Let The Good Times Roll

Punishment is over, I've survived, wiser and stronger.  In the words of Rick Ocasek, "let the good times roll."  Even the "good times" though, were often uncertain and quite confusing for the nine year old child that I was.

Take for instance, Dad's toys.  He loved his toys: staple gun, knives, hammers, blow torch, you get the picture.  Most men do love toys/tools.  But not like Dad.  As he aquired them, he loved to test them out on the easiest prey.  Usually me, of course.

First there was the staple gun.  Whenever I wore my hair in braids, he would wait for an audience (generally my siblings), then stand me on my tippie toes against the wall, extend my 2 braids (I learned not to wear my hair in braids after several sessions of this) toward the ceiling as high as they would go and use his cool staple gun to staple them in place.  This was all done with a nice big smile on his face but with the underlying threat of compliance.  And there I would stand, in front of my audience who laughed heartily partly because it wasn't them, partly because it did look funny, and mostly because Dad would be angry if they didn't.  I don't remember how long I would stay there up high on my toes--probably until Dad left the room because the amusement wore off, but I would eventually gently remove the industrial strength staples from my hair and the wall, take my seat at the dining room table and work on some homework or reading or other thing that would be pleasing to Dad should he walk in and find that I was no longer attached to the wall without being given permission to do so.  "Games" were always difficult because I never knew where my boundaries lay as far as resisting or setting myself free.

Setting myself free was something that had to be done with his hammer and nail game as well.  The one instance I vividly recall Mom becoming angry with him was after one of these great games.  This particular day I happened to be wearing new clothes (a rarity for me) when he layed my on the floor and drove nails through my pants and shirt, into the hardwood floor, pinning me there like a chalk outline.  Mom got mad on this occassion, though, not because he was torturing her 9 year old daughter, but because he put holes in my new clothes.  Really Mom?  He beats your children to a pulp and it's this you choose to be angry about?  Go figure.  I guess she chose her battles after the whole splitting open of Dave's head after she thought her words or anger could stop a beating.  I'm actually quite suprised that he didn't immediately go upstairs and drive holes through every piece of clothing I owned.  Just to make a point.  But he didn't and my clothes and I survived to play another day.  Lucky us!

Rarely holding down a job, Dad had many hours alone while we were at school and Mom was at work to think up fun new games.  The family favorite for everyone in the family except me, was the never-fail, crowd-pleasing "You Light Up My Life," which was a popular song at the time.  In fact, I bet if any of my siblings are reading this now, they are already snickering a bit, just remembering the hilarity of it.  Dad lights his blow torch, corners me with the flame an inch or so from my face so I can feel its intense heat, and orders me to sing, "You Light Up My Life," which I do in my small, crackly voice and the crowd erupts in laughter.  You know how you hear that kids are resilient?  I'm here to tell you that's a bunch of crap.  To this day I cannot and will not repeat something someone tells me to, nor will I sing in front of anyone.  Makes learning new languages difficult (that's why I use Rosetta Stone, so no one can hear me repeating, then laugh when I sound silly).  I guess I'll always have a few issues, even after years of therapy...

Now I don't want you to think that only I got to play Dad's fun games.  Sometimes it was a family fun time (by family I mean the children and by children I mean Gary, Dave, and I because Dory rarely got to play with us, poor girl), like being tied up with ropes and left for hours sometimes to free ourselves.

Then there were the cultural games like Gestapo, which I told you about in an earlier post, and Russian Roulette.  If you are unaware of Russian Roulette, it is generally played by 2 or more people, sitting in a circle using a gun with only one round in it and one by one the players pull the trigger that is pointed at their temple until the "loser" finally gets the round in his skull.  Our version, luckily, did not involve guns but slaps or punches.  I'm sketchy on the details, maybe Gary or Dave could help me out here, I just remember playing it and hating it.

The last game I will relay to you is one that was actually palatable.  It was the clothespin game and it was played whenever we had company (along with the 'dead game' in which all the children tried to be 'dead' for the longest).  It was basically a contest to see who could attach the most clothespins to his or her body--like most games, Dave usually won this one.  So that's our family fun time in a nutshell, because nuts is what we all were/are!

 These 'games' make up some of my most rockin' music in my brook and are responsible for a great deal of who I am and what I can handle "in fun."  No one will ever call me a stick in the mud--I know how to have fun damn it!  I'm having fun doing the backstroke down my brook, listening to some wonderful tunes.  Let the good times roll...

Jen ;-)