Sunday, May 27, 2018

Family Friends, The School System In The 1970’s, And a Very Bitter Pill for 4 Hopeful Children



A couple of days have passed since my salubrious week in Mr. Broderick’s office, sorting baseball cards, feeling important, and healing my body and mind. As it happens, Mrs. Gregaydis has been a friend of our family since she was Dory’s teacher six years before she was mine. She has asked Dory to go to her house to babysit for her. I’m guessing she chose Dory so she could go somewhere without her children, but more importantly so she can talk to Dad about the condition of my legs, since she is now aware of the fate to which she sentenced me with her call home. Dory, Gary, Davey and I are smart enough to know that this is something that could get Dad in trouble. In our juvenile minds, if he gets in trouble, it will stop, or even better, he will be taken away and we will be free and happy again with just Mom. 

Gary, Davey, and I wait anxiously for our savior to return home with Dory and fix all of our woes. The little car pulls up in front of our house and Dory gets out, but the car doesn’t pull away. Dory comes in and tells Dad that Mrs. Gregaydis wants to talk to him. Dad shoots me a death glare that freezes my breath and heart. I’m anxious and hopeful, yet frozen in fear. I pace throughout the house while he’s outside with her. I stay close enough to the window to see them, yet far enough away to not be seen watching. She remains in the driver’s seat and he stands outside of her car on the passenger side, talking through the open window. 
They talk for no more than five minutes. I see him laugh. It looks like a genuine laugh to anyone outside of our home, but I see the anger behind it that will be unleashed as soon as he sees me. I’ve been told by him countless times that I’m a “big mouth” and I tell things that I shouldn’t. I’ve been told that what happens in our house stays in our house. I knew it was wrong to tell, but I told anyway.  I know that what he did was more wrong than me telling. My stomach knots and my hands begin to tremble as I watch her pull away. He walks back up the walkway to the front door and I become a fearful dog whose owners have returned after I tore apart the couch cushions. I look around quickly for a place to retreat. Where do I go? Do I run up the back staircase before he gets close enough to hear my footsteps running up them? Do I go in the bathroom? I am consumed with panic as he quickly approaches. The panic immobilizes me and I stand there in the living room like a statue. 

“Big-mouth”, he snarls at me as he walks by. He actually keeps walking toward the kitchen after he says it.  Is that it? No beating, no cursing, no yelling??? I hear the heavy footsteps heading back toward me. Of course not, I concede. He puts his face an inch from mine, and through a very clenched jaw growls, “What happens in this house is nobody’s business. Keep your mouth shut. Do. You. Understand?” My heart is pounding through my chest, and every cell in my body tightens as I wait for the accompanying slap or punch. “Yes”, I try to sound strong yet submissive—it’s a very delicate balance that if not accomplished successfully could prove extremely painful. 

He walks away. He. Walks. Away. The tension eases a little. My heart slows just a bit. Still I stand as though I’ve just seen the head of Medusa, not knowing if he will return. There’s no way this is it. 

As it happens, it is. This is the last I hear of it from him. Though we kids talk about it quite a bit. Dory tells me that when asked, Dad told Mrs. Gregaydis that he didn’t mean to hurt me, he was just trying to discipline me like she wanted him to do so that I would be a better student. It makes sense, and I would probably buy it if I was the teacher due to guilt at having caused it and fear of the crazy father. No I wouldn’t, and I’m angry that she dismissed it just that simply. I’m angry that she didn’t fight for me. I’m angry that I mean that little to her. I’m angry that all four of us children mean that little to her.  I’m relieved that I don’t have to endure any more rage yet the whole situation also fills me with disappointment, hopelessness, sadness, and anger at the injustice that exists for Dory, Gary, Davy, and me. I think of my neighborhood friends, Karen, Tricia, and Patty, and their kind, loving fathers, and I wonder why I must endure such anger. I begin to question all of the why’s in life. Why is Dad so mean sometimes? Why won’t Mom fight for us? Why do mean people get good things and kind people get bad things? Why am I here? Why are we all here?

This beginning of my soul-searching, understanding, and acceptance provides some of the most beautifully shaped rocks in my brook. I’m beginning to love the music it creates which fills my soul.
 


1 comment:

  1. Jenny, I knew with Jim we hit the jackpot in the popa department. What I didn’t knew was how horrible a father could be to his children. I’m so glad you were able to escape to our home and Gretchen’s. I hope your siblings found their own safe places to rest their heads.

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