In my early years, I vividly recall being taught strict rules and experiencing a lack of warmth. However, I have fond memories of observing the neighborhood kids playing outside all day. They made efforts to include me by the window as much as possible. These childhood memories are precious to me, evoking a mix of emotions - a feeling of security from my father intertwined with a sense of betrayal from my sister and mother. The dynamic of two against one, both mother and sister has been a constant presence for as long as I can remember, fostering my growing distrust during those formative years.
While most children are fortunate to receive a simple bicycle from Santa, I felt that Santa doubted my ability to care for such a gift, as this implication was reinforced daily, suggesting I would never have a bike. I longed for the opportunity to prove myself, but unfortunately, my adopted sister's behavior eroded any trust Santa may have had in me.
Nevertheless, one day, I took matters into my own hands and sneaked out of the house. It was then that our neighbor, Mrs. Shaunessy (Aunt Patsy), graciously taught me how to ride one of her children's bicycles. This remains my sole memory of learning to ride a bike.
Whenever I wanted to ride, my sister asked for 5 cents to use her bike in the driveway for 15 minutes. Needless to say, I did not save my allowance, which was minimal.
Most of the time, I owed allowance as .5 cents was taken away for infractions which changed daily, and I couldn't keep up from day to day. Fog descended heavily from 1st grade on until high school.
During those years, I experienced frostbite, endured painful nail marks under my arms, struggled to fit in at school, and only had my school uniform cleaned during holidays. As a bed wetter who was allowed to shower only once a week and rule allowed just two pieces of toilet paper, I was perceived as the unhygienic kid who had an unpleasant smell. I was mortified by one Nun who pulled me aside and asked me to take a bath. It wasn't until I was 13 that a shower was allowed 2 times per week. It wasn't until 9th grade that I finally found acceptance among my peers.
These hazy memories were marked by a sense of isolation in the basement within the confines of my own space. As I grew older, the punishments became more severe and longer, which I now realize were designed to ensure my silence about "the family".
תגובות