A LETTER TO NEAL

 Hi, Neal - It's Morrene.  Since I have not heard back from you, I am going to make the assumption that you have talked to my mother, Helen. 

To give you a little bit of background, Helen and I stopped talking in approximately November of 2016 when I finally started to acknowledge the years of sexual abuse that I suffered as a child at her hands and the various men that she brought into our lives.  When I tried to talk to her about the first incident of abuse that I remembered, first she feigned ignorance, then she refused to discuss it.

As a healthy parent, if your child brought up allegations of sexual abuse against you, and you knew you weren't guilty, wouldn't you ask what happened?  Where is this coming from??  I don't understand.

Not Helen.  Not once did she reach out to ask me what happened.  She simply stopped talking to me.  She knows she is guilty.

Growing up with Helen as a mother was not easy.  Throughout most of my childhood, I was verbally, physically and sexually abused by my mother and the various men she brought into our lives.  While I always remembered the physical and verbal abuse, I had buried the sexual abuse in the back recesses of my mind.  Unfortunately, I suffered frequent flashbacks over the years, and the memories couldn't be buried completely.

There were six men in my life by the time I was nine.  My mother made some very poor choices in the men she got involved with.  We moved several times while I was growing up, state to state, city to city.  By the time I was in twelfth grade, I had attended eight different schools (almost nine). 

Constant turmoil, constant upheaval, constant commotion.  That was life with Helen.  She thrived on drama.

When I was nine, my mother married her fourth husband, a truck driver named Emil, whom she had known for less than two weeks.  Emil was a pedophile, as was her third husband.  Emil was definitely was one of the worst men she brought into our lives. 

After my mom and Emil got married, we moved back to Wisconsin from California, and that's when the serious gaps in my memory started due to the horrific abuse.  I believe my brother, Jon, has better recall of the past, but I don't believe he has faced it as of yet.  We haven't talked in years, unfortunately.

In 1975, when I was ten, and my brother was eleven, we spent our summer vacation traveling over the road in semis during the week while my mom worked.  My mom said the babysitter had cancelled at the last minute, and she had no choice.  I rode with her friend Elaine while Jon rode with Emil.

It wasn't until I was 52 years old that I started to remember that summer and the disturbing things that happened in that semi.  I had completely blocked it.  It was that horrific.  Although I have always had flashbacks of traveling in a semi with Elaine, I couldn't give a name to what happened.  I am still trying to wrap my head around the memories.

These were and are some very sick people that raised me (some have passed on).  It's shocking.

When I was 15 years old, I tried to commit suicide after Emil raped me.  Later that year I ran away from home.  I just couldn't take the abuse any more. 

While I always remembered the physical and verbal abuse, I had forgiven my mother.  (Again, I had not acknowledged the sexual abuse at that time).

I wanted a mother.  I needed a mother.  I desperately craved the love and support that a healthy mother should give to her child.  Unfortunately, Helen was not capable of being the kind of mother that I needed, or any child, for that matter.  But in my desperation for her love, I closed my eyes to the abuse.  I forgave, minimized and repressed her cruel words and actions over the years, something I continued long into adulthood.

While the memories of the sexual abuse were always in the back of my mind, each time I suffered a flashback, I kicked it out.  They were disgusting and repulsive.  I had no idea where these images were coming from and why they would flash in my head at various times.  They just didn't make any sense to me.  I knew Helen was not a good mother, but I refused to give credence to the many flashbacks that I suffered over the years. 

As the years passed, the flashbacks started pounding me with increasing frequency.  And each time they came in, kicked them out.

In November of 2016, I was at my lowest point, financially, personally and professionally.  My marriage had ended, we had just moved to a new house, my finances were in disarray, and I was no longer able to work as a court reporter, my profession for the past 30 years, due to the high level of on-the-job stress. 

My strength was at its lowest, and I no longer had the energy to kick the disturbing memories out of my head.  I had lost the battle, and it was time to face the past.   

When I finally started to confront the sexual abuse in my childhood, I was  filled with grief, shock and horror.  Again, I knew my childhood was dysfunctional, but accepting the fact that it was that bad was very, very hard for me to process. 

In January of 2017, more of the sexual abuse came to the surface of my memory, and I sought counseling.  At that time I was diagnosed with severe PTSD, something that I had been suffering for years, unbeknownst to me. 

For most of my life I also suffered from depression, insomnia, anxiety and panic attacks.  Those were some very tough years.

I am still missing large blocks of my childhood that have been deleted due to the abuse, but slowly the memories are coming back to me.  Recovering those lost years will be something I will be dealing with for the rest of my life.  

Somehow I was able to overcome the adversities of my childhood, go to college and become a productive citizen.  I believe I have some very powerful angels that have guided me throughout my life, and for that I am grateful.

But most importantly, the cycle of abuse stopped with me.  I have always worked hard to become the mother to my children that I never had.  I have no idea if you are a parent; but if you are, I would hope that you feel the fierce love and protection that a healthy parent should have for their children.  My children are my world, and I would do anything for them.

It wasn't until I started dealing with my past that I started to heal.  I have an amazing counselor and a couple of very close friends that give me love, guidance and support when I need it.  I would be lost without them.  I no longer suffer from depression, anxiety or panic attacks.

I have always been a loving and kindhearted person, and hurting somebody, especially your own children, is and was beyond my comprehension.  It will take me the rest of my life to accept what has happened to me.  I still shake my head in disbelief and wonder how I am still here.

I am starting to work with adult victims of abuse to help them come to terms with their past and learn how to lead a productive and peaceful life.  It is possible.  I am living proof of that. 

While my heart goes out to Helen for what she must have endured as a child to become the person she is, my compassion for her ends there because she did not stop the cycle of abuse.  There is no excuse for passing that sickness on to me and my brother. 

My brother is also a survivor, but I am not sure if he is dealing with the past as of yet.  I suffered years of physical and verbal abuse from him which went way beyond sibling rivalry.  I was absolutely terrified of him by the time we entered our teenage years.  I believe my brother's anger at me was the only way he could deal with his pain.  He was as powerless as I was to stop the abuse.

Unfortunately, I have not talked to my brother in years, although I have tried reaching out to him at various times to re-establish a relationship.  I hope he knows that I will always be there for him if and when he decides to confront the past.  It's not easy, but, again, he is a survivor, too, and survivors are very strong people.  Every day I pray that he reaches out to me, and we can unite and heal together.  He was as much of a victim as I was.

Lastly, Neal, please remember there are two sides to every story.   If you have talked to Helen, I am sure you have gotten an earful.  When you have time, if you could please read my blog, I would appreciate it.  Www.heartofsolace.com.  I have not posted everything that I have written, because some of it is very disturbing, and I am still trying to process it.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Morrene Hauser

FRED, THE THIRD HUSBAND, PART 3

One weekend Fred and his father were hired to work a large carnival, and Mom had to go along to help.  

Early Saturday morning Mom, Fred, Brother and I left our house and piled in to Fred's truck.  Our first stop was to the stables to load the ponies and mules in to horse trailers and then on to Long Beach to pick up the rest of the equipment and the workers.  Then off we went to the carnival. 

After the popcorn and candy machines had been set up, the animals harnessed to the wagons and ready to go, Mom wearily crawled in to Fred's truck to take a nap.  Her chronic insomnia had not improved very much, and she was often exhausted and tried to sleep whenever she could.

Brother and I were left to wander around the carnival alone as usual.    

As I walked around the carnival, I slowly weaved my way through the amusement rides, the ferris wheel, the merry-go-round, the Tilt-A-Whirl and the roller coaster.  I stopped often to watch the kids on the rides screaming with laughter.  I stood there silently wishing I had money to buy a ticket so I could join them. 

Soon the intoxicating aroma of fried food, hamburgers, hot dogs, popcorn and corn dogs coming from the food trucks caught my attention, and my growling stomach painfully reminded me that I hadn't eaten breakfast that morning in Mom and Fred's haste to leave the house. 

Suddenly I spotted a table laden with cupcakes, brownies, cookies and other baked goods.  I absolutely loved sweets, and my mouth watered at the thought of sinking my teeth into one of those yummy treats.

As I stood there staring at the food, the lady behind the table asked me if I would like to buy something.  Everything cost 15 cents.

"Let me go ask my Mom for some money," I said.

Slowly I walked back to the truck where Mom was sleeping trying to figure out a way to ask for money without getting yelled at.  I knew she would be very angry if I woke her from her nap, but I was getting light headed from hunger and decided to take a chance. 

When I got to the truck, I carefully opened the door.  Mom was laying stretched out on the bench seat sleeping soundly.

"Mom, can I please have 15 cents so I can get something to eat?  I'm hungry," I asked in a timid voice.

Mom groggily opened her eyes.  When she saw me, anger distorted her features.

"Goddamn it, get out of here and let me sleep!" she yelled.

I closed the truck door and walked away.

Now what was I going to do?  I couldn't ask Fred because if I bothered him while he was working, I knew I would get in big trouble later on.

I walked back to the table of baked goods and told the lady that my mom didn't have 15 cents. 

"If you can get a penny, I will let you have a cupcake."

I stared at the lady in humiliation.  I had no idea where I would get a penny. 

"Can I please have something to eat?  I'm really hungry," I said as I looked down in shame.  

After a moment, the lady reached over and handed me a cupcake.  After thanking her, I walked away gratefully eating my sweet treat.

At the end of the day, the animals and equipment were packed up, and Brother and I piled into the bed of one of the pickup trucks with the workers. 

Cold and tired, I curled up under an old tarp for warmth and took a nap during the long and windy ride on the freeway back to the stables to drop off the animals.     

- - -

I never told Mom about that cupcake because she would have been furious.  Mom did not like beggars.  At all.

Since Mom didn't like to cook, Brother and I did not get fed regular meals, and we were often hungry.  When we would ask Mom for something to eat, her usual response was a vague, "Later."   I patiently tried to wait until Mom got hungry so we could eat.  I didn't want to make her mad.

Brother was not as patient as I was, and his cries for food got louder and louder and more persistent, and that made Mom very angry.

Turning to Brother, Mom yelled, “GODDAMNIT, STOP YOUR FUCKING BEGGING!  What do you want from me?  I owe you NOTHING!"  

Not deterred by Mom's anger, Brother continued to cry for food.  Finally in anger and frustration, Mom started slapping Brother repeatedly in the head until he was sobbing hysterically.

Hiccuping and trying to catch his breath, with tears streaming down his cheeks, Brother continued to cry for food.

"Oh, JESUS CHRIST!" Mom yelled, and she finally went and got us something to eat.   

- - -

Brother and I were babysat by a very kind and loving woman named Marion Cox.  Marion was a petite strawberry blond and wore glasses.  She was a stay-at-home mom to her three children, LuAnn, Cheryl and Brian.  We rarely saw her husband, David, since he worked during the day, but he was always kind to me and Brother when we did see him. 

Brother and I spent a lot of time at Marion's house playing with her children during the school year and summer in the cul-de-sac where she lived.  I was learning not to trust the adults around me, but I loved and trusted Marion. 

After school Brother and I walked to Marion's house.  Upon entering her house, often we would be greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread.  My mouth watered at the thought of that soft, warm piece of bread with butter on it that would be waiting for me at the kitchen table.

To be continued….

FRED, THE THIRD HUSBAND, PART 2

After Mom and Fred got married, I started riding one of Fred's Shetland ponies named Sunshine.  

Sunshine had brown hair, blond mane and tail and soft black eyes.  I absolutely adored her.  I loved to wrap my arms around her head, rest my cheek against hers and inhale her sweet horsey smell.   I thought of Sunshine constantly.  

In the evenings after the horses had been fed and watered,  Mom would put Sunshine’s bridle on, and I would hop on her bare back and ride her around the stables. 

Sunshine was very headstrong and stubborn and would rear if she didn't want to go in the direction I wanted.  I quickly learned to let her take the lead and go where she wanted after she bucked me off one day and ran back to her pen. 

- - -

Sometimes Mom let me stay home on the weekend, and she would trailer our horses to Griffith Park or Whittier Narrows to go horseback riding on the miles and miles of beautiful trails.

After Mom saddled up Sunshine, I put my foot in the stirrup, threw my leg over her back and settled in to my little black saddle.  When Mom was done saddling up Jazon, off we went on our ride. 

As I rode next to Mom and her horse in the soft dirt of the trail, I listened to the gentle creaking of the saddles and felt the sun warm on my face, happiness washed over me as it usually did when I was riding.

Unfortunately, the peace didn't last long because Sunshine always got us in to trouble on those rides.

Mom had no patience for Sunshine's stubborn and willful nature.  Many times during our trail rides Sunshine would plant her feet and refuse to walk if she didn't want to go in the direction Mom wanted to go.

With fear coursing throughout my body and saying silent prayers to Sunshine to be a good girl and walk in the direction Mom wanted to go, I would frantically kick her sides to make her move her legs.  Sunshine paid absolutely no attention to my frantic kicks.  Or my silent prayers.

"Hang on, Morrene!" Mom would say as she got out her whip.

WHAP! Mom's whip would land on Sunshine's butt.  Sunshine would take off down the trail running and bucking with me clinging to her back screaming in terror.  Eventually I would get her slowed down, and Mom and I continued on our ride.

Riding through streams on the trail always proved a problem for Sunshine, because she couldn't resist laying down in the water to cool off.

Midway through the stream, Sunshine's legs would start to buckle.  

When Mom saw what Sunshine was doing, she would yell, "Morrene!  Keep her moving!"

With my heart thudding fearfully in my chest, and once again saying silent prayers to Sunshine to be a good girl, I frantically kicked her sides to keep her walking.

As usual Sunshine paid no attention to my frantic kicks, and once again she felt the sting of Mom's whip on her butt, and off she would go running and bucking down the trail with me on her back screaming in terror.

Time and time those scenes were repeated throughout our ride.  Poor Sunshine never seemed to learn her lesson.

- - -

After Mom married Fred, she decided that she wanted to cut my hair short again.  My hair had just started to grow out, and I loved the feel of it on my shoulders.  I finally looked like a girl and was no longer mistaken for a boy.

After much coaxing from Mom, I finally agreed to let her cut my hair.  I loved and trusted my beautiful mom, and I didn't want to disappoint her.

Sitting on a couple of phone books piled on a chair in the  kitchen, I watched as long slices of my hair slowly drifted to the floor around me while Mom snipped away. 

After Mom was done cutting my hair, she took out a pair of old thinning shears and quickly made cuts through my hair to thin it out.  Tears were brought to my eyes when pieces of my hair got yanked out after getting caught in the dull shears.

When Mom was done, I went to look at my new haircut.   

As I stood in front of the mirror in Brother's hand-me-down clothes, I stared in sadness at my short brown bangs and hair that ended just below my ears.    

Once again I looked just like a boy. 

To be continued…

FRED, THE THIRD HUSBAND, PART 1

Shortly after I started second grade, I came home from school one day and saw a man I did not know sitting across from Mom in a living room chair. 

Mom looked at me and said, "This is Fred, and we're getting married."  

Mom was dressed in a bright red corduroy pantsuit with  matching short jacket and two skinny white belts encircling her slim waist.  With false eyelashes enhancing her brown eyes, black teased hair and wig, high cheekbones and beautiful smile, Mom was a stunning woman.  

Excited to meet Fred, I sat on the floor beside his chair and proceeded to tell him about my day at school.

"Morrene, be quiet!  Nobody wants to hear about that!" Mom said.

"Well, why do you think anyone wants to hear what you have to say?" I shot back.

When I saw the furious look on her face, I started to crawl away in panic.  I knew I was in trouble.  Fred grabbed my leg, dragged me back to him and spanked me, and I was sent to my room crying.

That was my first introduction to Mom's third husband.

- - -

When Mom met Fred, she was working as a secretary for Congressman Hanna, a job she hated.  Mom could barely make ends meet every month with her low salary and the money Dad gave her for child support.  The financial stress intensified Mom's chronic insomnia and made her crabby and short tempered with me and Brother. 

Mom was tired of struggling, and she felt Fred could give her the life she wanted, to not have to work, free of financial worries, someone to help watch me and Brother and plenty of time to ride her horse, Jazon. 

After Mom and Fred got married, she bought a young Arabian Thoroughbred stallion named Quazar, and she started breaking him to ride.

- - -

Brother and I frequently fought as siblings often do, and that made Mom very angry.  Although I tried hard not to complain when Brother hit me or called me cruel names, sometimes the injustice was too much, and I would cry out in pain and anger.  

"Goddamit, SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING LITTLE BASTARDS!"   Mom would yell furiously when she heard us arguing.

Sometimes I made the mistake of trying to tell Mom what Brother had done to me, which only made her more angry, and she would start slapping me and Brother in the head repeatedly until we were both crying hysterically.  

I didn't like it when Mom yelled and hit us.  I loved my beautiful mom very much and didn't like to see her upset, so I tried not to complain when Brother called me names and hit me.  

- - -

After Mom and Fred got married, Fred and his dog, a German Shepherd named Jasper, moved in to our little house in Anaheim.  Shortly after Fred moved in, Mom quit her job.  Happy to have time to herself to do as she pleased, Mom's mood seemed to improve. 

- - -

Fred and his father, Fred, Sr., a tall, elderly white haired man, owned a company in Long Beach called Taylor & Son Decorating that manufactured cheap plastic holiday wall decorations, Santa Clauses, reindeer, Easter bunnies and garland for Christmas trees.

Fred and his father also owned popcorn and cotton candy machines, several ponies, a couple of mules, a stagecoach and a wagon.   On weekends Fred, his father and the migrant Mexican workers who worked for them  loaded up the animals and equipment and worked at various carnivals, company picnics and other events around Southern California selling popcorn and cotton candy and giving people rides in the stagecoach and wagon that the mules and ponies pulled.

Many weekends Fred and his father worked at Calamigos Ranch, several acres of land located in the hills of Malibu. 

Mom often sent me and Brother to work with Fred and his father on the weekends, and we would wander around alone at the events.  

While we were gone, Mom was free to do as she pleased and often spent the day at the stables with her horses where she was the happiest. 

- - -

Fred was a tall man of medium build, dark thinning hair combed straight back, and he wore black rimmed glasses.  He had cruel dark eyes and an angry downturned mouth.  He did not live with us very long before we all felt the impact of his anger and cruelty.

Our little dog, Muffin, did not escape Fred's abuse after he stepped in a puddle of her urine on the living room carpet one day. 

"Bad dog!  BAD DOG! BAD DOG!  You do not piss on the floor!" Fred yelled at Muffin.

Poor Muffin looked up at Fred with terrified eyes as he towered over her, her little body shaking in fear and urinated on the floor where she was sitting.  Incensed, Fred grabbed her by the neck and roughly threw her in to the back yard.

Fred did not like me at all, often cruelly mocking me and laughing when I talked.   My very existence seemed to annoy him to no end.

Brother and Fred seemed to get along well, and Brother escaped his abuse.

- - -

 Mom didn't like to cook, so we often went out to eat in the evenings when we weren't at the stables. 

I absolutely loved eating in restaurants.  My usual dinner of choice at that time was a hot fudge sundae.  When I found out where we were going to eat, I would excitedly say, "I'm getting a hot fudge sundae!"

When Fred heard me, he would turn to me with hate in his eyes and angrily say, "Shut up!  Nobody asked what you wanted!"

Needless to say, it didn't take long until I was absolutely terrified of Fred. 

It was not long after Mom and Fred got married that they brought me into their bed and started sexually abusing me.  Child abuse was not talked about when I was growing up, and I had absolutely no idea that the uncomfortable things that they did to me were wrong.   Each time they brought me into their bed, I did my best to put it out of my head and not think about it. 

Mom frequently warned me and Brother not to talk about what went on at our house.  Brother and I were also taught from a young age to always obey and respect adults. 

So I kept silent.  That's just the way it was in our house. 

 TO BE CONTINUED…

THE GOOD GIRL, by Morrene Hauser

THE GOOD GIRL


"My child arrived just the other day,

he came in to the world in the usual way"....

 

When I was nine years old, Cat's in the Cradle was the number one song that was playing on the radio

a beautiful song written and sung by Harry Chapin

over and over and over I would hear that song

The year was 1974

 

Mom had just divorced her third husband

Goodbye, cruel, terrifying Fred.  You will not be missed

 

...."but there were planes to catch and bills to pay.

He learned to walk while I was away"....

 

"This is Emil.  We're getting married,  and we're moving back to Wisconsin where he lives" was my first introduction to the man who was soon to become Mom's fourth husband

I looked at Emil shyly turning away when he smiled at me

 

Off to Las Vegas Mom and Emil went to get married

And soon the packing began for yet another move

 

..."and he was talkin' 'fore I knew it.  And as he grew, he said, 'I'm gonna be like you, Dad.  You know, I'm gonna be just like you'"....

 

"Wait until you see my beautiful house.  And you will love riding in my new car," said Emil

Oh, the excitement of seeing that amazing house and riding in his new car!

 

Somehow in all of the packing my Baby Beans doll got lost

Running in frantic circles with tears flowing down my cheeks

I looked and looked and looked

where is my Baby Beans doll?

 

Baby Beans!  Where are you?  It's not nice to hide from mommy

Please come out.  I miss you

My baby was nowhere to be found

 

Crying out my heartbreak

with my arms aching to hold her again

between sobs I asked Mom if she saw my baby

 

"Oh, QUIT feeling sorry for yourself and stop that fucking crying!" was Mom's angry response to my pleas

I did my best to stop crying

for I didn't want to make Mom mad

 

Good girls don't cry

And I was a good girl

 

 

Baby Beans, momma loves you

I hope I see you again someday

 

Shortly after I started fourth grade, Emil came back to California to drive us to Wisconsin

Brother and I were taken out of school, and we began the long drive to his house

Goodbye my friends, my beloved pony Sunshine

My Baby Beans doll

And my babysitter I loved and trusted so much

 

Hugs and kisses

Goodbye, little one.  We love you and will miss you

"I love you, too," I said

 

..."and the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon.  Little boy blue and the man on the moon. 

"'When you comin' home, Dad?' 

"'I don't know when.  We'll get together then, Son.  You know we'll have a good time then'"...

 

Over and over that song played on the radio during that long and boring drive to Wisconsin

 

"We need to find a place to live when we get to Wisconsin.  I have a roommate,"  Emil said

"Well, kick him out!" said Mom

Emil's roommate was not a "him," it was a "her"

He must have forgotten to tell Mom about his girlfriend who was living in his beautiful house and driving his new car. 

Brother and I were dropped off at Great Uncle's house in Illinois

while Mom and Emil drove to Wisconsin to find a place for us to live

 

Back in to the fourth grade I went for the second time, Brother the fifth

 

Standing in a group of girls at recess

trying to keep warm in the windy and cold winter in Illinois

was hard to do in my thin clothes from California

Thank God for the warm scarf I had crocheted and wrapped around my head

 

It was decided that I would share a bed with Great Uncle

which turned out to be a very bad idea

 

...."my son turned ten just the other day.  He said, 'Thanks for the ball, Dad.  Come on, let's play.  Can you teach me to throw?' 

"I said, 'Not today, I got a lot to do.'   He said, 'That's okay'"....

 

Night after night I lay paralyzed with fear in that lonely and frightening bed with Great Uncle

while his hands touched the most private parts of my body

 

The sadness, the fear.  The guilt.  The shame.  And the loneliness.  Always the overwhelming loneliness.  

You don't argue with adults! 

Do not be a tattletale! 

were words I heard over and over

 

And I was a good girl

And good girls kept their mouths shut

 

...."and he walked away, but his smile never dimmed.   He said, 'I'm gonna be just like him.  You know I'm gonna be just like him'"....

 

Mom and Emil found a place for us to live in Wisconsin

and back to Illinois they came

to pick Brother and I up

and we continued on our trip

to our new home

 

On the way back to Wisconsin we stayed in a motel

Awakening to strange sounds in the bed next to where Brother and I were sleeping, I looked over at Mom and Emil

"Harder, Honey, harder!" said Mom.

Mom and Emil were having sex in that bed next to us

 

Frozen in terror, hugging my knees to the sickness in my stomach

and trying not to look I kept quiet as a mouse as my pillow slowly became soaked with silent tears

I knew better than to let them know I was awake

 

For good little girls kept their mouths shut

And I was a good girl

 

...."and the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon.  Little boy blue and the man on the moon. 

"'When you coming home, Dad?' 

"'Son, I don't know when. but we'll get together then.  You know we'll have a good time then'"....

 

The next morning I cried and cried and cried

"What the fuck's your problem now, Morrene?  You drive me nuts!" said Mom

Knowing I would be in trouble if I let Mom know what I saw them doing, I blurted out, "I'm afraid for Emil because he smokes."  That was all I could think of to say

 

Slowly Mom gathered me in her arms and said, "I know, Honey, I know."

Feeling the rare warmth of Mom's arms wrapped around me somehow did not take away the sickness in my stomach

 

But I was a good girl

And good girls kept their mouths shut

 

...."well, my son came home from college just the other day so much like a man I had to say, 'Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?' 

"He shook his head and said with a smile, 'What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys.  See you later, can I have them, please?'"....

 

In to the townhouse with green carpeting

we moved

And back in to the fourth grade I went for the third time and Brother the fifth

 

Sitting in class after school

staring at my math homework

Fighting tears of frustration

Why don't I know how to do my math?

Why am I so stupid?

 

Asking my teacher for help didn't work

feeling my body go numb with fear as I hear the impatience in her voice

I watch her mouth soundlessly move

for in my terror I had lost the ability to hear

 

I do not ask Mom and Emil for help

Because I might get hit

 

But I am a good girl

And good girls do not get hit

 

...."and the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon.  Little boy blue and the man on the moon.

 "'When you comin' home, Son?'

"'I don't know when.  We'll get together then, Dad.  You know we'll have a good time then.'

"I've long since retired, my son's moved away.  I called him up just the other day. 

"'I'd like to see you, if you don't mind.'

He said, 'I'd love to, Dad, if I could find the time.  You see my new job's a hassle and the kids have the flu, but it's sure nice talkin' to you, Dad.  It's been sure nice talkin' to you'
                                                   "And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, he'd grown up just like me.    My boy was just like me."

 

All of these years later, at the age of 53, I still cannot listen to that song on the radio the whole way through without feeling the sadness, the depression and the fear of that      nine-year-old little girl that I once was.  And the gut wrenching loneliness.  Always the loneliness.

When the feelings become too frightening and start to overwhelm me, in desperation I reach over and turn off the radio.

 

Maybe someday I can listen to that song the whole way through

Just not now

Read More