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. 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. I was absolutely amazed by Sean.

I went to a couple of his band practices whenever I was allowed, 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. I'm sure all of Gran's kids had some feelings of resentment since they had to share their parents constantly. Five little troubled kids can suck every last bit of attention up for themselves.

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 big brother 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 and his sisters were there to show us the only affection we ever knew from that point on. He was taken too young, and lived a difficult life at times, 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, two hours from Staten Island.

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 14 or 15. 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 Brigid 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. Brigid was an amazing artist, 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 often 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. We figured he just didn't like little kids.

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 48. )

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. Only I wasn't sure what sins were. That always confused me.

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'M GONNA MALAFOOSTER YOU!!" I was suddenly terrified, and knew that she would really spank me hard. When Gran used the word 'malafooster', you knew you were in for it. I did not realize what I had done wrong, but I was 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 in Staten Island 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 didn't pull up all the way. I was uncomfortable. 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. From that day, I didn't have a sense that I'd seen my parents recently. 

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 afraid 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 foster home. They told us it was temporary. We were told that our parents would come get us as soon as they were able. 

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.

We must have fallen asleep, because there was some commotion downstairs. We crept out of the room, to the top of the stairs and saw a man come through the door, with Tuffy leaping around and wagging his tail. This was Grandpa. We eventually called them Gran and Gramps. Our parents did not come and get us at all that year. We saw them from time to time, definitely not often enough. Never together.