~ Black Sheep #5 ~

My father and brother were the most significant humans, in my childhood up through my mid 20’s and the spirodically w/my brother thereafter. So, figure my father was the disciplinarian, breadwinner, and I have a very, very fuzzy memory about him doing that bubble thing on my belly when I was probably a baby. If it was him at all. You know, b.b.b.b.b.b.b bbrrrpppy’s on your tummy when you’re itty bitty? Yes, that. :) My mother was some kind of influence, not particularly a good one.

After my mother died, all that crap started with my sister with her coming back, there was crap before as well though. My brother soon left the house thereafter, they both ran away constantly in their teen years and finally stayed out permanently. My dad was depressed for a long time after my mother died, that is a lot of grey area. I remember, he was sitting in his chair one time, he burst into tears over her passing. My brother and sister were out of the house “again” never to return and I was very, very angry at him, almost contempt I think. I guess, if I had to speculate, “What about me”. I did and said nothing, I do remember looking at him with indifference, if that’s possible. I remember, I had to get my hair cut after she passed. It was 1/2 way down my back, my father had no clue how to take care of it so they cut it up to my shoulders. It was this little shop, up on Prospect Street (wow… now THAT is an old memory) the women in there were ll sympathetic, cut it up to my shoulders so I could take care of it. Worked for me, I had a normal haircut now. Prior I had banana curls WAY past their prime. In eighth grade, I got the Dorothy Hamil haircut. :)

She used to put me in all kinds of things. Pageants, singing groups, made me play the clarinet and saxaphone. I hated those, I wasn’t very good and I really wanted to play the violin. Some years later my father bought an organ, it had two keyboards, foot pedals, and these cool flippy switch thingy’s that made various cool beats. :) O.O Sooo cool. Oh wow, look at that, my living room. You see? All the memories of your lives are neatly stored in a folder in your mind. These things can be pleasant too, not like some would have you believe that everything was horrible and that’s your focus. The bad is neatly tucked away in there, waiting gleefully to spring out as triggers in your behavior, as you get older and you have no recollection “why”, course you have to contend with what they do in life “now” and then how to reframe such things, if they’re causing you duress, some will, some won’t. It still happens to me from time to time. I still find it fascinating. Just like the fuzzy picture of the organ in the living room, my dad playing it and those flippy things which made the beats. We got a different one after that, no more flippy things, just buttons. :) I played the organ as well, I was pretty good at it, except I never cauhgt on as to how to ‘read” music. I could hear it and play it, but not read it.

I was in chorus for as long as I can remember, 1st grade through high school, as well as a group that sang in Carnegie Hall. I was totally famous for a minute and I remember the dressing/waiting room the black skirt, white shirt, the blaring lights in my eyes and those neat humans to my front left, who were playing the bells during a song we’d sung. Over the years everyone wanted me to do solo’s. I always declined. So, she put me in parades, I was little bo peep at one, on my tricycle… pageants, I remember seeing this little girl at one of them, she looked like a porcelain doll, I knew she’d win. She did. That time, I cried. See… when you’re a child and you’re entered in these fucking things, it affects you. I think I was just sad, not to hear my name. I burst into tears. I don’t know that I think parents should be those cunt pageant humans I’ve seen. They’re not doing it for the child, they’re doing it for themselves. My saving grace was after that, we didn’t do them anymore.

Baton twirling, tried out for that, wasn’t very coordinated. :) I sooo tried though. Still small age wise. She died October, 1978 I’d just turned 12. I wasn’t sad to see her go really. All I knew was everyone started to cry when they got the call and I cried too. I remember this huge sad in my chest, or ball of emotions, but I didn’t know what they were. I remember playing, yes, playing at the funeral parlor with some kid. I remember looking back at the casket she was in, I remember touching her hand because I was curious. It was cold, like a chicken before you cook it. eeuuwww. O.O Then we left, went to the restaurant for that death afterparty (eeuuwww) there were these slabs of cheese on the table in little dishes. I didn’t go to restaurants very often, so I thought, “oooh cheese!” And, because you didn’t want to get into trouble, when no one was looking, I popped one in my mouth.

Well, that was a slab of butter. Can you imagine, trying to eat this WAD of butter, which has now grown to the size of mount everest in your mouth, w/o someone noticing? lolol Holy shit that was gross. One thing I did know, was after she died I got to fit in. No more banana curls, no more goofy dresses, no more stupid white sox with the lace on them, no more curlers when I went to sleep. I could dress myself now, I could chose what I liked to wear. More importantly, due to the time she was slapping my brother’s face, repeatedly when I was 6/7 and there was “nothing” he could do about it, I’d decided that when I was bigger (their size) they weren’t doing that to me. I am absolutely positive, that at some point and time, she would have tried that disciplinarian slap the fuck out of your kid shit with me and I would have put her through a wall. No, really. I decided, looking up at her, slapping him, him restraining himself, cuz dad would hurt him much more later if he did, “You’re not doing that to ME when I’m big”.

I remember being manipulative when I was small. I do, really. Two significant instances exist as a memory. @ Uncle Charlies I liked this porcelain horse, so I played with it constantly in the hopes Aunt Tessie would notice… why? Soooo I could hazz it. I kept putting it down, going back, picking it up… they were saying their good byes at the door, she notices me, says you really like that huh… Me: Yeeeaaa (wittle 6 year old or so that I was) and!! She said I could HAZZ IT … O.O Another time I remember was, my mother dressed us all funny. At minimum, her way vs. what was cooler at school. So, I dressed myself one morning and went down stairs, she was livid. You were to stay in bed, until she came and got you, picked out your clothes, blah, blah, blah. She was like, “why are you up and dressed!” Me: I was halping you Mommy, I dressed myself”… That right there is pure brilliance. I didn’t get my ass beat, that was the goal. :) To have some kind of control or choice over “anything” under the guise of being “helpful”… yeah, that works.

After she died, within that first week, she came back to me in a dream. Thus my experiences with dreams which have prevailed throughout my life which have meaning. We were in an airport, at a gateway (I’d never been in one, but it fit I guess) she looked about 16 I guess, but I knew it was her. I looked up at her, dressed in the frou frou dress and banana curls she always had me in and she says, “I have to go now”… me: just looking at her Her: I really do love you.

I turned and looked down the hallway of the airport, turned back and she was gone. Years later, many years later, I found a photograph of her around that age. She was wearing the same dress in my dream, had the same short haircut and she was about 16. No, I had never seen this picture before in my entire life. No, no… I had not. The dream was resurrected when I saw the picture and then it all made sense. Now, her mother, my grandmother was one of the coldest, unfeeling humans I’ve ever know. So, you see… your family, the shit they do, all trickles down and hopefully, one generation does better than the next. It does not always happen and/or work out that way. Some carry the same patterns w/o thinking because it’s what they know. I’m not condoning bad behavior either, it’s a simple truth. No more, no less.

Doesn’t do the child very good in some cases. I make no excuses for people who have a child and do bad things. I understand it, however that’s not cool. So what happens of course, is one ends up with another generation of humans doing more stupid shit, less stupid shit and for a variety of reasons they’ve never even thought about consciously. Well, that’s it for now. :) Later and be good to each other.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Personal growth. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to ~ Black Sheep #5 ~

  1. Gray Dawster says:

    Families are a big learning curve Susie,
    we cannot always understand them, or
    even like them at times but then I guess
    we are stuck with them… That’s how it is
    but at least we can be ourselves :)

    Have a wonderful start to your week my
    sweet and dear friend and keep on with
    your G+ing :) ;) I’ve been calling in again

    Andro xxxx

    • Mystery says:

      :) Fortunately for me, my fine friend, I don’t have to worry about them at all. I don’t see them and I’m okay with that. Friends are the family we chose, I’m okay with that too.

      I want to get into that whole family thing more deeply as well, not mine, more what I’ve been seeing and realizing more and more lately. It’s very interesting. lolol You know me, always inquisitive as hell.

      You have a lovely week yourself Andro, I saw you! Ohaaaiii!!! lol xxx

Comments are closed.