Rick and I went for a walk last night to have a cigarette. It is the first time I had left the apartment in DAYS. I think Thursday was the last time I had gotten a little fresh air. We got to talking about my mom and her little “quirks”. She hated comedy. Specifically “stupid guy” comedy. What is “stupid guy” comedy? Think Animal House, Caddy Shack, Airplane, even PEEWEE! She also hated wrestling, G.I. Joe cartoons, and the Clash of the Titans movie.
Anything with battle sounds effects annoyed the hell outta her! Star Wars was a big annoyance because of all of the “pew-pew” noises, as she used to say.
I told him that because mom came from an abusive family background, she never really used spanking or hitting as discipline with us. She resorted to more creative methods to punish us or get our attention. Tabasco on our tongues was one. As I got older, she realized she’d have to get even MORE creative with me. She took to throwing ice water on me. She did that a few times, before I, being 16, finally decided to stand up for myself. She had just thrown a glass of ice water in my face. I picked up a wooden folding chair and chucked it. Not AT her. Near her. I loudly proclaimed that I was “sick of this shit”. That shocked her enough that she never threw water on me again.
I was sixteen. Working doubles at Walmart and handing my checks over to my parents, and they would give me fifty a week out of my own check for spending. I had dropped out of school to work. My parents were losing the house and I thought that’s just what you did. Work and hand over your checks. AND STILL have to deal with bs.
It wasn’t until decades later that I finally understood what was up. My mom was a wounded soul. Who thought she was doing GREAT by not hitting us. And that WAS commendable given what she experienced as a child. But there was still SO much that wasn’t cool.
I swore when I was younger, before I had Zoe, that I was never going to be like my mom. I was going to do so much differently. And I did. I was not always perfect, but I did not ONCE employ some sort of new fangled punishments for my kid. Never had to. Did I yell occasionally? A few times. But I worked so hard to be different. Zoe made it to adulthood without getting arrested, pregnant, or having a drug problem.
She’s 25, and less than a year out of an abusive relationship that she was in from 17 1/2 until she was 24, when Rick and I rescued her from someone I thought was a good guy.
She’s the most stable she’s been. Her new partner is as straight as an arrow. Coast Guard. Serious about being responsible. He has his shit together. A hefty savings account. A sensible car even though he makes decent money. This kid will be making around 200k a year once he’s out of the military. They have a really nice apartment in Seattle, and they just adopted our grand-cat, Ashlyn.
That’s all I can ask for. She’s sweet, crazy smart, immensely talented in almost anything she tries. She can draw, paint, create art in digital form, play the keyboards and guitar by ear, but can also read music.
Unfortunately, she inherited some of my not so positive attributes- crippling anxiety, I mean CRIPPLING, unable to work kind of anxiety. She has a host of health issues- heart defects, severe scoliosis, asthma. Her father left when she was ten, and basically burned the bridge with her by the age of 13.
She’s had a shitty hand dealt to her, but she is improving day by day, and I am proud of her for that.
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