My Story, II

Communicating feelings wasn't done often in our household. Uncomfortable conversations were brief and then swept aside, forgotten. Conversation at the dinner table was more like a recitation of facts than anything else. We may have gotten a low grade on a test and mentioned it, but there wasn't a discussion about why, or how we felt about it. It was a given that we needed to study harder.  Every now and then, us kids would begin to laugh at something, sometimes to the point of uncontrolled giggles.  I guess it wasn’t funny to my mom, because she would admonish us, which sent us into more giggles. It didn’t take long for us to be excused from the table and sent to our rooms.  I still don’t know why laughing wasn’t allowed, or maybe she wanted to control the laughter because she wasn’t included.

Fourth grade was my most difficult year.  I didn't like my teacher, and I was certain she didn't like me. In all probability I wasn't being singled out; it was most likely the teacher’s own outside influences in her own life and/or maybe teaching lost its luster for her.  I couldn't wait for the year to be over!  But my parents’ attitude was just suck it up and behave.  Between my issues with my teacher, and whatever was going on at home, this was probably key to my own parental issues. I had a vague expectation of support in dealing with a difficult teacher and instead it was more of the be quiet, do your work, don't raise a ruckus from my parents.

Fifth grade was much better, my teacher, Mrs. Whiting, had a love for teaching, and did everything she could to teach us, push us even further than we imagined we could go. I excelled at reading, which made most subjects easy for me.  At a parent-teacher conference, she recommended I skip a grade and move into seventh grade the following year.  Mom was adamant, and said no.  She didn't give any reasons.  Looking back, I can't help wonder if she was feeling inadequate because I was doing better in school than she had??  

Junior high was three years of trying to fit in. Because I was shy, I didn't speak up much, so I wasn't part of the kids who studied. Which left me being more of a field rat. That was the term for the kids who hung out on the lawns during lunch. Yes, we were the not quite good, or not quite fit in, kids.  By Jr high, I was more conscious about differences in other families, differences within our own family, and began questioning things in my mind.  But with nowhere to turn for advice, it all stayed in my head.  And expressed itself in not so model behavior.  Teachers ruled the school, and I didn’t break any rules, I studied hard, but I could feel myself ready for something different to change my reality.

To me all this seemed so normal, and yet there were undercurrents I didn't understand as a kid. I just did as I was told, because that's what I was taught to do without questioning why. They were the parents and they knew how to raise kids, right?  And being a kid, I thought every other household was the same!  

My Story

My mother was a force to be reckoned with. All my growing up years were spent quietly watching and wondering about life. I spent a lot of years reading books and enjoyed going to school.  It’s only in my later years that I recognized things for what they truly are.  Things Mom did for the family was also all about her, and her need to control things.  Growing up, I didn't consider her own growing up years. But lately, I have come to the conclusion that there was some childhood trauma she never dealt with.  Which was probably the cause of her inability to express or deal with emotions in a healthy manner, and why she has to be in control.

Looking back, I can see how she controlled family and things around her. Her compulsion to keep things clean enough for the Queen to visit. How her home and by extension her children were to look to neighbors and friends.  There was an emphasis on impressing people. While I was living it, I couldn't put it in any context, it was how I assumed everyone lived. But what did I know, I was a kid.  There were always projects going on; her way of getting things done was to say “I think it would be nice if ….” And expecting people around her to read her mind, to know that she wasn’t sharing a thought, she was dictating an order.  Again, I thought it was normal, I was just a kid.  I can see it now through adult eyes because just recently she told me “That closet door stays closed if you lift on the handle.” What she was really telling me was “get up and close that closet door” but I no longer respond to those.  If she asks “will you close the closet door?” I will.

She liked sewing clothes, and sewed for all of us. But she also decided what we would wear going out. For a long time, back in my 20s and 30s, I thought it was amusing that she sewed and dressed us all to match.  There’s a photo taken of our family, we are all wearing the ugliest brown plaid, dad in a shirt, mom and us girls in dresses.  The Golden Gate Bridge is in the background.  Despite the ugly clothing, it’s a fav photo (its because of the bridge!) Matching dresses for Mother’s Day. Red, White and Blue striped tops. She wanted us all to look cute.  We dressed up on Sundays, to visit relatives, and whatever excuse she had.  I was in 7th grade before I was allowed to wear pants to school, and that was only on Fridays!  As I look back, it sits differently now. 

I never minded pitching in and doing chores. And that served me well in my own adult life. But as the eldest, I had the most chores. I can't remember what my siblings' chores were while I was out mowing the yard when I was 10.  Saturday mornings were spent doing chores. Sunday mornings were spent at church. Sunday afternoons were spent in our rooms reading or doing something equally as quiet.  After dinner, if our homework was done, we were allowed to play with neighbor kids until the streetlights came on. It was the 70s, and we all felt pretty safe.  This was how life went, until I hit my teens. 

........ And that's how my story starts. It's a work in progress, I hope I can continue it!

Dreary Days

Thunderstorms here in the Valley of the Sun can be exciting and memorable.  But when you live here where the sun shines most of the time, the dreary can make you feel as if you need a nap!! 

"I am"... I said to no one there

And no one heard at all not even the chair

Neil Diamond sang it well, captured that feeling.  Sometimes we're on our own and feel as if no one is listening. 

But He's always listening.  Thanks, God.