, and Gran said it would be soon enough.

Not much time went by before it was my birthday. I had a happy surprise!!! I got a birthday card from my father!!! It was green and had a beautiful butterfly on the front, and sparkles all over it. I could read by then, and it said, Happy Birthday, Love your Daddy. I wondered why he had written that in the card. Of course I loved my dad, I did not need to be told that. I wondered if he were angry with me, and was telling me to love him. Most of the memories I had of my father were of him being angry all the time. Those memories were fading somewhat, and replaced by a deep longing for both my mother and my father. I did not realize then, that I had misunderstood what my father wrote. He meant Love, your daddy.

I don't remember much else about that birthday, only that I expected my father to show up, and he never did. I remember listening to the Winnie the Pooh songs on the record I got for my birthday, and crying.

One day, Gran said she was going into the city to go Christmas shopping. We were to stay home with Grandpa and Sean. We were very excited about this, as Grandpa was much more gentle with us than Gran. We played games, and Grandpa made us French toast for dinner. Sean played jail with us, and we all watched TV. We watched A Christmas Carol. I was absolutely terrified, and had never seen anything that scary. We stayed up late, and Grandpa let us eat popcorn. We had so much fun that night. We wished Gran would go into the city every day!!

The next day, we asked Gran all about the city. She said the name of the city was Manhattan. We were enthralled with her tales of lights, and traffic, and decorations, and she said that some day we could go and see it all with her. Maybe when Harlan was older, she said. Harlan was only a year old, and wouldn't do well for a whole day.

We finally knew what the TV announcer meant when he announced the weather in "downtown Manhattan" We pretended to be the weatherman and proudly announced the weather and the news in Downtown 'Hattan. We dreamed of when we would get to go.

Christmas came and we were so excited!!! We opened all of our gifts, and there were lots of things from our mother and father. Gran took those things away, and said she would hold them for when we got bored with all the things we already had. We did not understand this, there was a wonderful puppet show stage with puppets, and we wanted to play with that in the worst way, but she said no. When we started whining about it, she said if we did not stop, she would give all of our things away to some good girls and boys who really deserve it. She said we were ungrateful. We did not say anymore about it, but we never saw that puppet show again. We always wondered where it went. We were bitterly hurt over that, as we knew it had come from our parents.

Soon, Gran and Gramps took us to the city. Gramps held Harlan and Darek (we called them the two little guys), and Gran looked after us three. We rode the ferry! It was so fun, and there were lots of people all around. We stood by the railing and looked out onto the water and watched Staten Island get smaller and smaller. It was COLD!!! I turned around, and there was a man and woman sitting on one of the benches outside. They were doing something I could not understand, and Gran told me to stop looking at them. I was deeply curious about what they were doing, and could not stop looking. I had never seen anyone doing anything like this, and I was seeing body parts I had never seen before. Gran came up to me and slapped my face hard, and told me to stop looking at them. I quickly turned away and stared at the water. I remember how blurry the water looked that entire ride, as I tried hard not to cry.

I do not remember the visit to Manhattan. Only that ferry ride.

Chicken Pox

I was four years old, and my sister was five. Maureen was going to school. She was a big girl now, and big girls went to school. I was bitterly disappointed that I wasn't big enough to go, and missed her very much during the day. The first few mornings, we walked her to school, and then she went on her own. I couldn't wait to walk to school like my big sister did. It was not fair... She got to do everything first, and I couldn't do anything. I admired her so greatly when I heard her say "I go to P.S. 38!" That sounded so grown up to me, and I tried to imitate exactly how she said it.

One day, I woke up and Maureen was very sick. She had thrown up during the night, and had a fever, and spots. The next day, I had a fever too, and had itchy red spots all over me. Gran said it was chicken pox. I stood naked and shivering in the kitchen as she dabbed a poultice of baking soda and water all over the spots. I was miserable, and cried the entire time. I never itched so badly in my short little life.

William got them too, but only on his stomach. By then he was two and a half, and wouldn't stop scratching them when he was told. Maureen and I punished him for scratching by taking his two o'clock treat away from him. Every day Gran would give us a two o'clock treat. Sometimes we could talk William into giving us his. Sometimes we would invent reasons why he should give us his two o'clock treat. We became quite skilled at manipulating his treat away from him.

Gran heard us one day, and spanked us until our butts burned bright red. She did not give us our two o'clock treat that day, and William felt sorry for us and sneaked and gave us his. We never tried to steal his treat again.

Unless it was apples and raisins. They were my favorite.

At the end of my chicken pox, something amazing happened. Our very smallest tiniest brother Harlan was 4 months old, and was coming to live with us. He was just a very tiny baby, and my Aunt Bonnie had come to visit and told us he had bronchial pneumonia. He almost died and was a very sick little baby. I heard her tell Gran that my mother left him out in the rain in his carriage.

The day arrived when Harlan was coming to live with us, straight from the hospital. I was so excited, and couldn't wait to see my baby brother. Everyone was looking into the crib at him, which Gran had set up in the dining room, and I tried to push my way in to see. One of Gran's daughters looked at me, curled her lip and said, "You smell!" She was probably 17 or 18 at that time, but because she was a grown up, I believed her. I was ashamed that I probably smelled bad, and did not realize it was due to festering chicken pox, and a home remedy poultice on top of it. I did not attempt to see my brother again.

Several months later, our brother Darek also came to live with us. Our Aunt Bonnie had been taking care of him all that time, and did we resent him for that!!!!! Poor little Darek. He wasn't with our parents, but we thought he was, and thought our parents liked him best, and set out to punish him for that. He could do nothing right in all of our eyes.

Gran had her hands full, with Harlan being so sickly and so little. We watched Gran with him, and decided that whereas she really did not like us very much at all, she really loved Harlan. She rocked him to sleep, held him all the time, and spoke very sweetly to him, always. She sang to him... We craved that sort of affection from her. We never got it. We supposed that it was just easier to like babies.

A doctor came to the house, and examined Harlan. Harlan did not like this doctor, and screamed at him. Gran did not like the doctor either, and argued with him about something. The doctor started to undress Harlan, and he urinated in the doctor's face. I'll never forget the look on that doctor's face. He was so ANGRY!!! My sister and I laughed about that for years after.

The Big Blue House

One day my mother came to visit us at the big blue house. Grandma made coffee, and set the dining room table with coffee cups, plates and cookies. My mother came in, and was wearing a purple turtleneck sweater. She had brought a large bucket of Kentucky fried chicken. We were so excited to see her, we all tried to climb up on her at once. She was not angry with me, for once, and also for once, Grandma wasn't angry with us. It seemed to my sister and me, that someone was ALWAYS angry with us for some reason. From a 3 year olds point of view, any reason for the good mood was a good reason. It never occurred to two small kids that grownups might put on their best behavior too.

My brother sat on my mothers lap and played with her hair. He sat there and just faced her, touching her and hugging her. He took one of her breasts in his hands, and asked her, "What is this? Is this your stomach??? She laughed, and said, yes, that is my stomach. I noticed that Grandma gave him a very evil look for asking her that. My brother was only two years old by that point. I was nearly four, and Maureen was nearly five.

From then on, my sister and I were convinced that breasts were in fact, stomachs. When we helped fold the laundry, and came across a bra, we called them "stomach bands" We created so many made up names for so many things. No one ever thought to tell us the truth about anything.

We started becoming much more physically healthy. I stopped vomiting so much, and started putting on some weight. I was still painfully small for my age, but started to appear less sickly.

My mother told Grandma that we looked well. She then told her something very scary. We would have to go to a courthouse. We did not know what that meant, but the way she said it, we knew it had to be something bad.

After our mother left, we were again put to bed for a nap. By then my sister and I had outgrown naps, but were sent to bed anyway. We laid in bed and giggled together, talked, played, and often were caught and spanked soundly for making any noise at all. We quickly learned that if we were to talk during nap time, it was to be very quiet talking. It did not matter. We were caught more often than not, and spanked.

Most of our days were spent playing. We knew not to anger Grandma so we wouldn't get hit. We knew what we should say and what we shouldn't.

We went to church every Sunday, and each time, Gran would go up to receive communion, and I would cry until she came back. Grandpa would stay with us, and go up when she got back. I had grown to love her, or at least to have formed a deep attachment to her, and Grandpa both. I told her all day long that I loved her, just to hear her say it back. They had a son named Sean, who was 12 at the time. Sean would watch TV at night, and we would play jail with him. We would take the cushions off the couch and hide behind the couch rails. We would try to "escape" and he would grab us by the ankle and drag us back, never once looking up from the TV. We always wondered how he saw us, and would laugh uproariously when he caught us and dragged us back. We loved Sean. He was nice to us. We used to marvel at how he drank a glass of milk. He would finish off his sandwich, and drain a glass of milk practically in one gulp. It amazed us beyond anything we had seen up till then. We would drop what we were doing, and just watch him drink it down. Then we would go back to what we were doing.

The day came where we had to go to the courthouse. We were instructed to sit quietly, and lots of grownups were talking. There was one lady there who seemed to be looking after us. I was very very thirsty, and asked the lady for a drink of water. She brought me water twice, a tiny little dixie cup with little yellow tulips on it, and I drank it down. It was warm, but I was so thirsty I didnt care. I kept asking for more, and the lady told me if I drank any more I would be sick. She brought me one more dixie cup full of water, and as soon as I had drank it all, I threw it up all over the table. She came over, cleaned me up, and told me, "See? I told you you'd be sick".
I watched my mother yell at the judge, and pulled off her wig to reveal a large bald spot on the back of her head. She was yelling that my father did this. I remembered the incident she spoke of. My father had kicked my baby brother, and his nose was bleeding. My mother yelled at him, and ran out of the house with my brother, yelling for help. My father chased her, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled a large chunk of hair out of her head. That was all I remembered of that. Shortly after that, we were sent to Grandma and Grandpa's Big blue house. The judge told my mother to sit down, and she did. I threw up again, and don't remember anything after that. Grandma and Grandpa were not there. I don't remember missing them, I only remember that warm water, and throwing up. I remember playing with brightly colored blocks on the table at which we were told to sit.

Another visit

We spent another night at my mother and father's apartment in Stapleton. My father was drinking, and my mother was trying to keep us quiet. My mother took me into the hated bathroom where I again tried to go. For some reason I just couldn't go. I went at Grandma's house, but couldn't go for my mother. My mother stood by the half wall smoking a cigarette, and ashing the cigarette over the half wall. I wondered if the rats were below. My father told my sister and I that if we fought, the rats would come get us. We weren't sure what rats were, but they terrified us. The apartment was tiny, dark and smelled of cigarette smoke and whiskey. It was a downstairs apartment, but had a basement. All I really remember of it was a living room with a couch and 2 cribs, with room for the baby carriage, and a tiny kitchen off the living room. I do not remember a bedroom. I do not remember where my mother slept. I remember looking out from the crib and watching my father's hand drag over the floor, as he passed out on the couch, and a cigarette burning the floor. I did not know the dangers of this at three years old, but I do remember the scorch marks on the floor. I remember vividly that the radio was playing, and Simon and Garfunkel's "Bridge over troubled waters" was playing. It was sad and it made me cry. I was told to stop being a baby and stop crying.

This was a newer apartment, and was only the second time we visited there.

My mother and father were back together for a while, and promised us they were going to buy a big farm and we would have horses. We would have a big red house, and a big red barn. We would all be back together again. They promised us new toys, we just had to be good for a while longer.

The next day they took us to a park, where there was a small carnival. My father seated me on the boat ride, and around I went. I was proud of a new fuzzy pink sweater I was wearing, and my father flicked some water at me, getting my new sweater wet. I flicked it back at him, and he got angry with me. He shook his fist at me, which I did not understand, but I knew was a menacing gesture.

We went back to the big blue house, and did not see our parents for a long time. Every time I saw my parents, I would throw up during the entire visit. I remember lying in that crib at night and throwing up on the mattress. I lived in a constant state of fear, that is one of the most vivid memories I have, just feeling that fear, confusion, and love for my parents. It made no sense to me then, but does now. As terrified as I was of them, I loved them and wanted to be with them always. I did not understand why I had to go back to the big blue house.

Visitation

I was in a crib in the tiny little smoky apartment in Stapleton, Staten Island... The first visit to my mother and father's house since being taken away.

I could not sleep, my tiny little newborn baby brother Darek was crying in a baby carriage. My mother had put him in the carriage because there was nowhere else to put him.

My father was sleeping on the couch, and my mother was jiggling the baby carriage up and down.

She looked over at me and yelled, "Go to sleep!"

I had to go to the bathroom but was too afraid to tell her. The bathroom scared me. It was tiny and dim, and had a half wall that showed the pitch black basement below. My father told us there were rats down there, and if we didn't go to the bathroom like big girls, the rats would come get us. I did not want to go to that bathroom, especially at night.

The next morning, Maureen, William and I all wanted to get out of the cribs and eat. We were hungry. I remember a small scuffle over eggs and lucky charms, and I ended up eating a fried egg. My sister got the lucky charms. I pouted. But I was hungry so I ate the egg. Later, I was playing, and my father kept yelling at us to "shut the hell up!!!" He told my mother to keep us quiet or else.

My mother put me in the bathroom and told me to go like a big girl. I was terrified. I could not go at all. I had to go, in the worst way, but I couldn't go. I heard my father tell my sister to call me a stupid ass because I couldn't go. So, she came flouncing in, and told me that Daddy said I was a stupid ass. Of course I cried, but still couldn't go. She was only doing what she was told. My father rewarded her by calling her a good girl, and me a stupid ass. If the situation were reversed, he would have called her the nasty name.

I don't remember any more of that visit, except for several new cigarette burns on the hardwood floor, and the smell of alcohol on my father's breath.

I loved my father and mother, but I didn't want to go into that bathroom anymore.

Maureen, William and I went back to the "Big Blue House", but Darek stayed at my mother and father's apartment. We were mad at him for that, and figured that our parents liked him better.

The Earliest… To the new home

I was 3 years old, walking across Midland Avenue with my baby brother and my big sister, holding a strange lady's hand.

I had on a dress. It was too small, and it was tight and it itched. I was wearing a pair of tights, and they were too tight too, and didnt pull up all the way. My shoes were black patent leather and were also too tight. I held the lady's hand as tightly as I could, and held my sister Maureen's hand tightly on the other side.

I do not remember anything but fear and curiosity. I do not remember whether or not I cried for my parents.

We walked up to a big blue house, and the lady knocked. Someone let us in, and we stepped into an entryway, then into the living room. Off to the right was a large dining room, and there was an old Singer sewing machine set up in front of the window. There was a lady with gray hair sitting there. She was wearing a black dress with large white cabbage roses all over it. She stood up from the sewing machine and came up to us. Just then, a large dog came bounding up to all of us, and wagged his tail. We were scared of the dog at first, he was so big!! The lady called him Tuffy, and told him to stop scaring us, and put him in the bathroom. We thought the lady seemed nice. She sat us all on the couch, and spoke to the lady that brought us there, and we all sat quietly. We knew how to sit quietly. I remember she said that she was from the "Catholic Home Bureau".

My big sister was 4 years old. My baby brother William was a year and a half. I was 3. I had just turned 3.

The month was June, and the year was 1969. We were being sent to, and set up into a new foster home.

The lady left, and the woman who wore the black dress with white flowers told us to call her Grandma. She told us it was time to take a nap.

She took us upstairs to a room, and put William on a mattress on the floor, and Maureen and I on a bed together. She told us, "No talking, go to sleep".

After she left, we laid there looking at each other with wide eyes, unable to sleep. We did not talk.