On to the memoirs...if you need a refresher here are part one, part two and part three. A warning that this one isn't as "eventful" as the other three, but the next will be back to the lunacy...
-------------------
Tiny Town was where I spent my baby years. Both sets of grandparents had houses there (at the time only a few miles apart down dusty country roads. Since my mom’s parents (Mary & Chester, also known as Nana and Papa) got primary custody of me, off to their house I went.
At the time my two uncles, Paul & Bill, were still living at home. Paul, at the time was in high school, Bill was in middle school. The boys were known for getting into and causing a lot of the trouble around town...but having me be a tag-a-long kinda slowed them down...well, only a little.
Since it was in the middle of a school year I remember walking into the first grade classroom, greeted by the wondering eyes of about 15 students and the smile of my teacher Mrs. White {rip sweet lady - here's her picture, see she just oozes love and caringness}. She was a gem. A bright light in the craziness of my life. She took me under her wing and I think with her guidance she was able to help me get through the year making pretty much all 100s.
Funnily enough, even as first graders Tiny Town was very cliqueish. Which to a first grader new in school is not full of fun times. I made a few friends but I think everyone was probably wondering what the heck I was doing there and where I had been...it didn’t matter that I lived in Bremond for years...I didn’t go to kindergarten with them, I was an outsider. And I pretty much remained that for the next 12 years.
You would think home life would have been much better being away from a drug using stripper mom right? Wrong. It was just as crazy but for much different reasons. A few memories from that year have stood out haunted me for years.
My grandfather was always a strange man...hard working for most of his life..but still strange in the fact that he was never one that seemed too attached to me. I could never put my finger on it, but later in life I finally figured out why (which will be when I reveal the reasoning to you).
My grandfather ran a tight ship. Mornings my uncles and I got up and milked the cows, gathered eggs, fed the animals, ate breakfast (sometimes) then walked down the road to catch the bus...which 9 times out of 10 we were running late for. After school, we had to catch the bus home, take care of the animals again, homework, dinner then bed. Oh, my bedroom there? I really didn’t have one...it was kinda in a room off the living room that had no wall in between, so if people were awake or lights were on in the living room or dining room, I could hear/see it all. At one point they kinda moved me into this weird closet type room off my grandparents room, but it wasn’t much better.
One of the crazy memories there was just after the garden was tilled and planted my uncles decided it would be fun to go play baseball in it. I remember seeing them and running in the house and telling my grandpa on them. He came roaring out of the house with his bullwhip and started cracking it threatening them to hit them with it. Well, instead he wound up snapping me with it. I guess I shouldn’t have been a tattletale. But I don’t think I learned.
The school year definitely blurred by. One of the only other incidents I really remember is one particular night when for the umpteenth time my grandma made liver and onions. One thing you must know about me is it’s pretty much the only meal that I get ill even thinking about. Well, in that house if you were served something to eat you had to eat it. All of it. No questions. No substitutions. It’s why I no longer will even consider eating grits. I don’t think they really realized that kids don’t eat as much as adults. Seriously, I showed up there and was skinny. Years there and I definitely wasn’t that any longer. I digress.
This night I was sitting down to eat (though I already knew what it was since my nose never lies). I tried to eat it. I gagged. I tried. I gagged. Finally I couldn’t deal with it and was about to get up to get sick and I get yelled at that if I get sick I’m going to get hit. With my grandpa’s belt. Yeah.
Well, I got sick.
He hit me with a belt like he threatened.
I called my other grandparents.
They were there minutes later and my other grandpa, who was like a father to me, is normally a calm and collective man was about to come unglued on them. I packed a bag and went and stayed with them for a while.
This started my constant shuffling between sets of grandparents...it was a catch 22 in a way. I would have rather spent my time all at my dad’s parents. They had a more stable home. They were loving and they were the ones who provided me with the things I needed...however, there, I apparently was in some weird struggle with my grandma for my grandfather’s attention. I was his girl. I was the only girl ever born in their family. All their kids were boys. His brothers, boys. So I was my grandfather’s pride and joy (it helped that I was also his first grandchild too).
So I never stayed at one grandparent’s house for too long...I kinda felt like a yo-yo, but a lot of it was my choice.
At the time my two uncles, Paul & Bill, were still living at home. Paul, at the time was in high school, Bill was in middle school. The boys were known for getting into and causing a lot of the trouble around town...but having me be a tag-a-long kinda slowed them down...well, only a little.
Since it was in the middle of a school year I remember walking into the first grade classroom, greeted by the wondering eyes of about 15 students and the smile of my teacher Mrs. White {rip sweet lady - here's her picture, see she just oozes love and caringness}. She was a gem. A bright light in the craziness of my life. She took me under her wing and I think with her guidance she was able to help me get through the year making pretty much all 100s.
Funnily enough, even as first graders Tiny Town was very cliqueish. Which to a first grader new in school is not full of fun times. I made a few friends but I think everyone was probably wondering what the heck I was doing there and where I had been...it didn’t matter that I lived in Bremond for years...I didn’t go to kindergarten with them, I was an outsider. And I pretty much remained that for the next 12 years.
You would think home life would have been much better being away from a drug using stripper mom right? Wrong. It was just as crazy but for much different reasons. A few memories from that year have stood out haunted me for years.
My grandfather was always a strange man...hard working for most of his life..but still strange in the fact that he was never one that seemed too attached to me. I could never put my finger on it, but later in life I finally figured out why (which will be when I reveal the reasoning to you).
My grandfather ran a tight ship. Mornings my uncles and I got up and milked the cows, gathered eggs, fed the animals, ate breakfast (sometimes) then walked down the road to catch the bus...which 9 times out of 10 we were running late for. After school, we had to catch the bus home, take care of the animals again, homework, dinner then bed. Oh, my bedroom there? I really didn’t have one...it was kinda in a room off the living room that had no wall in between, so if people were awake or lights were on in the living room or dining room, I could hear/see it all. At one point they kinda moved me into this weird closet type room off my grandparents room, but it wasn’t much better.
One of the crazy memories there was just after the garden was tilled and planted my uncles decided it would be fun to go play baseball in it. I remember seeing them and running in the house and telling my grandpa on them. He came roaring out of the house with his bullwhip and started cracking it threatening them to hit them with it. Well, instead he wound up snapping me with it. I guess I shouldn’t have been a tattletale. But I don’t think I learned.
The school year definitely blurred by. One of the only other incidents I really remember is one particular night when for the umpteenth time my grandma made liver and onions. One thing you must know about me is it’s pretty much the only meal that I get ill even thinking about. Well, in that house if you were served something to eat you had to eat it. All of it. No questions. No substitutions. It’s why I no longer will even consider eating grits. I don’t think they really realized that kids don’t eat as much as adults. Seriously, I showed up there and was skinny. Years there and I definitely wasn’t that any longer. I digress.
This night I was sitting down to eat (though I already knew what it was since my nose never lies). I tried to eat it. I gagged. I tried. I gagged. Finally I couldn’t deal with it and was about to get up to get sick and I get yelled at that if I get sick I’m going to get hit. With my grandpa’s belt. Yeah.
Well, I got sick.
He hit me with a belt like he threatened.
I called my other grandparents.
They were there minutes later and my other grandpa, who was like a father to me, is normally a calm and collective man was about to come unglued on them. I packed a bag and went and stayed with them for a while.
This started my constant shuffling between sets of grandparents...it was a catch 22 in a way. I would have rather spent my time all at my dad’s parents. They had a more stable home. They were loving and they were the ones who provided me with the things I needed...however, there, I apparently was in some weird struggle with my grandma for my grandfather’s attention. I was his girl. I was the only girl ever born in their family. All their kids were boys. His brothers, boys. So I was my grandfather’s pride and joy (it helped that I was also his first grandchild too).
So I never stayed at one grandparent’s house for too long...I kinda felt like a yo-yo, but a lot of it was my choice.
The school year finished out without much drama...but at some point in the summer my mom convinced her parents to let me go back to Austin with her again...Sigh.
0 brilliant insights:
Post a Comment