This post is a bit out of order from the last one, as it occurred a year earlier.
When I was 12 years old, after we finished school for the year, Gran came to us one morning with shining eyes and a big smile on her face. We were mystified as to what could possibly have put her in such a good mood, and I decided that she must have become a grandmother again. I wondered which one of her kids had given birth to a baby. She never ever told us when they were expecting a baby, never wanting to explain that particular process. So, up until I was about 12 or so, I always thought that babies just appeared magically to happy parents.
Gran looked at us all and said, "Guess what?" I spoke up first, "Did Geraldine have a baby???" I was so excited at the thought of this, as they had three boys and I knew that Geraldine always wanted a girl. "NO!!" Gran said, and shot me a dirty look. I sat back and just waited. Gran had a habit of trying to make something really really bad into something "exciting" like a trip to the doctor's office or some boring holy day at church.
"We have been given permission to adopt all of you. You are going to be adopted today!" We all stood up and yelled "YAY!!!!!" at the top of our lungs. We were not sure what it meant other than the fact that Gran and Gramps would be our legal parents, and in my mind that meant she could never tell us how horrible and worthless we were, ever again. It truly was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to the five little kids named Larrow. We danced and celebrated, and then Gran did something she NEVER did unless one of us was to make thier first holy communion. She told Maureen and I to go take a bath, and she had the boys take a bath in the downstairs bathroom. When she did that, we knew it was important. She never let us bathe more than once a week. It was June, and hot outside, and we always asked to take a bath as we got quite sweaty and dirty from all the running around we always did in the back yard. She always said no.
Maureen and I told her that we'd wash each other's hair, so we could get done more quickly. She agreed and told us that there were new dresses laid out for us on our beds. New DRESSES!!! We didn't even get new dresses for our birthdays! This was indeed a special occasion! Not only did we have new dresses, but also new underwear and new tights. I was so excited I could scarcely contain myself.
We got ready and I put my hair back into barrettes when it was dry. I was growing it out long, and wanted to look nice for the judge. Gran told us there would be a judge. We asked if Uncle John would be our judge and she said no, that he could only be a judge in New Jersey. Uncle John was Gran's brother, and he lived in Bayonne, NJ with his wife, Maeve. I liked them a lot (they always had fresh pastries from the local bakery), but disliked going to Bayonne, because it smelled horrible there. We always yelled "PEEWWWWW!" as we went over the bridge and asked Gran every single time why it smelled so badly in Bayonne. She never explained it, and just told us all to be quiet and behave, or else. It never escaped my notice how much nicer Gran was to us when she was around other people.
When we were all ready, we gathered around in the dining room, and Gran explained to us that we must be on our best behavior, as this was a JUDGE we'd be visiting today. "If you misbehave, it will reflect very badly on Grandpa and I, so no fooling around, no misbehaving." She said that they'd probably ask a few questions, and just answer them. I started to worry about what they'd ask. Maybe they wanted to see if we were deserving of such an honor. I worried all the way to the courthouse, and when we went inside, my legs were shaking so much that I wasn't sure if I'd be able to answer any questions. I was so nervous.
We sat in the waiting area in some very uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the policeman came out and told us to all go into the judges chambers. There sat Judge De Paulo, in his large leather throne like chair. He was bald. He didn't look mean. He looked nice, like any other person, but in black robes.
There was a woman there as well, Gran said she was a social worker. She sat with us as Gran and Gramps talked with the judge. She asked us if we knew what being adopted meant. Everyone was shy and tongue tied, but I finally spoke up and said that I thought it was like when you ADAPT to something enough, they let you become adopted. She looked confused and I tried to explain it more, although I really was becoming hopelessly confused and realized I didn't know at all what being adopted meant. I just thought it meant we would finally belong. I didn't know there would be a test. I should have looked it up in the dictionary. I was horribly embarrassed that I didn't know what it really meant. She explained it in a way that made absolutely no sense to me, as it was way over my head, the legalities of it, anyway. Finally Judge De Paulo called us over and performed the adoption. He then told us all that our middle names would be removed from our birth certificates, and Maureen and I would legally bear our confirmation names as our middle names. I was shocked. Why don't we have middle names anymore? My entire life I was known as Karen Ann Larrow. I realized my last name would change to Gallagher, but why did I have to give up my middle name? I liked my middle name.
Maureen was all too happy to give up her middle name, as she said she'd always hated it. William didn't seem to mind, although he had a quite nice middle name; Edward. My youngest brothers didn't see it as a big deal, as Gran never ever revealed to us what their names might be. Maureen and I thought it over and decided that their names must be strange ones, like perhaps Herman. We were convinced that maybe Harlan's name was Amos, like our paternal grandfather, and Darek's middle name was Herman. We used to tease him mercilessly about it. He'd get so upset that he'd go into a rage. Gran would then tell him he looked like an enraged bull. Naturally that would upset him more, and we'd stick our tongues out at him behind Gran's back.
On the way home, we asked Gran why the judge took away our middle names. "Because I requested it" she said. "Why??" we asked. She said she wanted to start over with a clean slate, and there was no reason to discuss it further. I couldn't believe it. Gran took our middle names away without even asking. Even as young and naive as I was, it just didn't feel right for her to have done that. It wasn't fair. I started to say something else, and Gran, barely containing her anger, said, "Karen, come on. don't be such an ungrateful little girl". I realized I was ruining everyone's day, so I stopped. I resolved to enjoy the day, as Gran was making something special for supper.
We got home, and Sean was there. He looked at all of us, and Gran told him, "the kids were adopted today". Sean looked shocked for a moment, and looked at us. He asked her when did this happen? Gran said just this morning; we just got back from the courthouse. Sean looked greatly disturbed at this news. Gran told us to go upstairs and change out of our new clothes and to put our regular clothes on. I didn't want to. I liked my new dress and wanted to wear it all day. But Maureen and I went reluctantly upstairs, disturbed at Sean's reaction. Sean was only 21 then. A grown up. Maybe he didn't want to be our brother. We got changed and sat on the beds to talk about it. There was a knock on the door and Sean asked if he could come in. We let him in, and he said, "Well, girls... I guess I have two new sisters and three new brothers!" He looked happy! He held his arms out and we ran over and hugged him. We loved Sean so much. We were glad that he wasn't upset about our adoption. Later on, we heard Gran laughingly say, "Sean thought the kids were adopted to a new family! He was so upset!" No wonder he was so shocked! It was then that we realized that Gran kept her own kids in the dark about things too. It wasn't just us. How could she not tell her own kids about us being adopted??
We celebrated our adoption, and had a nice day. Sean stayed for a long time; the longest he ever stayed. Then he went home, but before he did, he said he'd like to take us all to the movies some day soon before we left for upstate for the summer! We were so excited! Gran said maybe, and he went home, still looking a little dazed.
We went to bed, and the next day Gran said we'd be packing for upstate this week, and we'd better get busy. We always spent the entire summer upstate.
Then she delivered more news... Soon we'd be moving upstate for good. We wouldn't be living in Staten Island any more. I was sad, but excited at the same time. At least we had a whole year before we moved. I'd be in St. Margaret Mary's school under a new name from now on. My new last name. Gallagher. I wondered how we'd explain it to our friends. I didn't care. I was so happy we finally "belonged".
Five little kids named Larrow
Back left, Maureen-13, Back right, Karen-12. Left bottom, William-11, Middle, Harlan-8, Bottom right, Darek-9.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The convent
When my sister was 13, she decided she wanted to be a nun. This was after years and years of diligent brainwashing by Gran, that she had a vocation to do so. Many months of retreats and sleepovers at the local convent "The Daughters of St. Paul" convinced my sister that this was the correct path for her in life. I didn't understand it. Yes, it was nice going on retreats with her; it was quiet, peaceful, and the food was amazing. I loved all the food on offer at this particular convent. It was delicious.
I was growing tired, however, of all the endless prayers, rosaries and novenas they did. My eyes would glaze over with boredom, and I'd daydream the long hours away till it was over. I'd never in my life seen anyone pray so much, ever. I often wondered... If these nuns have so little to do with the outside world, what on earth did they have to pray so much about? And confession was just as earnestly practiced; but why? Didn't they realize that if you never went out, never had any opportunity to sin, that there'd be nothing to confess? They did paint a very alluring picture, though, and for two very young girls who had a horrible home life. It was all too easy to wish we were somewhere else, anywhere else.
I loved my sister so much; she was my rock, my hero, my savior. I couldn't even bear the thought that she'd go away forever and leave me at the mercy of Gran.
I couldn't imagine committing the rest of my life to being a nun... Never ever falling in love, getting married, having kids. It was just too foreign to me, and it seemed as though it would be an unjust God that would decide who served him and who didn't. I talked to Gran's daughter, Brigid about it. She was horrified at the thought of Maureen entering a convent at such a young age. I tried to defend her decision, and she turned and lashed out, "She didn't make the decision, MOM made it for her!!! She tried to get me to become a nun, too!" Later on, as Maureen and I were upstairs in our room, we heard Brigid yelling at Grandpa. We couldn't believe our ears. They were fighting! We crept to the banister of the stairs and listened to Bridget yell at Gramps. Telling him that they were brainwashing Maureen. Listening to Grandpa feebly try to convince her that Maureen did, in fact, have a calling. Brigid stormed out of the house, and I was very confused. Why didn't they think this was a good idea? Gran thought it was wonderful, so wonderful in fact, that I had decided that she loved Maureen best. I went downstairs and up to Grandpa and tried to give him a hug. He pushed me away, and told me we shouldn't have been listening in. I tried to tell him that we weren't, that we heard it by accident, but he told me to shut up, and I went outside with my barbie doll. Brigid was in the back yard, and I went up to talk to her. I told her that I'd been thinking about it, and I didn't ever want to be a nun. I wanted to marry Shawn Cassidy, my all time, all consuming crush, besides Joey in my class. She looked at me, and I expected her to sneer at me and make fun of me, but she smiled sadly at me and said that I had a much more realistic goal than Maureen did. She said that Maureen was much too young to make such a decision, and that she didn't think it was fair that Gran forced her into it. She said that Gran manipulated Maureen's desire to be accepted, and I had no idea what that meant, but I tried to defend Gran to her. She sighed, got up off the swing and said, "Karen, you are just too young to understand. Mom tried the same thing with me."
I was hurt by that, but muttered under my breath, "I still want to marry Shawn Cassidy... Either him or Joey. And I will." Brigid was the only one in the world besides Maureen that I told about Joey. He was in my class at school, and I'd liked him for two years, ever since the beginning of sixth grade. He never talked to me, and I heard him tell someone that he thought I was weird. But I loved him anyway, he was Italian, and really smart, and his birthday was in September. If I couldn't marry Shawn Cassidy, I surely wanted to marry Joey some day.
I started thinking about things a lot more. On our last retreat, the nuns said that becoming a nun was like marrying Jesus. Maureen would get to wear a white gown and a veil, just like a bride, after graduating from pre-postulancy to full fledged postulant. I found Gran and while looking at my Barbie's freshly braided hair, I asked her about it. "Gran, when Maureen becomes a nun, it will be like marrying Jesus, right?" She looked at me sharply and said, "Right." And I slowly twisted my Barbie dolls hair as I tried to say what had been bugging me for so long, and said, "Well, she will be 14 when she's allowed to join the Daughter's of St. Paul, right? So does that mean if she changed her mind and decided she wanted to marry just a regular boy, would you let her do it?"
Next thing I knew, I was on the floor, my face stinging from a slap. Gran stood over me and yelled at me at the top of her lungs, "HOW DARE YOU MAKE A MOCKERY OF MAUREEN'S VOCATION????? HOW DARE YOU BE SO DISRESPECTFUL??? YOU ARE A DIRTY MINDED LITTLE PIG!!!"
I started crying and she grabbed me by the arm and flung me in the direction of the stairs, telling me to go to my room and stay there to think about what I'd done. I couldn't think. I had no idea what I'd done, but I sure vowed never to speak of Maureen's vocation again. It seemed that Gran would never ever answer a question I had without getting murderously angry. Especially when it came to Maureen being a nun. I hated her, and I hated the Catholic church for taking my beloved sister away from me. Maureen was excited and happy to go. I saw this as a betrayal too. How could she want to be away from me?
That summer, we packed up everything we could, and moved to our little house in Lindley, New York. I would so miss my friends, and my heart broke over the thought that I'd never see Joey again. My seventh grade teacher had sat me next to him the last three months of school, and he really seemed to like me, at least he talked to me a lot. We'd tease each other, and giggle behind our books, and I thought that if I stayed in Staten Island, we'd surely get married some day. But now I'd live six hours away, in a tiny old house that smelled of mouse urine, and had ugly bathrooms. We'd be an hour away from school, and have to ride a bus. No more walking to school. No more friends. No more sister.
Later that summer, near the beginning of the new school year, Gran, Maureen and I took a trip to Boston, MA, to enroll Maureen in her new convent. Maureen was only 14 years old, and I was 13. I wanted to cry the entire time I was there, but didn't dare because I worried that Gran might slap me for it. Maureen was very nervous, but seemed happy about her decision. I promised to write to her every week and made her promise to write to me too.
On the way home, on the greyhound bus, I couldn't hold my sadness in any longer. I had a horrible, homesick feeling in my gut, and couldn't imagine what life would be like without my sister at home. I cried on the way home, for the entire six hours it took to get there. Gran left me alone, and I think she started to feel some sort of compassion for me, because when the bus stopped for one of it's breaks, she said, "Come on, Karen, lets find somewhere to eat!" I couldn't believe her tone. I looked miserably up at her, and she was actually smiling at me. I expected to get yelled at for crying so much. I wiped my face and followed her off the bus.
We went to a nearby diner, and she let me order whatever I wanted, and then said I could have soda! We chatted while we ate, and I thought, if she stays this nice, maybe it won't be so bad!
We finally made it home, and the boys were all jealous that I got to eat in a restaurant, and go with Gran to Boston. I stuck my tongue out at them, and told them that at least they got to stay up late with Gramps, and besides, that summer, they got to go to a Yankees game when I wanted to but couldn't. So we were even. Besides, they had no idea how horrible I was feeling, not having Maureen around anymore. They didn't even seem to care. They were just glad they'd get more attention for themselves, it seemed.
I went into Maureen's and my room, and looked around. This was just my room now. I'd have my own room for the first time in my life. It didn't make me happy, I would have given anything to have Maureen back there with me.
It seemed that Gran's goodwill stayed a bit longer... She started letting me stay up a little later, till 8:30. Sometimes she'd let me have tea with her and Grandpa. We started talking a bit more. She didn't seem so mean all the time. Her dream of having a daughter become a nun seemed to put her in a very good mood indeed. I started getting used to not having Maureen around to talk to, but started writing in my diary a lot more, and immersing myself in more and more books. The two boys that lived down the road from us would come over, and I spent the rest of my summer playing hard, climbing trees, swimming in the creek, exploring the property with Bobby and Scott, and just trying to forget how lonesome I felt without my sister. Anytime anyone would ask where she was, I'd tell them that she was in boarding school. Only my next door neighbor and best friend Jennifer knew where Maureen was, and judging by her reaction, I decided to just keep it to myself. No one could ever understand it. We were freaks. There was no use trying to hide it. Everyone knew it anyway, especially me.
The first day of school arrived, and for the first time in my life, I'd be riding a bus to school. I'd be going to Painted Post Middle School, for 8th grade. I was terrified, excited, and just wanted the first day over with. From taking classes all day in one room, to going to a school where I'd have to go to homeroom first, and switch out classes all day, this would be completely different from what I was used to. I was also secretly glad, now was my chance to make a good first impression and make some new friends. Gran laid out a dress for me to wear, said that a dress would be the appropriate first day attire. Having worn a catholic school uniform my entire life up till that point, I knew nothing of fashion whatsoever, always wearing what Gran gave me to wear.
We went down the long driveway to wait for the bus. It took forever to get there, and I worried that maybe we missed it. Finally a huge yellow bus came lumbering up the street and stopped in front of us. My brothers and I boarded the bus and the bus driver barked at us to take a seat. I looked around at all the unfamiliar and frankly, unfriendly faces and wondered if anyone would let me sit down. Lots of scowls led me to believe this would not be an easy task. I found an empty seat and sat down. Someone promptly popped trier head over and told me that the seat was saved for someone else. I scuttled out of the seat and into another empty one as the bus driver yelled at me to sit down. Someone else told me that the seat was saved, and lots of laughing ensued. I turned around and looked at the boy, and said, "my parents pay school taxes too, and I guess I'll sit wherever I please!"
From that moment on, I was known as "taxpayer". I looked around for Bobby and Scott, and they looked away from me, embarrassed. Someone yelled at me and asked if I were going to a children's tea party or did my mom just dress me funny. I became incredibly self conscious of the dress I was wearing, and someone tried to flip my skirt up. I eased back further in the seat and tried to disappear. I was barely aware of when Jennifer boarded the bus, I was trying so desperately to become invisible. When we got to the first elementary school, we had to switch buses to continue on to the middle school. Now mostly the older kids were on the bus, but they were the ones being the meanest. I didn't understand it at all. I missed my friends more than ever. I thought kids in the country were supposed to be nicer than city kids. I was learning quickly that this was not always the case.
When I got to the school I was overwhelmed by how big it was. I couldn't find my homeroom and walked in nearly five minutes late, to the snickers and stares of the other kids. I noticed most of the kids were wearing jeans and trendy tops, and I felt even more silly in my little girl dress. I was smaller than everyone else, and at one point someone asked me if I got lost on the way to third grade. I heard people whispering behind me, "She's so SMALL!! Look at the way she's DRESSED! Where do you think she's from?? She's weird!"
So set the tone for my middle school experience.
As it got cold, Gran did not let me change my clothes and I had to wear the same thing over and over again to the obvious delight and disgust of my classmates. One girl came over to my desk and asked if I were poor. I said no, why? She said, "because you always wear the same thing over and over every day." I didn't know what to say to that, and I asked Gran if I could change into a different sweater the next day as mine was starting to look pretty ratty. She said no. After a while, I just kept mostly to myself.
Four months after Maureen had gone to the convent, Gran announced that she'd be coming home. I got very, very excited, and asked why? I actually didn't care why, I was so glad she'd be coming home. Gran told me to mind my own business, and that things just didn't work out. I couldn't help myself and kept asking, "Did she miss me? Was she too homesick? Didn't she have a vocation after all?" Gran finally snapped at me to go clean that filthy pigsty of a room, and make sure it was completely clean before Maureen came home. I didn't care that Gran yelled at me. I was so glad my beloved sister would be home. I'd ask her why when she got here. I couldn't WAIT to see her again!!! I danced happily into my room to clean it, and stopped short in dismay. It really was a filthy pigsty. In my grief, I had piled stuff high onto Maureen's bed. Sometimes at night I'd look over at her bed, and it looked as though Maureen were laying next to me, on her bed.
How would I possibly EVER get it clean before Maureen got home? I started off by clearing off her bed. How did I get so much stuff? Where did it all come from? I didn't think I even HAD that much junk. Most of it was clothing, mine and Maureen's. Some board games. A few piles of discarded, ignored homework papers. Books. It took forever to shovel through all of that stuff and unearth her bed.
Three days later, Gran came home with Maureen. She was quiet and withdrawn. I tried to talk to her, but Gran yelled at me to leave her alone. She wouldn't let us be alone together. I was really surprised to see her like that. I thought she'd be as happy to see me as I was to see her. I tried to get her to walk down to the creek with me, but she didn't want to. I was crushed.
She just kept saying that she wasn't cut out for a life devoted to God, and that she wasn't good enough. My sister was the most pious, best person I knew. I didn't understand it. She got to stay home until Gran got her registered at West High, and Then she rode the bus with me and our brothers. Finally I had a seat mate! We were inseparable on that bus. Then she rode a different one to high school. I was so glad to have her back. I had missed her so much. Gran was back to her nasty self, and life was normal again. Maureen was once again my sister and best friend. She took a while to get back to her old self, but she did, eventually.
I was growing tired, however, of all the endless prayers, rosaries and novenas they did. My eyes would glaze over with boredom, and I'd daydream the long hours away till it was over. I'd never in my life seen anyone pray so much, ever. I often wondered... If these nuns have so little to do with the outside world, what on earth did they have to pray so much about? And confession was just as earnestly practiced; but why? Didn't they realize that if you never went out, never had any opportunity to sin, that there'd be nothing to confess? They did paint a very alluring picture, though, and for two very young girls who had a horrible home life. It was all too easy to wish we were somewhere else, anywhere else.
I loved my sister so much; she was my rock, my hero, my savior. I couldn't even bear the thought that she'd go away forever and leave me at the mercy of Gran.
I couldn't imagine committing the rest of my life to being a nun... Never ever falling in love, getting married, having kids. It was just too foreign to me, and it seemed as though it would be an unjust God that would decide who served him and who didn't. I talked to Gran's daughter, Brigid about it. She was horrified at the thought of Maureen entering a convent at such a young age. I tried to defend her decision, and she turned and lashed out, "She didn't make the decision, MOM made it for her!!! She tried to get me to become a nun, too!" Later on, as Maureen and I were upstairs in our room, we heard Brigid yelling at Grandpa. We couldn't believe our ears. They were fighting! We crept to the banister of the stairs and listened to Bridget yell at Gramps. Telling him that they were brainwashing Maureen. Listening to Grandpa feebly try to convince her that Maureen did, in fact, have a calling. Brigid stormed out of the house, and I was very confused. Why didn't they think this was a good idea? Gran thought it was wonderful, so wonderful in fact, that I had decided that she loved Maureen best. I went downstairs and up to Grandpa and tried to give him a hug. He pushed me away, and told me we shouldn't have been listening in. I tried to tell him that we weren't, that we heard it by accident, but he told me to shut up, and I went outside with my barbie doll. Brigid was in the back yard, and I went up to talk to her. I told her that I'd been thinking about it, and I didn't ever want to be a nun. I wanted to marry Shawn Cassidy, my all time, all consuming crush, besides Joey in my class. She looked at me, and I expected her to sneer at me and make fun of me, but she smiled sadly at me and said that I had a much more realistic goal than Maureen did. She said that Maureen was much too young to make such a decision, and that she didn't think it was fair that Gran forced her into it. She said that Gran manipulated Maureen's desire to be accepted, and I had no idea what that meant, but I tried to defend Gran to her. She sighed, got up off the swing and said, "Karen, you are just too young to understand. Mom tried the same thing with me."
I was hurt by that, but muttered under my breath, "I still want to marry Shawn Cassidy... Either him or Joey. And I will." Brigid was the only one in the world besides Maureen that I told about Joey. He was in my class at school, and I'd liked him for two years, ever since the beginning of sixth grade. He never talked to me, and I heard him tell someone that he thought I was weird. But I loved him anyway, he was Italian, and really smart, and his birthday was in September. If I couldn't marry Shawn Cassidy, I surely wanted to marry Joey some day.
I started thinking about things a lot more. On our last retreat, the nuns said that becoming a nun was like marrying Jesus. Maureen would get to wear a white gown and a veil, just like a bride, after graduating from pre-postulancy to full fledged postulant. I found Gran and while looking at my Barbie's freshly braided hair, I asked her about it. "Gran, when Maureen becomes a nun, it will be like marrying Jesus, right?" She looked at me sharply and said, "Right." And I slowly twisted my Barbie dolls hair as I tried to say what had been bugging me for so long, and said, "Well, she will be 14 when she's allowed to join the Daughter's of St. Paul, right? So does that mean if she changed her mind and decided she wanted to marry just a regular boy, would you let her do it?"
Next thing I knew, I was on the floor, my face stinging from a slap. Gran stood over me and yelled at me at the top of her lungs, "HOW DARE YOU MAKE A MOCKERY OF MAUREEN'S VOCATION????? HOW DARE YOU BE SO DISRESPECTFUL??? YOU ARE A DIRTY MINDED LITTLE PIG!!!"
I started crying and she grabbed me by the arm and flung me in the direction of the stairs, telling me to go to my room and stay there to think about what I'd done. I couldn't think. I had no idea what I'd done, but I sure vowed never to speak of Maureen's vocation again. It seemed that Gran would never ever answer a question I had without getting murderously angry. Especially when it came to Maureen being a nun. I hated her, and I hated the Catholic church for taking my beloved sister away from me. Maureen was excited and happy to go. I saw this as a betrayal too. How could she want to be away from me?
That summer, we packed up everything we could, and moved to our little house in Lindley, New York. I would so miss my friends, and my heart broke over the thought that I'd never see Joey again. My seventh grade teacher had sat me next to him the last three months of school, and he really seemed to like me, at least he talked to me a lot. We'd tease each other, and giggle behind our books, and I thought that if I stayed in Staten Island, we'd surely get married some day. But now I'd live six hours away, in a tiny old house that smelled of mouse urine, and had ugly bathrooms. We'd be an hour away from school, and have to ride a bus. No more walking to school. No more friends. No more sister.
Later that summer, near the beginning of the new school year, Gran, Maureen and I took a trip to Boston, MA, to enroll Maureen in her new convent. Maureen was only 14 years old, and I was 13. I wanted to cry the entire time I was there, but didn't dare because I worried that Gran might slap me for it. Maureen was very nervous, but seemed happy about her decision. I promised to write to her every week and made her promise to write to me too.
On the way home, on the greyhound bus, I couldn't hold my sadness in any longer. I had a horrible, homesick feeling in my gut, and couldn't imagine what life would be like without my sister at home. I cried on the way home, for the entire six hours it took to get there. Gran left me alone, and I think she started to feel some sort of compassion for me, because when the bus stopped for one of it's breaks, she said, "Come on, Karen, lets find somewhere to eat!" I couldn't believe her tone. I looked miserably up at her, and she was actually smiling at me. I expected to get yelled at for crying so much. I wiped my face and followed her off the bus.
We went to a nearby diner, and she let me order whatever I wanted, and then said I could have soda! We chatted while we ate, and I thought, if she stays this nice, maybe it won't be so bad!
We finally made it home, and the boys were all jealous that I got to eat in a restaurant, and go with Gran to Boston. I stuck my tongue out at them, and told them that at least they got to stay up late with Gramps, and besides, that summer, they got to go to a Yankees game when I wanted to but couldn't. So we were even. Besides, they had no idea how horrible I was feeling, not having Maureen around anymore. They didn't even seem to care. They were just glad they'd get more attention for themselves, it seemed.
I went into Maureen's and my room, and looked around. This was just my room now. I'd have my own room for the first time in my life. It didn't make me happy, I would have given anything to have Maureen back there with me.
It seemed that Gran's goodwill stayed a bit longer... She started letting me stay up a little later, till 8:30. Sometimes she'd let me have tea with her and Grandpa. We started talking a bit more. She didn't seem so mean all the time. Her dream of having a daughter become a nun seemed to put her in a very good mood indeed. I started getting used to not having Maureen around to talk to, but started writing in my diary a lot more, and immersing myself in more and more books. The two boys that lived down the road from us would come over, and I spent the rest of my summer playing hard, climbing trees, swimming in the creek, exploring the property with Bobby and Scott, and just trying to forget how lonesome I felt without my sister. Anytime anyone would ask where she was, I'd tell them that she was in boarding school. Only my next door neighbor and best friend Jennifer knew where Maureen was, and judging by her reaction, I decided to just keep it to myself. No one could ever understand it. We were freaks. There was no use trying to hide it. Everyone knew it anyway, especially me.
The first day of school arrived, and for the first time in my life, I'd be riding a bus to school. I'd be going to Painted Post Middle School, for 8th grade. I was terrified, excited, and just wanted the first day over with. From taking classes all day in one room, to going to a school where I'd have to go to homeroom first, and switch out classes all day, this would be completely different from what I was used to. I was also secretly glad, now was my chance to make a good first impression and make some new friends. Gran laid out a dress for me to wear, said that a dress would be the appropriate first day attire. Having worn a catholic school uniform my entire life up till that point, I knew nothing of fashion whatsoever, always wearing what Gran gave me to wear.
We went down the long driveway to wait for the bus. It took forever to get there, and I worried that maybe we missed it. Finally a huge yellow bus came lumbering up the street and stopped in front of us. My brothers and I boarded the bus and the bus driver barked at us to take a seat. I looked around at all the unfamiliar and frankly, unfriendly faces and wondered if anyone would let me sit down. Lots of scowls led me to believe this would not be an easy task. I found an empty seat and sat down. Someone promptly popped trier head over and told me that the seat was saved for someone else. I scuttled out of the seat and into another empty one as the bus driver yelled at me to sit down. Someone else told me that the seat was saved, and lots of laughing ensued. I turned around and looked at the boy, and said, "my parents pay school taxes too, and I guess I'll sit wherever I please!"
From that moment on, I was known as "taxpayer". I looked around for Bobby and Scott, and they looked away from me, embarrassed. Someone yelled at me and asked if I were going to a children's tea party or did my mom just dress me funny. I became incredibly self conscious of the dress I was wearing, and someone tried to flip my skirt up. I eased back further in the seat and tried to disappear. I was barely aware of when Jennifer boarded the bus, I was trying so desperately to become invisible. When we got to the first elementary school, we had to switch buses to continue on to the middle school. Now mostly the older kids were on the bus, but they were the ones being the meanest. I didn't understand it at all. I missed my friends more than ever. I thought kids in the country were supposed to be nicer than city kids. I was learning quickly that this was not always the case.
When I got to the school I was overwhelmed by how big it was. I couldn't find my homeroom and walked in nearly five minutes late, to the snickers and stares of the other kids. I noticed most of the kids were wearing jeans and trendy tops, and I felt even more silly in my little girl dress. I was smaller than everyone else, and at one point someone asked me if I got lost on the way to third grade. I heard people whispering behind me, "She's so SMALL!! Look at the way she's DRESSED! Where do you think she's from?? She's weird!"
So set the tone for my middle school experience.
As it got cold, Gran did not let me change my clothes and I had to wear the same thing over and over again to the obvious delight and disgust of my classmates. One girl came over to my desk and asked if I were poor. I said no, why? She said, "because you always wear the same thing over and over every day." I didn't know what to say to that, and I asked Gran if I could change into a different sweater the next day as mine was starting to look pretty ratty. She said no. After a while, I just kept mostly to myself.
Four months after Maureen had gone to the convent, Gran announced that she'd be coming home. I got very, very excited, and asked why? I actually didn't care why, I was so glad she'd be coming home. Gran told me to mind my own business, and that things just didn't work out. I couldn't help myself and kept asking, "Did she miss me? Was she too homesick? Didn't she have a vocation after all?" Gran finally snapped at me to go clean that filthy pigsty of a room, and make sure it was completely clean before Maureen came home. I didn't care that Gran yelled at me. I was so glad my beloved sister would be home. I'd ask her why when she got here. I couldn't WAIT to see her again!!! I danced happily into my room to clean it, and stopped short in dismay. It really was a filthy pigsty. In my grief, I had piled stuff high onto Maureen's bed. Sometimes at night I'd look over at her bed, and it looked as though Maureen were laying next to me, on her bed.
How would I possibly EVER get it clean before Maureen got home? I started off by clearing off her bed. How did I get so much stuff? Where did it all come from? I didn't think I even HAD that much junk. Most of it was clothing, mine and Maureen's. Some board games. A few piles of discarded, ignored homework papers. Books. It took forever to shovel through all of that stuff and unearth her bed.
Three days later, Gran came home with Maureen. She was quiet and withdrawn. I tried to talk to her, but Gran yelled at me to leave her alone. She wouldn't let us be alone together. I was really surprised to see her like that. I thought she'd be as happy to see me as I was to see her. I tried to get her to walk down to the creek with me, but she didn't want to. I was crushed.
She just kept saying that she wasn't cut out for a life devoted to God, and that she wasn't good enough. My sister was the most pious, best person I knew. I didn't understand it. She got to stay home until Gran got her registered at West High, and Then she rode the bus with me and our brothers. Finally I had a seat mate! We were inseparable on that bus. Then she rode a different one to high school. I was so glad to have her back. I had missed her so much. Gran was back to her nasty self, and life was normal again. Maureen was once again my sister and best friend. She took a while to get back to her old self, but she did, eventually.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
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 uniform 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 loudly 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.
Before the school year started, we went on our yearly trip to Buster Brown, to get new uniform 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 loudly 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.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
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 Darek 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.
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.
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