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, as she was the only real mother I knew. I believed her. Grownups did not lie, right?

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.