She's Got Legs

A few months have passed since my first real punishment.  I'm still in the fourth grade physically, but I haven't really been there since I became aware of the terrible injustices that exist for me.  Dad can pull me out any time he pleases, teachers cannot be trusted, and the other kids cannot relate to me nor I to them.  I have come to despise all that school is--bullies, cliques, know-it-all teachers who really don't know the half of it, and going over and over the same material I've already learned a million times.  School is stupid and I will no longer be a part of it.

Mrs. Gregaydis, however, disagrees.  She lets my laissez-faire attitude go for quite a while because, really, my grades are not suffering--I'm still getting perfect grades on all of my tests even though I haven't done any homework in months because, like I said, I've learned this material a million times before.  But she can no longer stand my lack of work and poor attitude--don't get me wrong, I'm never rude or disrespectful, just disillusioned and maybe a bit sad.  After all, school has always been my escape and now that's been taken from me.

She makes the phone call home.  Again.  Damn her.  At least this time she waits until it's time to go home to tell me, so I don't have to stew in in all day.  How kind of her.

I pray that Mom answered the phone because usually Mom will keep things from Dad if she knows the information would be detrimental to us.  She's one of us in my mind.  One of the victims.  One of the weak ones.  It's Dad against the rest of us. 

My walk home fills me with stomach knots and a throat hardened with stifled tears.  Each step feels as though someone has strapped 10lb. weights to my scrawny legs.  As I near the corner where I can see the front of my house, I see that there is no car parked in front!  No car = no Dad = no punishment!  For now.  I'll take it! 

The weights are lifted from my ankles and my stomach knots loosen a bit (they never really disappear.  Never).  I get to the front porch, constantly looking back, expecting to see Dad pulling up in the car behind me. If he does pull up, what do I do?  What do I say?  The knots begin to retighten until I get into the sanctity of the empty house.  The big, empty house is heaven with only Thor, our Great Dane, to greet me.  How I wish he was one of those protective dogs like I've seen in movies and on tv.  But he's afraid like the rest of us.  He's been beaten down by Dad one too many times. He, too, is one of the weak, subservient, subjects of Master Dad.  Sorry Thor and thanks for the hug--I really need it right now.

Thor, you are one of those strong currents that make beautiful music as it passes by my big rocks.  I can still feel the strength and warmth of your neck beneath my hugs.

Jen ;-)

I'm A Yia Yia (Grandma)!!!

I would like to offer a sincere apology for the long hiatus in posts.  I got the call early last Wednesday morning from my son-in-law that my Alex was in labor--I could hear her in the background saying "ow, ow, ow, ow" in a sort of panicky voice--yup, this was it.

Two and a half hours later the phone rang again to say that she was at 8cm. already--this time her panic-stricken voice was a bit louder and she could be heard summonning the help of God (she chose 'natural' childbirth (no epidural)).  Of course I was still awake from the previous call.  Still checking flights on the computer and thinking of my options to get 700 miles away as quickly as possible on the $150. I had in my bank account (wait, that was my husband's bank account and I couldn't use his money (he's not a very giving fella), so I figured I would find a payday advance place. When daylight came I would find a way to get the money and drive the 10 hours.  I knew she would be delivering soon so I told her husband to call me at work and I would leave as soon as she delivered.

I got to work, told them I was leaving and began to look for a pay advance store.  Guess what?  There's no such thing in the mountains of NC.  So my Toni was going to get a short term loan from her bank for me.  Really.  She struggles, often, to feed her children and was willing to lend me the money.  But not my own husband.  My eyes were opened very wide that day. 

Now here's the kicker.  My daughter's school bus driver was dropping off one of our students and I asked her if she, perhaps, knew of any pay advance places in any nearby towns as I didn't want to take the money from Toni.  She tells me she has cash in her purse that she was holding on to to pay a bill at the end of the month and wanted me to have it.  She said God spoke to her.  She cried.  I have never been so moved by such giving people.  So now, there are two people, neither of whom are my husband, willing to help me get to Florida to be with my daughter and new granddaughter.  Maybe it's because they are both mothers and understand.  Maybe God speaks to them but not my husband.  What have I married?  The disappointment grows in me every day. Every time I look at him.

At any rate, my son in law called me at 8:30 to say that Alex delivered baby Maria just minutes earlier at 6lbs.3oz. and 19 1/2 in. long.  I was on the road within an hour and got to Florida by 8pm to hold that perfect little baby.  I'm in love.  I stayed with them all week and just stared at this tiny miracle sent from heaven. And at the miracle that came to me from heaven 21 years ago.  My God I love her with every ounce of my being. 

Sunday was Alex's birthday.  I was still in the fog of happiness and went down to the tourist shops (she lives in a condo on Clearwater Beach) to find her just the perfect gift.  And there it was, a perfectly dainty silver necklace--its pendant, a turtle hatching out of a shell.  She's always had a thing for turtles.  It was only $10 too--bonus!  Well when my husband heard about it, he got his undies in a wad because guess what I used to pay for it?  The Visa attached to his account.  How dare I use his money to buy her anything when I shouldn't have bought her anything at all since she's wealthy and has everything she could ever want?  Yes, he said that--almost verbatim.  Now my disappointment is turning to raw hatred.

Again, what have I married? 

I apologize for the rambling.  This was supposed to be dedicated to my sweet little baby Maria.  Any words of advice on how to get past the idiocy and infancy of my husband?  I know you love him Gare, but really, he's an ass hole.  See?  Even baby Maria thinks so...

Gus, Alex and Baby Maria are all wonderful, healthy, and happy!  I can't wait to see them again as soon as school lets out.  Or maybe sooner...

Because do I really need more rocks in my brook?  I think the music is just right as it is.

Jen ;-)

My First Valentine

On this Valentine's Day, I'd like to tell you about my first Valentine.  I believe in doing so I will offer some insight into my forgiving nature where my father is concerned.

I actually can't tell you when I received my first Valentine because I can never remember not getting one--a card and/or some chocolate or flowers, a funny note...  Dad was just as thoughtful in his good deeds as in his bad--with me anyway.  He always put a lot of thought into making me feel special on special days, be it Valentine's Day, birthdays (except the one that he made me skip ;-)), Christmas and Hannukah since we celebrated both, any occasion that he thought I should feel special, he would make sure I felt special. 

My first Godiva chocolates were given to me by Dad, and whatever the gift, it came along with a note usually saying "Be Mine" with one of his many pet names for me (Kymus, Tilla, Aradomie, Fraymus, the list goes on and on) then signed "Love, Dad" or one of the pet names he had for himself like McFith (I believe this had a movie reference).  At any rate, it was real and it was kind and it made me feel special.

But it wasn't only on special days that Dad made me feel special--he was the only person in my life who showed me affection (okay, so they were very tight bear hugs that took my breath away, but they were hugs just the same, and I felt love behind them even if the words were never spoken), without me forcing it upon them.  I loved bed-time because I could force Mom, Dory, Gary, and Dave to hug me, but Dad did it quite often totally on his own. 

Just he and I would go for all day walks to get ice cream and while we walked we would talk and he would listen to me and ask me about school and my friends and my future. 

When I began to play the flute in 5th grade, he would ask me to "serenade" him.  Imagine a beginning floutist (much like a beginning violinist).  I know I sounded awful, but he would ask me to play song after song for him and close his eyes as if it were the most beautiful music he'd ever heard.  I got so good so quickly because of this, I was first flute when I entered middle school--beating out girls who'd been playing years longer than me.  Every new thing I tried, he encouraged me.  I still don't know if it was because he looked at me differently or because he realized the awful mistakes he'd made with my older siblings in forcing everything on them with punishments and belittling rather than encouragement.

As I said in an earlier post, Dad rarely held down a job so Mom worked long hours as a waitress.  Late at night when she would call for a ride home (she never drove) he would always take me with him and we would sing together along with the oldies station in the car, and he would tell me stupid jokes and sayings from when he was young like, "what a face, what a figure, two more legs and you'd look like Trigger" (Roy Rogers' horse), and he'd tell me to say "under the sheets" after every song title and we would laugh at how it changed the whole meaning of the songs.  He'd sing "Mrs. Brown you've got a lovely daughter", "Henry the 8th", "Raggmopp" and "101 pounds of fun".  He'd point out the advice in songs like "if you want to be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife" (not really sure here if he wanted me to remain ugly or be a lesbian, but I listened intently at his words of wisdom.  I think he was talking about his own life, really.).

Also on these drives he would let me shift the gears as he drove and he'd always have to stop at a convenience store for some item or another and bring me out a "prize", usually marshmallow snowballs or some other such yummy thing.  I did love that time together.  And I did love Dad.  Here's a poem I wrote many years ago, shortly after his death that may put it into perspective a bit:

Tilla Fray, Kymus Arodomie.
These are the names
When you were happy
You used for me.
When you were happy
There was nowhere in the world
I'd rather have been
Than with you, Dad.
I reminisce--
About our walks,
Our talks,
Your bear hugs,
The way you made me feel loved.
I miss you Dad.
I miss the fun we had.
And I understand the bad,
Was meant for good.

Once I got to the point where I was no longer afraid of him--and he knew it--I could say absolutely anything to him.  I would argue for hours with him trying to convince him to get a job.  After hours of banter, he would finally cave and tell me that he would look "tomorrow."  Tomorrow never came as far as the job hunt, but it was still a victory for me.  Those sessions, where I learned to choose each word ever so wisely, taught me how to convince just about anyone just about anything.  A very good skill to have in one's arsenal.  It also taught me how to sooth the most savage of beasts.  In my last job, I had a boss who was infamous for his ill treatment of workers.  By the time I left that job, he would call me to his office (or those below him but above me would do so), just to talk him into a good mood.  And I would.  Every time.  I became a master because of Dad.  

I know that Dad was very mean, very often.  I also know he was mentally ill.  And I know that he was a man who knew right from wrong and chose wrong much too often.  But I forgive him.  And I thank him for his part in making me who I am--my brook has a much more beautiful melody for all of the rocks he put into it.  I only wish Dory, Gary and Dave had happy memories of him too because it's the happy memories that help to wear away the edges on the more jagged rocks.   Still some damn fine music though!

Jen ;-)