Gerard and Maureen's wedding

When I was about 10 or 11, Gerard brought home a girlfriend named Maureen. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and I liked her instantly. She was from California, and in my young mind, I figured that since movie stars lived in California, all women from there must be beautiful. I thought she was much prettier than any movie star I'd ever seen on TV or in any magazine. She was very tan, and again in my childish way, I decided it was because she was from California, where it's always warm. She was very friendly, funny, and really nice to us. Maureen and I were in awe of her. Gerard always seemed to be in a good mood, and he brought her around quite often, much to our delight.

Soon, it was announced that Gerard and Maureen were going to get married, and we were invited to the wedding. We were so excited! I was 11, going on 12 when they got married, and starting to develop romantic notions about pretty much everything. I was in 6th grade, and had a huge crush on a boy in my class named Joey. I also had a huge crush on Shawn Cassidy.  A wedding was pretty much at the top of the list for romantic notions for me, and I couldn't have been more happy to be a part of it all. I worried that we wouldn't have been allowed to go. It was so exciting that Gerard was getting married. Gran was very excited about the wedding, and went into the city to buy a dress for the occasion. On the morning of the wedding, We all took turns having baths and getting ready. Gran laid out some new dresses for Maureen and I, and we combed and combed our hair till it shone. New tights and our best shoes. I was disappointed in the dresses. They weren't very pretty or stylish, and the fabric was stiff and it itched. They were nearly identical, and not very festive, but we wouldn't have dared complain; we knew better than that by now. The dress was gathered at the neckline and elasticized, and also gathered at the waist and elasticized, and it kept riding up. It was unbearably itchy, but when it rode up, it almost gave the illusion that I had boobs. I was absolutely frantic to have boobs. Most of the girls in my class had started wearing a bra, and several of the girls actually HAD boobs already, so I was waiting impatiently for mine to arrive. It seemed as if Maureen's were starting to develop already, and I was insanely jealous. I was tired of looking like a little boy. That's why I grew my hair out long, after pleading with Gran to let me do so. She finally relented, although she said that she could still cut my hair if I wanted. I assured her that I really did want to grow it long, and that I'd take care not to let it get tangled and messy looking. I hated Gran's home hair cuts; it always looked terrible and crooked, and I always looked like a boy. Little did I know, I'd have a very long wait for my bustline to arrive.

Soon we were on our way, and went to the wedding ceremony at a nearby church, and afterward, went to the reception. I thought Maureen looked like a princess, she was so beautiful. She didn't wear a veil, she wore a very pretty white hat with a small veil attached. Her dress was gorgeous, and the photographer took pictures constantly, of everyone there. The music was playing, and there were people everywhere. I struggled to overcome my shyness while being introduced to people. There were SO MANY people! Mia and Alison arrived, and we joyfully ran over to them. Alison was one of my very favorite "cousins" besides Seamus and Erich. She was quite a bit younger than I was, but she was funny and smart, and extremely sweet. I always had fun with her, and Maureen got along well with Mia, her sister. When I saw the beautiful dresses they had on, I wanted to shrink into a corner. I didn't want to feel ungrateful for the "new" clothes, but why couldn't we ever have anything pretty and new? These were obviously hand-me-downs, and not from Mia and Alison, either. Rosemary, their mother, had exquisite taste in clothes. We loved getting their hand-me-downs. Alison asked if I wanted to try a "Shirley Temple" and I asked what it was. She said it was a drink, and we went up to the bar and asked the bartender for our Shirley Temples. We were handed the most beautiful and delicious drink I think I'd ever tasted, and we sat at a table and drank them down. We ate, danced, mingled, and I must have drank seven of those Shirley Temples. They had cherries in them! They were delicious, and the bartender gave us as many as we wanted!

Later on, everyone lined up on the dance floor to do a dance called "The Hustle". I had no idea what I was doing, but I tried to just follow what everyone else did. It was so much fun. I was having such a great time. Gran was over in a corner talking to some women I didn't know, and since she'd had wine, she was in a great mood, even when I went up and told her about the Shirley Temple drinks. She said, "Don't have too many of them, you'll get sick." I said, "I won't!", and skipped off. Then I promptly went up to the bar and ordered another one. The hall where the wedding was held had mirrors from floor to ceiling, even in the bathrooms. I'd never seen a place so grand, and there were chandeliers everywhere. This was a very fancy wedding. Maureen and I met Maureen's (Gerard's new wife) sister from California, and she wasn't much older than we were. She was really nice, and talked with us for a long time. We all danced together and had fun. I really don't remember where my brothers were during this wedding, but I know they were there. I remember Harlan dancing on the dance floor, and thinking he looked so cute in his little white shirt and dress pants.

We had so much fun, and it went on for a really long time, but soon Gran told us it was time to leave. We wanted to stay longer, but didn't dare argue. The boys fell asleep on the way home, and Gran came into our room that night to say goodnight. We thanked her for letting us go to the wedding, that it was a lot of fun, and we were glad Gerard had married Maureen. I think Gran may have still been a bit tipsy, because she was in a very, very good mood. She never even said a cross word to us that day. We loved it when Gran drank. It didn't happen nearly often enough, as far as we were concerned. She actually praised us and said we were very well behaved at the wedding. We were gobsmacked.

A few months later, Maureen invited us to have a sleepover at her and Gerard's new apartment, along with Mia and Alison. Gerard wouldn't be home that night, so it was just us girls. We were so excited!! Maureen and I rarely got to go anywhere without the boys, so this would be great! And we could stay up late and not have Gran come in and spank us if we were talking too long. We arrived at Maureen and Gerard's house, and admired how nicely it was decorated. She had plants everywhere in pretty macrame hangers. She cooked dinner, and it was so delicious, some sort of chicken dish with a gravy sauce and pasta on the side. I'd never had anything like it. She was a really good cook, I thought. We ate, and watched TV, and eventually it got late and we all went to bed. Alison and I were on the pull-out couch, and Maureen, Mia and Maureen were in the bedroom. We all giggled and talked late into the night, and soon I got sleepy and anxious. I started getting scared that we were talking too long, and even though Gran wasn't there, I wanted to go to sleep, because I was afraid not to. Maureen and Mia continued giggling, and teasing, and soon Alison and I got irritated with them and told them we wanted to go to sleep. They continued giggling and talking, and Maureen called out, "HELLO??" I laughed in spite of my irritation; Gerard's new wife was so funny. Soon after, Alison fell asleep. After a while, everyone fell asleep, and I laid there unable to sleep. I felt weird because I was the only one awake. I must have fallen asleep, because next thing I remember, Maureen was up and in the kitchen making us breakfast. I felt badly for being so irritated the night before. Maureen teased me about it, but not in a mean way. I decided I loved Gerard's new wife. When she teased, it made me want to laugh, not cry. I credit a lot of my sense of humor to her. She actually taught me how to have one. I was an overly sensitive kid, who got my feelings hurt very easily. She helped me get over that, or at least taught me the difference between kind teasing and mean teasing, that not everything is said with the intention to hurt. I'm grateful for that.

Brigid and Ian

When I was approximately 11 or 12, Gran announced that Brigid had gotten married. We were excited for her, and immediately thought that she'd married her longtime boyfriend, Gus. Gran said, no, Brigid and Gus were no longer dating, and she had married a man named Ian. We were going to the wedding at Geraldine and Ron's house. We were SO excited about this; Maureen and I absolutely loved going to Ger and Ron's. Ron was one of my favorite people, and we loved hanging around with Erich, who was actually our nephew. We used to refer to him as our cousin, though, since he was so close in age to us. Erich was a very precocious and hilarious little guy, who seemed to have no fear of anything or anyone. We always had fun at that big gorgeous house in Pennsylvania.

We traveled to Pen Argyl, and endured Gran's warnings that we'd better behave and not make her ashamed of us. We assured her that we'd be on our very best behavior. Soon we arrived, and there were so many people there! I often suffered from crippling shyness, and struggled to overcome that. I made up my mind in the car that I would be friendly and open, that no one liked a girl who didn't speak, and blushed whenever anyone spoke to her. I resolved to be the perfect daughter, so Gran wouldn't be ashamed of us. At least she'd have no reason to be mean to us, anyway. Maureen and I went up to the room we were to sleep in, and talked about it. We were decidedly intimidated, and I felt my former bravado melt away in an instant. We got dressed in our good clothes, and went downstairs to join the party. I hoped Gran would have some wine. Whenever Gran had wine, we didn't have to endure her evil eye all night; she was distracted and even friendly. We loved it when Gran had wine. We met Ian, and I decided that Ian was a very nice man. Funny and kind. He spoke to us as if we were grown ups. He didn't seem to notice how strange we were. I decided I liked him much better than I had liked Gus. Gus never really talked to us much. He kept mostly to himself. I never felt as though I knew Gus very well. Ian was very friendly, open and had a great sense of humor. I liked him immediately. I also loved his accent. We asked where he was from and he said Wales. I'd never heard of Wales, so I was very intrigued when he said it was near England. Maureen and I felt much better and went to check out the food, as we were getting very hungry.

We had never seen so much food in our lives! We went to the kitchen and asked Geraldine if we could help. I always felt more secure if I had something to do, and helping do some of the work always made me feel better. Geraldine said no, it was all taken care of, that we should just go and enjoy ourselves. We wandered over to the round kitchen table off the dining room and looked at the food. There was a tray filled with tiny dried fish. WHOLE fish. With eyes and everything. We looked at each other and wrinkled up our noses. What kind of fish was this? What about the bones? Any time I'd had fresh fish, the bones would get stuck in my throat. Ian came over and saw us hovering next to the tray of tiny fish. He reached down and grabbed one, and with an amused twinkle in his eye, popped one in his mouth. "Tastes like bacon", he said. Not to be thought of as a chicken, I grabbed one myself, and popped one in my mouth, and chewed and swallowed. They were delightfully salty and quite good. They did indeed taste slightly like bacon, and I had a couple more before I moved on. The food was heavenly, and I enjoyed myself immensely.

We hung around with Erich, who was our co-conspirator and confidante. Whenever Gran got too close by, we could count on Erich giving us a warning. Several times he'd run interference and keep Gran occupied so that Maureen and I could have a moment of peace without her stony glare. I adored Erich. We enjoyed the party very much, and I ate so many new and different foods. All of the people there were so nice, and we had a great time. Afterwards, Maureen and I helped clean up and do dishes. We dropped into bed exhausted but talked a bit more about how nice Ian was, and how we were glad that Brigid married him. Brigid seemed so happy.

The Adoption

This post is a bit out of order from the last one, as it occurred a year earlier.

When I was 12 years old, after we finished school for the year, Gran came to us one morning with shining eyes and a big smile on her face. We were mystified as to what could possibly have put her in such a good mood, and I decided that she must have become a grandmother again. I wondered which one of her kids had given birth to a baby. She never ever told us when they were expecting a baby, never wanting to explain that particular process. So, up until I was about 12 or so, I always thought that babies just appeared magically to happy parents.

Gran looked at us all and said, "Guess what?" I spoke up first, "Did Geraldine have a baby???" I was so excited at the thought of this, as they had three boys and I knew that Geraldine always wanted a girl. "NO!!" Gran said, and shot me a dirty look. I sat back and just waited. Gran had a habit of trying to make something really really bad into something "exciting" like a trip to the doctor's office or some boring holy day at church.

"We have been given permission to adopt all of you. You are going to be adopted today!" We all stood up and yelled "YAY!!!!!" at the top of our lungs. We were not sure what it meant other than the fact that Gran and Gramps would be our legal parents, and in my mind that meant she could never tell us how horrible and worthless we were, ever again. It truly was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to the five little kids named Larrow. We danced and celebrated, and then Gran did something she NEVER did unless one of us was to make thier first holy communion. She told Maureen and I to go take a bath, and she had the boys take a bath in the downstairs bathroom. When she did that, we knew it was important. She never let us bathe more than once a week. It was June, and hot outside, and we always asked to take a bath as we got quite sweaty and dirty from all the running around we always did in the back yard. She always said no.

Maureen and I told her that we'd wash each other's hair, so we could get done more quickly. She agreed and told us that there were new dresses laid out for us on our beds. New DRESSES!!! We didn't even get new dresses for our birthdays! This was indeed a special occasion! Not only did we have new dresses, but also new underwear and new tights. I was so excited I could scarcely contain myself.

We got ready and I put my hair back into barrettes when it was dry. I was growing it out long, and wanted to look nice for the judge. Gran told us there would be a judge. We asked if Uncle John would be our judge and she said no, that he could only be a judge in New Jersey. Uncle John was Gran's brother, and he lived in Bayonne, NJ with his wife, Maeve. I liked them a lot (they always had fresh pastries from the local bakery), but disliked going to Bayonne, because it smelled horrible there. We always yelled "PEEWWWWW!" as we went over the bridge and asked Gran every single time why it smelled so badly in Bayonne. She never explained it, and just told us all to be quiet and behave, or else. It never escaped my notice how much nicer Gran was to us when she was around other people.

When we were all ready, we gathered around in the dining room, and Gran explained to us that we must be on our best behavior, as this was a JUDGE we'd be visiting today. "If you misbehave, it will reflect very badly on Grandpa and I, so no fooling around, no misbehaving." She said that they'd probably ask a few questions, and just answer them. I started to worry about what they'd ask. Maybe they wanted to see if we were deserving of such an honor. I worried all the way to the courthouse, and when we went inside, my legs were shaking so much that I wasn't sure if I'd be able to answer any questions. I was so nervous.

We sat in the waiting area in some very uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the policeman came out and told us to all go into the judges chambers. There sat Judge De Paulo, in his large leather throne like chair. He was bald. He didn't look mean. He looked nice, like any other person, but in black robes.

There was a woman there as well, Gran said she was a social worker. She sat with us as Gran and Gramps talked with the judge. She asked us if we knew what being adopted meant. Everyone was shy and tongue tied, but I finally spoke up and said that I thought it was like when you ADAPT to something enough, they let you become adopted. She looked confused and I tried to explain it more, although I really was becoming hopelessly confused and realized I didn't know at all what being adopted meant. I just thought it meant we would finally belong. I didn't know there would be a test. I should have looked it up in the dictionary. I was horribly embarrassed that I didn't know what it really meant. She explained it in a way that made absolutely no sense to me, as it was way over my head, the legalities of it, anyway. Finally Judge De Paulo called us over and performed the adoption. He then told us all that our middle names would be removed from our birth certificates, and Maureen and I would legally bear our confirmation names as our middle names. I was shocked. Why don't we have middle names anymore? My entire life I was known as Karen Ann Larrow. I realized my last name would change to Gallagher, but why did I have to give up my middle name? I liked my middle name.

Maureen was all too happy to give up her middle name, as she said she'd always hated it. William didn't seem to mind, although he had a quite nice middle name; Edward. My youngest brothers didn't see it as a big deal, as Gran never ever revealed to us what their names might be. Maureen and I thought it over and decided that their names must be strange ones, like perhaps Herman. We were convinced that maybe Harlan's name was Amos, like our paternal grandfather, and Darek's middle name was Herman. We used to tease him mercilessly about it. He'd get so upset that he'd go into a rage. Gran would then tell him he looked like an enraged bull. Naturally that would upset him more, and we'd stick our tongues out at him behind Gran's back.

On the way home, we asked Gran why the judge took away our middle names. "Because I requested it" she said. "Why??" we asked. She said she wanted to start over with a clean slate, and there was no reason to discuss it further. I couldn't believe it. Gran took our middle names away without even asking. Even as young and naive as I was, it just didn't feel right for her to have done that. It wasn't fair. I started to say something else, and Gran, barely containing her anger, said, "Karen, come on. don't be such an ungrateful little girl". I realized I was ruining everyone's day, so I stopped. I resolved to enjoy the day, as Gran was making something special for supper.

We got home, and Sean was there. He looked at all of us, and Gran told him, "the kids were adopted today". Sean looked shocked for a moment, and looked at us. He asked her when did this happen? Gran said just this morning; we just got back from the courthouse. Sean looked greatly disturbed at this news. Gran told us to go upstairs and change out of our new clothes and to put our regular clothes on. I didn't want to. I liked my new dress and wanted to wear it all day. But Maureen and I went reluctantly upstairs, disturbed at Sean's reaction. Sean was only 21 then. A grown up. Maybe he didn't want to be our brother. We got changed and sat on the beds to talk about it. There was a knock on the door and Sean asked if he could come in. We let him in, and he said, "Well, girls... I guess I have two new sisters and three new brothers!" He looked happy! He held his arms out and we ran over and hugged him. We loved Sean so much. We were glad that he wasn't upset about our adoption. Later on, we heard Gran laughingly say, "Sean thought the kids were adopted to a new family! He was so upset!" No wonder he was so shocked! It was then that we realized that Gran kept her own kids in the dark about things too. It wasn't just us. How could she not tell her own kids about us being adopted??

We celebrated our adoption, and had a nice day. Sean stayed for a long time; the longest he ever stayed. Then he went home, but before he did, he said he'd like to take us all to the movies some day soon before we left for upstate for the summer! We were so excited! Gran said maybe, and he went home, still looking a little dazed.

We went to bed, and the next day Gran said we'd be packing for upstate this week, and we'd better get busy. We always spent the entire summer upstate.

Then she delivered more news... Soon we'd be moving upstate for good. We wouldn't be living in Staten Island any more. I was sad, but excited at the same time. At least we had a whole year before we moved. I'd be in St. Margaret Mary's school under a new name from now on. My new last name. Gallagher. I wondered how we'd explain it to our friends. I didn't care. I was so happy we finally "belonged".

The convent

When my sister was 13, she decided she wanted to be a nun. This was after years and years of diligent brainwashing by Gran, that she had a vocation to do so. Many months of retreats and sleepovers at the local convent "The Daughters of St. Paul" convinced my sister that this was the correct path for her in life. I didn't understand it. Yes, it was nice going on retreats with her; it was quiet, peaceful, and the food was amazing. I loved all the food on offer at this particular convent. It was delicious.

I was growing tired, however, of all the endless prayers, rosaries and novenas they did. My eyes would glaze over with boredom, and I'd daydream the long hours away till it was over. I'd never in my life seen anyone pray so much, ever. I often wondered... If these nuns have so little to do with the outside world, what on earth did they have to pray so much about? And confession was just as earnestly practiced; but why? Didn't they realize that if you never went out, never had any opportunity to sin, that there'd be nothing to confess? They did paint a very alluring picture, though, and for two very young girls who had a horrible home life. It was all too easy to wish we were somewhere else, anywhere else.

I loved my sister so much; she was my rock, my hero, my savior. I couldn't even bear the thought that she'd go away forever and leave me at the mercy of Gran.

I couldn't imagine committing the rest of my life to being a nun... Never ever falling in love, getting married, having kids. It was just too foreign to me, and it seemed as though it would be an unjust God that would decide who served him and who didn't. I talked to Gran's daughter, Brigid about it. She was horrified at the thought of Maureen entering a convent at such a young age. I tried to defend her decision, and she turned and lashed out, "She didn't make the decision, MOM made it for her!!! She tried to get me to become a nun, too!" Later on, as Maureen and I were upstairs in our room, we heard Brigid yelling at Grandpa. We couldn't believe our ears. They were fighting! We crept to the banister of the stairs and listened to Bridget yell at Gramps. Telling him that they were brainwashing Maureen. Listening to Grandpa feebly try to convince her that Maureen did, in fact, have a calling. Brigid stormed out of the house, and I was very confused. Why didn't they think this was a good idea? Gran thought it was wonderful, so wonderful in fact, that I had decided that she loved Maureen best. I went downstairs and up to Grandpa and tried to give him a hug. He pushed me away, and told me we shouldn't have been listening in. I tried to tell him that we weren't, that we heard it by accident, but he told me to shut up, and I went outside with my barbie doll. Brigid was in the back yard, and I went up to talk to her. I told her that I'd been thinking about it, and I didn't ever want to be a nun. I wanted to marry Shawn Cassidy, my all time, all consuming crush, besides Joey in my class. She looked at me, and I expected her to sneer at me and make fun of me, but she smiled sadly at me and said that I had a much more realistic goal than Maureen did. She said that Maureen was much too young to make such a decision, and that she didn't think it was fair that Gran forced her into it. She said that Gran manipulated Maureen's desire to be accepted, and I had no idea what that meant, but I tried to defend Gran to her. She sighed, got up off the swing and said, "Karen, you are just too young to understand. Mom tried the same thing with me."

I was hurt by that, but muttered under my breath, "I still want to marry Shawn Cassidy... Either him or Joey. And I will." Brigid was the only one in the world besides Maureen that I told about Joey. He was in my class at school, and I'd liked him for two years, ever since the beginning of sixth grade. He never talked to me, and I heard him tell someone that he thought I was weird. But I loved him anyway, he was Italian, and really smart, and his birthday was in September. If I couldn't marry Shawn Cassidy, I surely wanted to marry Joey some day.

I started thinking about things a lot more. On our last retreat, the nuns said that becoming a nun was like marrying Jesus. Maureen would get to wear a white gown and a veil, just like a bride, after graduating from pre-postulancy to full fledged postulant. I found Gran and while looking at my Barbie's freshly braided hair, I asked her about it. "Gran, when Maureen becomes a nun, it will be like marrying Jesus, right?" She looked at me sharply and said, "Right." And I slowly twisted my Barbie dolls hair as I tried to say what had been bugging me for so long, and said, "Well, she will be 14 when she's allowed to join the Daughter's of St. Paul, right? So does that mean if she changed her mind and decided she wanted to marry just a regular boy, would you let her do it?"

Next thing I knew, I was on the floor, my face stinging from a slap. Gran stood over me and yelled at me at the top of her lungs, "HOW DARE YOU MAKE A MOCKERY OF MAUREEN'S VOCATION????? HOW DARE YOU BE SO DISRESPECTFUL??? YOU ARE A DIRTY MINDED LITTLE PIG!!!"

I started crying and she grabbed me by the arm and flung me in the direction of the stairs, telling me to go to my room and stay there to think about what I'd done. I couldn't think. I had no idea what I'd done, but I sure vowed never to speak of Maureen's vocation again. It seemed that Gran would never ever answer a question I had without getting murderously angry. Especially when it came to Maureen being a nun. I hated her, and I hated the Catholic church for taking my beloved sister away from me. Maureen was excited and happy to go. I saw this as a betrayal too. How could she want to be away from me?

That summer, we packed up everything we could, and moved to our little house in Lindley, New York. I would so miss my friends, and my heart broke over the thought that I'd never see Joey again. My seventh grade teacher had sat me next to him the last three months of school, and he really seemed to like me, at least he talked to me a lot. We'd tease each other, and giggle behind our books, and I thought that if I stayed in Staten Island, we'd surely get married some day. But now I'd live six hours away, in a tiny old house that smelled of mouse urine, and had ugly bathrooms. We'd be an hour away from school, and have to ride a bus. No more walking to school. No more friends. No more sister.

Later that summer, near the beginning of the new school year, Gran, Maureen and I took a trip to Boston, MA, to enroll Maureen in her new convent. Maureen was only 14 years old, and I was 13. I wanted to cry the entire time I was there, but didn't dare because I worried that Gran might slap me for it. Maureen was very nervous, but seemed happy about her decision. I promised to write to her every week and made her promise to write to me too.

On the way home, on the greyhound bus, I couldn't hold my sadness in any longer. I had a horrible, homesick feeling in my gut, and couldn't imagine what life would be like without my sister at home. I cried on the way home, for the entire six hours it took to get there. Gran left me alone, and I think she started to feel some sort of compassion for me, because when the bus stopped for one of it's breaks, she said, "Come on, Karen, lets find somewhere to eat!" I couldn't believe her tone. I looked miserably up at her, and she was actually smiling at me. I expected to get yelled at for crying so much. I wiped my face and followed her off the bus.

We went to a nearby diner, and she let me order whatever I wanted, and then said I could have soda! We chatted while we ate, and I thought, if she stays this nice, maybe it won't be so bad!

We finally made it home, and the boys were all jealous that I got to eat in a restaurant, and go with Gran to Boston. I stuck my tongue out at them, and told them that at least they got to stay up late with Gramps, and besides, that summer, they got to go to a Yankees game when I wanted to but couldn't. So we were even. Besides, they had no idea how horrible I was feeling, not having Maureen around anymore. They didn't even seem to care. They were just glad they'd get more attention for themselves, it seemed.

I went into Maureen's and my room, and looked around. This was just my room now. I'd have my own room for the first time in my life. It didn't make me happy, I would have given anything to have Maureen back there with me.

It seemed that Gran's goodwill stayed a bit longer... She started letting me stay up a little later, till 8:30. Sometimes she'd let me have tea with her and Grandpa. We started talking a bit more. She didn't seem so mean all the time. Her dream of having a daughter become a nun seemed to put her in a very good mood indeed. I started getting used to not having Maureen around to talk to, but started writing in my diary a lot more, and immersing myself in more and more books. The two boys that lived down the road from us would come over, and I spent the rest of my summer playing hard, climbing trees, swimming in the creek, exploring the property with Bobby and Scott, and just trying to forget how lonesome I felt without my sister. Anytime anyone would ask where she was, I'd tell them that she was in boarding school. Only my next door neighbor and best friend Jennifer knew where Maureen was, and judging by her reaction, I decided to just keep it to myself. No one could ever understand it. We were freaks. There was no use trying to hide it. Everyone knew it anyway, especially me.

The first day of school arrived, and for the first time in my life, I'd be riding a bus to school. I'd be going to Painted Post Middle School, for 8th grade. I was terrified, excited, and just wanted the first day over with. From taking classes all day in one room, to going to a school where I'd have to go to homeroom first, and switch out classes all day, this would be completely different from what I was used to. I was also secretly glad, now was my chance to make a good first impression and make some new friends. Gran laid out a dress for me to wear, said that a dress would be the appropriate first day attire. Having worn a catholic school uniform my entire life up till that point, I knew nothing of fashion whatsoever, always wearing what Gran gave me to wear.

We went down the long driveway to wait for the bus. It took forever to get there, and I worried that maybe we missed it. Finally a huge yellow bus came lumbering up the street and stopped in front of us. My brothers and I boarded the bus and the bus driver barked at us to take a seat. I looked around at all the unfamiliar and frankly, unfriendly faces and wondered if anyone would let me sit down. Lots of scowls led me to believe this would not be an easy task. I found an empty seat and sat down. Someone promptly popped trier head over and told me that the seat was saved for someone else. I scuttled out of the seat and into another empty one as the bus driver yelled at me to sit down. Someone else told me that the seat was saved, and lots of laughing ensued. I turned around and looked at the boy, and said, "my parents pay school taxes too, and I guess I'll sit wherever I please!"

From that moment on, I was known as "taxpayer". I looked around for Bobby and Scott, and they looked away from me, embarrassed. Someone yelled at me and asked if I were going to a children's tea party or did my mom just dress me funny. I became incredibly self conscious of the dress I was wearing, and someone tried to flip my skirt up. I eased back further in the seat and tried to disappear. I was barely aware of when Jennifer boarded the bus, I was trying so desperately to become invisible. When we got to the first elementary school, we had to switch buses to continue on to the middle school. Now mostly the older kids were on the bus, but they were the ones being the meanest. I didn't understand it at all. I missed my friends more than ever. I thought kids in the country were supposed to be nicer than city kids. I was learning quickly that this was not always the case.

When I got to the school I was overwhelmed by how big it was. I couldn't find my homeroom and walked in nearly five minutes late, to the snickers and stares of the other kids. I noticed most of the kids were wearing jeans and trendy tops, and I felt even more silly in my little girl dress. I was smaller than everyone else, and at one point someone asked me if I got lost on the way to third grade. I heard people whispering behind me, "She's so SMALL!! Look at the way she's DRESSED! Where do you think she's from?? She's weird!"

So set the tone for my middle school experience.

As it got cold, Gran did not let me change my clothes and I had to wear the same thing over and over again to the obvious delight and disgust of my classmates. One girl came over to my desk and asked if I were poor. I said no, why? She said, "because you always wear the same thing over and over every day." I didn't know what to say to that, and I asked Gran if I could change into a different sweater the next day as mine was starting to look pretty ratty. She said no. After a while, I just kept mostly to myself.

Four months after Maureen had gone to the convent, Gran announced that she'd be coming home. I got very, very excited, and asked why? I actually didn't care why, I was so glad she'd be coming home. Gran told me to mind my own business, and that things just didn't work out. I couldn't help myself and kept asking, "Did she miss me? Was she too homesick? Didn't she have a vocation after all?" Gran finally snapped at me to go clean that filthy pigsty of a room, and make sure it was completely clean before Maureen came home. I didn't care that Gran yelled at me. I was so glad my beloved sister would be home. I'd ask her why when she got here. I couldn't WAIT to see her again!!! I danced happily into my room to clean it, and stopped short in dismay. It really was a filthy pigsty. In my grief, I had piled stuff high onto Maureen's bed. Sometimes at night I'd look over at her bed, and it looked as though Maureen were laying next to me, on her bed.

How would I possibly EVER get it clean before Maureen got home? I started off by clearing off her bed. How did I get so much stuff? Where did it all come from? I didn't think I even HAD that much junk. Most of it was clothing, mine and Maureen's. Some board games. A few piles of discarded, ignored homework papers. Books. It took forever to shovel through all of that stuff and unearth her bed.

Three days later, Gran came home with Maureen. She was quiet and withdrawn. I tried to talk to her, but Gran yelled at me to leave her alone. She wouldn't let us be alone together. I was really surprised to see her like that. I thought she'd be as happy to see me as I was to see her. I tried to get her to walk down to the creek with me, but she didn't want to. I was crushed.

She just kept saying that she wasn't cut out for a life devoted to God, and that she wasn't good enough. My sister was the most pious, best person I knew. I didn't understand it. She got to stay home until Gran got her registered at West High, and Then she rode the bus with me and our brothers. Finally I had a seat mate! We were inseparable on that bus. Then she rode a different one to high school. I was so glad to have her back. I had missed her so much. Gran was back to her nasty self, and life was normal again. Maureen was once again my sister and best friend. She took a while to get back to her old self, but she did, eventually.

New School Shoes

The year I was going into fourth grade, I started to feel very grown up. I would be ten that school year, and even though it would be more toward the end of the school year I still felt that entering my tenth year of life would be special for me somehow. I'd convinced myself that Gran might allow me to get my ears pierced. I wanted that so badly. All the other girls in the class had their ears pierced, and I was fascinated by the tiny little gemstones in their ears. It looked so delicate and beautiful. I'd read the book, "All of a kind family" and the subsequent series, and was absolutely convinced that I should have my ears pierced at ten years old, as Sara did. I asked my friends endlessly about the process, and was not one bit scared. I didn't care how much it hurt. The payoff would be worth it. I wanted little pearls in my ears, and would suffer any amount of pain to get them.

Before the school year started, we went on our yearly trip to Buster Brown, to get new uniform shoes. This always excited me, it was my favorite part of back to school. I loved the smell of the new shoes. They were an ugly maroon oxford shoe, terribly sensible, and very uncomfortable for the first month. But they were brand new, smelled wonderfully leathery, and were very shiny and new. We didn't have to share them, as we had to share every single other thing in our lives. They were all ours. I loved new shoe shopping.

As we rode to the store, I heard Gran tell Gramps that the prices of new shoes were going up, and it would be quite a bit more expensive than last year. In my young nine year old mind, I thought about another book I had read in the "Little House" series, where they were too poor to afford shoes, and worried that we might be too poor to keep getting new shoes. I was an avid reader even back then, and what I read really resonated with me. I started wondering if Gran would love me more if I just wore Maureen's hand me down shoes. I started thinking about it, and as much as I wanted the new shoes, I wanted Gran's love and approval even more.

Gran scared me most of the time. She could be fine one minute, then in an instant, she'd change, fly off the handle, and start screaming at us and then the spankings would start. Or worse, that dreaded window shade stick would be wielded. That stick really hurt. Maybe if I showed her that I really was willing to help by wearing hand me down shoes, she might not scream at me so much.

We got to Buster Brown, and started getting fitted for new shoes. Maureen was having her foot measured, and I turned to Gran and timidly asked her if she thought Maureen's old shoes might fit me this year. She looked surprised, and said she didn't see why not. She went over to Gramps, who was helping Harlan with his new shoes, and whispered something to him. I saw him nod his head, smiling, and I pressed on by saying that they didn't need to buy me new shoes, that I'd shine Maureen's old ones and wear them for that year. I felt a disappointment in my chest at missing out on new shoes, but the look of pride on Gran's face, ever fleeting, was enough for me.

By the time we rode home, she was back to her usual grumpy self, and even yelled at me for singing too loudly in the van.

Once home, Maureen unpacked her new shoes, and I compared them to her old ones. They looked dreadful, all scuffed and old looking. They didn't have that wonderful new shoe smell, and I wondered if they'd even look good after I polished them.
I tried to look on the bright side, as I didn't have to endure the blistered heels while breaking them in. That was something at least. They were already quite broken in and comfortable.


I never got new school shoes again after that. I always had to wear Maureen's old ones.

No good deed goes unpunished.

In May, my birthday came and went, and I was not allowed to get my ears pierced. I was bitterly disappointed. It seemed that no matter how good I tried to be, there would be no reward. I resolved to get my ears pierced the very instant I got permission to do so. I wondered why the people in the books had such a much more loving family than I did. They were poor, they didn't have much, but they had the unconditional love of their parents, and I really craved that. I was learning in my young mind that love is completely conditional. I hoped that someday when I had children, that I would never make them feel the way I felt growing up. Instead of a kind word, I'd get yelled at to shut up. No accomplishment was met with pride, but derision. If I showed any pride at all in an accomplishment, I was told I was conceited. So, I stopped doing anything that would make me feel at all accomplished. I learned to take no pride in anything I did, as I was afraid I'd be "conceited" if I did so. I often wonder what went through Gran's mind when she'd teach us to despise ourselves. Was she doing it because she thought it was proper child rearing? Or did she get a sick rush of glee at the misery on our faces?

It has been thirty some years since that year, and I am only now beginning to realize that it is ok to like myself, be proud of my accomplishments, no matter how small, and to be good to myself. It hasn't been easy.

Irish Dancing Lessons

My very first memory of St. Patrick's day was when I was six years old, and in first grade. I woke up with a horrible stomach ache, which was fairly common for me back then. I had what was later described as a "nervous stomach" and would be plagued by the most horrible stomach aches that would give me the sweats, and keep me doubled over for hours at a time. I pleaded with Gran to please let me stay home from school, and she relented. I dressed in a very festive green striped shirt, in honor of St. Patrick's day that day. I stayed home, miserable, unable to stand for long periods of time, and suffered for many hours that day. Gran's daughters came over, and wanted to know what was wrong with me. Gran told them that she believed I was faking, that I simply did not want to go to school, and they took one look at me and told her that they didn't think I was faking at all. I have always had dark circles under my eyes, and that day they were very prominent, with a greasy sweat on my face, and pale complexion. I didn't eat much for breakfast or lunch, which seemed to convince Gran finally that I was not faking. I always ate. I was a hungry little kid, and always ate whatever was in front of me. I remember sitting, doubled over, on the couch most of the day, until it was time to pick my brother Darek up from his day at Kindergarten.

The walk seemed to do me a bit of good, and by later that afternoon I felt a bit better. Maureen came home from her day of second grade, and we played under the dining room table till dinner time. That day we would be having ham, potatoes and cabbage for dinner. I disliked the cabbage, but I loved the ham. It was delightfully salty, and I loved anything with more taste than a bland potato, which Gran seemed to favor. Nothing was ever enhanced with butter or salt, so I choked down the dry mealy potatoes and bitter, uninspired cabbage with tiny bites and lots of swallows of milk. We were never allowed to have any meat for our first helping of food, and when we were finished with our potatoes and cabbage, only then were we granted a small portion of meat, usually a tiny two inch square of meat which we would gobble up gratefully with large bites of yet more potato and cabbage. Every year on St. Patrick's day we would suffer the same meal.

Every dinner time, Gran would stand over us expectantly, waiting for the dutiful, "Mmm, this is delicious!" If we did not say it, she would demand to know what was wrong with the meal, so it was always better to tell her it was delicious, rather than suffer the consequences of not enjoying it. If our young taste buds did not agree with one of the bland suppers she prepared for us, she took it personally, and we'd get the cold shoulder for hours afterward. Sometimes she would be in such an ill humor about it, that she would pick at us until we were crying at the table. It was always better to pretend it was delicious. I was always a very slow eater, but never more so than when we had cabbage and potatoes, or the dreaded fish cakes. Gran was well aware that I detested fishcakes, but forced me to eat them anyway. At the end of every meal, we would announce; again, dutifully, "Thank you, Gran, that was very delicious." Gran would then nod her head and we'd be excused from the table.

One evening after supper, she announced that she had a big surprise for my sister and I, and told us she had arranged to have dancing lessons for us. We were so excited! Many of our friends at school took ballet or tap, or jazz, and we longed to join them. She walked us next door to the Democratic club, where a large room full of people waited. She told us that we were to be taking Irish dancing lessons, and we were mystified by this, as we had no idea what this was. I looked around anxiously for my school mates, but saw no one. She introduced us to our teacher, whose name was Donny Goldin, and left us there. Donny was a harsh taskmaster. We were put in the beginner's group, and taught stretches that would strengthen our calf muscles, and taught us the steps to the Irish jig. He demonstrated the steps over and over, and was very strict about our hands remaining straight and stiffly at our sides. We were not allowed to dance these steps yet. We had to walk through them very slowly for weeks, and not to any of the merry music that played and reverberated throughout the Democratic club. I loved the sound of the fiddle music, it sounded both merry and mournful, and had a lilt to it that I felt to my soul. Over time, I'd grow to dread that music, though.

We went to Irish dancing lessons every single Thursday night. In some ways, I enjoyed it, but I'd soon grow to hate it.

Donny was a very harsh teacher. If for some reason, our hands did not remain at our sides, or our calf muscles did not extend the way he wanted, he would hit us with a stick. I hated that stick. Many Thursday nights, I felt the sting of that stick. We grew to become very accomplished Irish dancers, however, we hated it at the same time. Soon we'd be allowed to dance fast, like the more experienced dancers. Some nights, Donny would favor Maureen, and on other nights, he'd favor me. I seemed to be the one who would get hit more often with the stick.

One night, I was feeling a bit more clumsy and made a few mistakes. Donny would yell, and I'd get more and more nervous and flustered, and kept making mistakes. Donny hit me relentlessly with the stick, and I became so hysterical, that I almost vomited. Maureen was very angry, she was always my protector, and as I was excused by a disgusted Donny, she went over to tend to me, against his orders, and she devised a plan to destroy his stick. I was wearing a green sweater that night, and she spotted his stick laying on the floor. While he was busy with another pupil, she threw my sweater over the stick, and carried it outside, and threw it behind the building. My sister was SO BRAVE for doing that. I was in awe of her, and how fearless she was. We wanted to break that stick into a million peices, but we couldn't. It was one of those sticks you would get on a hanger, from a dry cleaner's place, and Donny had removed the hanger and kept the stick. We could only bend the stick, but boy would that thing sting!!

The next week, Donny was a bit nicer to us, and was on to torture the next hapless pupil. He kept looking at us though, and had a brand new stick, this one was wooden, and we were worried about that stick more than the first one. He kept smirking at us, and we decided that he knew all along that we had stolen his first stick. Thank God Sean was picking us up that night.

I did not know why our teacher was allowed to hit us with a stick, but when we told Gran about it, she was unconcerned for us. She seemed more concerned with us not embarrassing her, and told us that we must have deserved it. She seemed to be on Donny's side, and told us that she did not want to hear about us being hit with the stick anymore. If we got hit with a stick in dance class, that meant we weren't listening, and if we got in trouble with Donny, we'd be in worse trouble when we got home. This taught us very quickly to not tell Gran about our troubles with Donny's punishments. Some nights, Sean would walk us down to the Democratic club for dancing lessons. We would beg Sean to come in with us, so that Donny could see him, and know that we had a big brother who would protect us. Sean ALWAYS came in with us, but only stayed for a little while, before he'd leave. It seemed that on those nights, Donny was not as mean to us. Sean would pick us up and have a quick word with Donny, asking how we did that night. As with most bullies, Donny was a sycophant, and would tell Sean that we were his best pupils.

As I entered fourth grade, one of the older students, Patrick, started paying attention to me. He was in seventh grade, and had started out liking my sister. Maureen was "in love" with Patrick, and I was very intrigued by this. I decided that I too, was in love with Patrick, and developed my very first crush. Patrick went to our school, and we used to devise many ways of getting his attention. It never occurred to me that I shouldn't have a crush on him, that it was disrespectful of me to like someone my sister liked, as I was very young, just a little kid, really. Maureen started getting angry with me when Patrick started paying attention to me, and I couldn't understand why. I thought she'd be proud of me, for liking someone she liked, and consider me as grown up as she was. In my eyes, no one was more a hero to me than Maureen, and what she did, I did.

This crush I had developed over time, and for my birthday, Patrick gave me a St. Christopher's medal, and took me behind dancing school and kissed me on the lips. I had just turned ten that day, and thought I was the most grown up person in the world, having been kissed by an older boy. I thought he was terribly grown up, as his breath smelled of coffee, and decided that Patrick was the boy I would some day marry. The next day at school, he ignored me, and started paying attention to another girl in my class. I was crushed. I asked him why he didn't like me anymore, and he disdainfully told me that I was too young for him, that when a guy kisses you, you should kiss back, not just stand there like a dummy. Patrick made the rounds, and got all the girls in St. Margaret Mary's school in such a state, that we were all fighting over him. I didn't know why he had said I was too young, as he was now paying attention to another girl in my same grade. Why was I too young and she wasn't? I turned to my sister for sympathy, but she wasn't having it. She told me I had stolen Patrick from her, and she was glad he didn't like me anymore. Maureen and I eventually made up, but I'd never forget the hurt in her eyes. It never occurred to me that I had hurt her by liking Patrick.

One night, Donny announced that there was going to be a Feis. A Feis was an Irish dancing competition, and he picked my sister and I to be in it. We were honored, but also VERY scared. Were we good enough? He was always telling us how terrible we were, but then he picked us for a competition? What if we lost? We'd be humiliated!!! We trained for weeks, trained HARD, and got very good. We went to Patrick's house for practice, as arranged by Donny, and Patrick's mother. We endured Patrick being nice to one girl after another, and his sister Eileen watching our reactions smugly. We hated Eileen, she was always mean to us. She was always encouraging Patrick to do mean things to us, and those practices at his house were miserable. We wanted to drop out of the Feis because of it all, but Gran wouldn't let us.

One week before the Feis, Gran told us we were not going to be going to the Feis, that she had already told Donny. We asked why not, and she defensively told us that she did not want us to be in a competition. We were crushed. All that hard work for nothing. All those nights with Donny and his horrible stick. He was even more fevered, more driven, and drove us harder than ever, in preparation for the Feis.

After the Feis, we were too humiliated to return to dancing school. We begged Gran to let us drop out, and she refused. We went to a few more classes, and were miserable, as Donny told us it was too bad we didn't go, that he knew we were good enough, but it was too bad we didn't have the nerve to compete. We knew it was useless to try to convince him that we wanted to compete, wanted it in the worst way, because grownups never believe kids.

At every single family event, Gran would parade Maureen and I like circus monkeys, and tell us to perform our Irish dancing for the amusement of her family. We hated this. But we dutifully performed, humiliated, and her family would clap for us. At one function, her nephew's graduation party, she told us to get up there and dance. We begged her not to make us do it, but the flash in her eyes was enough to quiet our objections. We danced, in front of all those people, while Gran smirked with feigned pride, enjoying our discomfort. Her nephews were very good looking boys, and Maureen and I were 13 and 12, respectively, and had developed a crush on these boys. There was one who was 14, and one 15, who Maureen and I had secretly liked for a couple of years. We rarely saw them, and every time we did, Gran would make us go up and do the blasted Irish jig in front of them.

Why couldn't we have had ballet lessons, or even tap? Nope, it had to be Irish dancing, as Gran was obsessed with everything Irish, down to the bland mealy potatoes she served with almost every meal.

To this day, I cringe just a little bit when I hear Irish music, but I also feel a bit of pride, too. We were very good little Irish dancers, and knew we were good enough to compete, even though Gran tried to convince us that we weren't.

I am half Irish, and am proud of my heritage. I love the Irish side of me. I'll never forget the day she finally let us quit Irish dancing, it was a scant few months after that fated Feis, when we finally wore her down enough to let us quit. Sean would take us to dancing lessons, and we'd beg him to take us somewhere else, anywhere else, for that hour, and just TELL Gran we had gone. He never dared, but he did speak to Gran on our behalf, I think, because finally we were allowed to quit.

It was the most releif I had ever felt in my young life, and Maureen's, I think, to be able to end those dancing lessons.

These days I enjoy Irish music, anything celtic, as a matter of fact, and I make corned beef instead of ham. I spice up my cabbage with salt and pepper, and serve it with plenty of butter. It's one of my favorite meals.

Knitting needles

Gran knitted. She was an extremely talented knitter. She also knew how to crochet, and actually taught us how to knit and crochet.

She taught me how to crochet, at first, because I was younger than Maureen, and crochet is a bit simpler than knitting. She taught Maureen how to knit. I had a deep desire to learn how to knit, but Gran did not want to teach me right away. So, I contented myself with crocheting scarves, slowly moving up to afghans. I crocheted pot holders, and nonsensical things, all for the love of the art. As I got older, I moved on to more intricate things, such as doilies. I still wanted to knit; it looked like such a cool thing, and Gran knitted so fast, needles flying, flashing, clicking. It was an amazing thing to watch. She knitted so fast that she could have a whole sweater done in two weeks. She always promised Maureen and I our own Fair Isle sweaters. I loved Fair Isle design. It was so beautiful, and such an amazing thing to behold, the pattern emerging from the needles. I loved yarn work so much. Maureen ended up teaching me how to knit, and Gran supervised, and I shakily learned how to knit. I knitted a VERY crooked scarf for my first project. I wanted to knit a fair Isle sweater, but knew it would take years to learn. I think I was ten when I learned how to knit.

We were all having dinner one night when there was a frantic knocking at the door. One of Kathleen's friends was at the door, crying. Gran had been teaching her how to knit, and apparently while knitting at her own house, she had put a knitting needle through the palm of her hand. I watched, wide eyed, as Gran treated her cuts, and spoke reassuringly to her. Gran was so nice to her! That incident affected me in a strange way. I feared Gran so much, but not everyone did. Not everyone was afraid of her. Wow. Gran was nice to some people, it seemed. People who were not kids anymore. I sort of began to hero worship Gran after that, still afraid of her, but very much in awe of her at the same time. I was very proud of Gran that night, that this scared, hurt girl would seek her out, of all the people she could have chosen, but she chose Gran, that must have meant that Gran truly had a heart, and truly could help her.

I resolved to become a great knitter and a great crocheter, to prove to Gran that I was worthy of the craft. She said I'd have to become very accomplished at knitting in order to deserve to be taught Fair Isle. I decided that Fair Isle must be VERY difficult to learn.

Several years passed, and I became quite good at knitting and crocheting. I learned how to crochet mittens, and wore them to school. I got teased mercilessly for wearing "homemade" mittens, but I didn't care, for once. I was very proud of what I had done for myself. I asked Gran to teach me Fair Isle, but she said no. I was knitting at quite a good rate, and was working on an afghan of different colored squares, with different patterns of stitching on them. My favorite was and still is, the moss stitch, also known as the seed stitch. I loved the nubby texture of it, and it looked so interesting and pretty. I did basketweaving of knit and knit/purl squares within squares, and decided that if Gran didn't teach me Fair Isle, I'd teach myself. I studied her sweaters for hours. I realized that this was simply a matter of weaving a different color yarn in with the main color, thereby forming a pattern. I decided to try a heart. It worked!!! I showed Maureen, and she was excited enough to call for Gran and show her. Gran was not happy. Gran did not think it was great. Gran was angry.

I did not understand her reaction at all. I was so proud of myself to have figured out this difficult pattern myself. She was almost angry at me for having "taken on too much" with my knitting. She said I was a beginner, and that I was acting "too big for my britches" and "showing off" in trying the Fair Isle. My face burned with shame. I was not trying to show off at all. I was very confused and hurt by her reaction.

Well. I didn't stop practicing it, and became quite good at it. A month after my heart, I learned a snowflake, and a reindeer. I made a Christmas afghan for my best friend's mother. I started making it for Gran, but she got so angry every time I knitted around her that I felt it was best to give her something crocheted instead. I was learning some amazing crocheted patterns too, so I'd make her a beautiful afghan.

Maureen and I spent hours and hours with our knitting. Maureen had no desire to learn Crochet. I wanted to teach her so badly, as she had taught me how to knit. I was so grateful for that. Finally she decided she wanted to learn, she had asked Gran to teach her, but for some reason, although Gran could teach Maureen how to knit she had a hard time teaching her crochet, because Maureen is left handed. Gran gave Maureen a VERY hard time teaching her crochet, so Maureen just gave up on it and the entire craft left her with a bad taste in her mouth. I taught her, eventually, and now Maureen crochets things that absolutely blow me away, she is so enormously talented. She made the most beautiful Barbie dresses I had ever seen, I had never seen anything so beautiful. She far surpassed me when it came to the art of crochet, and I was so proud that I had helped her learn.

To this day, I love knitting and crocheting. I have also learned cross stitch and that was a real passion for a while. I always had a burning desire to be an artist, to draw, to paint, to create. Cross stitch is the closest I can come to creating something onto a blank canvas. I absolutely love it.

Maureen and I never received our Fair Isle sweaters from Gran. Yet another promise, unfulfilled. She knitted sweaters for everyone else, even virtual strangers. I always wondered why she would promise us something and then never deliver... I guess I'll never know.

Some of my cross stitch work... An Amish farm. Nearly solid stitching, and it took me a year to complete.

Repost from Pitfalls of life

I had written this back in February, on my other blog, The pitfalls of Life, and thought it was more appropriate to put on this blog.

So lately I have been doing a LOT of soul searching, and introspection.

I often do this when I have gone through a particularly rough period in my life, and in the travels in my head I have started a blog that tells the story of my life as a child, from age 3, on up.

This blog is written from my perspective as a child, but the memories are crystal clear. I do not embellish, everything is precisely as I remember it. The only deviations may be that certain things did not happen in the correct time line. As they are my personal memoirs, however, I am willing to forgive myself that small transgression, even though at times I am an insufferable perfectionist.

So there will be several "random side notes" in this blog, as things come to my memory. For years and years, I remembered certain things with bitterness, and anguish. Time has softened my perspective, and I see my life now as a challenge that I gracefully overcame. No, I am not wildly successful and rich by society's standards, but I am grateful for the successes I have had. There have been many.

My path has never been an easy one; from the start there were horrific obstacles to overcome, at a very young age. Going into young adulthood, the scars of very painful obstacles carved out a difficult path for me. I made horrible choices, but lived with those choices as I only had myself to answer to. I made a good thing of my choices, and the bitterness slowly faded away.

The bitterness has been replaced with joy so often that I have to ask myself... How is it that I continue to see my past as painful? That makes no sense. In writing all of these memories, I am purging myself of that bitterness, slowly but surely. It is better than any therapy I have tried thus far. Interspersed with writing, I am also having dreams, not fearful and dark dreams as I have always had, but good life lessons that I can draw strength from. I no longer see Gran as an object of fear from my past. I no longer feel inadequate as I did for decades, compared to everyone else in that family. I no longer despise my ex husband, as I did for years. I was not forced to marry him. I was not forced to stay with him after that first violent encounter. Every emotion, every reaction, and every perspective is a choice that we make. I do not always choose wisely. But I always reconcile the choices that I have made, and if I cant change them, I find a way to live with them. I overcame much in my life, and I am very very proud of that. I did it without succumbing to drugs or alcohol. I did it without using anyone. I did it on my own.

I have taught my amazing girls that yes, you have it within you to change a bad situation and make it good for yourself, as no one can do that for you. I have taught them that nothing gives them a better start than a decent education. If nothing else, it gives you a fair shot in life. Education does not make you smart. It does, however, supply a person with the information and data to make informed decisions throughout your life. It also supplies a person with a piece of paper that enables them to get a decent job with a decent salary. Money has never been the most important thing in my life, but in this day and age, one must have a certain amount of it in order to make it through. I do not possess that piece of paper, but someday I will. That is one of my goals. Not for money. Not for information or data, as I have educated myself quite sufficiently. But to say I did it. I have always wanted to do it, never followed through on it, and now I want to follow through and accomplish it. For me.

So, facing the world with yet another, fresher, happier perspective, alone but not alone, I have come into contact with some extraordinary people from that far away, long ago place I once knew. I am very glad of this; I have lived many years struggling alone. It is time now to let someone in.

Seamus

When I was in really little, we were introduced to a "cousin" named Seamus. He was two years younger than I was, and I thought he was the cutest little boy in the world. He was blond haired and blue eyed, and just adorable. We played with him endlessly. Gran's daughter, Margaret was his mother. We grew very close, and as we grew up, we looked forward to whenever Seamus would come over to the house. He came over a lot, as Margaret worked as a nurse. Many times she'd work overnight.

One day it was announced that they were moving away. I am not sure why, or what took them there, but they were moving to Denver, Colorado. I was heartbroken, and remember sobbing into Miss Murray's shoulder, telling her about it. I did not know where "Denver" was, but I knew it was far enough away that we'd likely never see Seamie again. Yes, we called him Seamie, a nickname that pained him as he got older, and he insisted we stop. (Pronounced, Shamie)

Apparently the move did not work out, because they came back not too long after moving there. I was thrilled to have my friend back. Seamie and I were good buddies. We'd play in the yard for endless hours, somehow being locked out of the house for hours at a time didn't seem so bad when Seamie was there.

Of course, Gran never locked Seamie out. She always let him in any time he wanted, and would give him a delicious looking treat, and if we asked for any, she's bark, NO!! It isn't lunch time yet!!! We did not understand this, but even that wasn't enough to make us resent Seamie. We loved him beyond all reason.

Besides, he was SO brave!!! I remember one time when he stared Gran down, with a stony glare, IN FRONT OF GERARD, and told Gran he hated her for being so mean to us. All Gerard did was say gently, "OK, Seamie, calm down now." Gran beat our butts for "influencing Seamie badly" but boy was it worth it. We'd talk about it for months afterward, Maureen and I.

Even younger than us, I pretty much hero worshipped Seamie. He didn't get along very well with William, even though they were nearly the same age. He said William was a baby, that he cried too much, and he'd rather be with "the girls" than be with William. Sadly, Maureen and I were very smug about this with William. Sometimes I had a pang of guilt and would try to include William, but then William would do something bratty, and that was the end of that. He'd be ostracized again. We couldn't understand why William acted the way he did, but we were used to it. Seamie wasn't.

Poor William was a pathological liar. He'd continuously make up stories and actually believe them. We could never understand it. He'd make up stories about us, and get us all angry at each other. William was labeled a "troublemaker" and we avoided him as much as possible. I could not abide my beloved Seamie being angry with me for something I didn't do, for something William said I did.

Seamie often came to the farm with us for a few weeks in the summer. We looked so forward to this, as it offered us a bit of a respite from Gran's cruelty to a degree. Gran seemed to be on her guard when Seamie was around. It was as if she didn't want him to know just how nasty she could be toward us. She did a lot of pretending, Gran did. Seamie wasn't fooled.

After the two weeks were up, he'd be absolutely frantic to leave. We felt hurt by this, as he'd say, I hate you guys, I can't wait to go home!! We didn't realize at the time that he didn't hate us, he was just desperately homesick. When we spoke to Margaret about it, she tried to explain how he felt. Homesickness was not a concept we were familiar with. We looked forward to being away from Gran any chance we got, as she was such an oppressive and domineering force in our young lives. Any chance to get away from her was golden as far as we were concerned. We lived for the short respites from her cruelty and never ending supply of stony glares. So it was hard to imagine actually WANTING to be home. Although, we could somewhat understand, as we loved Margaret, and wished she was our mother too. She was amazing. She was a very talented artist, and painted constantly. She painted portraits of nude women. Beautifully. We loved her art, but Gran got annoyed with it.

Margaret was wonderfully open with us, and if we ever had a question, she'd answer it honestly. She was a nurse, and did not think questions about the human body were disgusting or dirty or "piggish" as Gran did. She once heard Maureen and I referring to our private parts as something outlandish (which Gran instructed us to call it) and told us what it was really called. Mind you, we were a bit older by then, about ten and eleven years old, respectively. We were mystified as to why Gran didn't want us to know what our own body parts were called. Then Margaret told us what a boy's private part was called. We were amazed!! It was all so clandestine and forbidden!! I decided that the next time we went to the library, I'd take out a book on the human body... But how to get it past Gran??? Seamie was staying for an additional week with Margaret, a fact that enormously pleased us. Maybe if I got caught with the book Seamie would cover for me. Maureen and I always took out the maximum amount of books allowed, so maybe she wouldn't check on my books.

So after we got to the library, Gran and Margaret went off to thier own corner of the library to look for a new Agatha Christie book for Gran, and Maureen, Seamie and I went off to our normal section. Seamie said that all the girls in his class were reading books written by Judy Blume, and that they would be the most helpful. We seized on these books, and got four each. Then we went to our normal section of the library, feeling like "bad little girls" and proceeded to select four more "normal" books. I could NOT WAIT to get home and start reading. So began my education on the human body and what it was supposed to do.

I also took out Tom Sawyer. I loved all the Mark Twain books, and this one spooked me again and again, the stories of Injun Joe in the cave. I loved that book. I had read it once before, but a condensed version, and I felt I was ready to read the unabridged version. Both Maureen and I were at least five grades ahead in reading, a fact that we took in stride. We felt no pride at this, even though our teachers marvelled at it. We were told at home that we were stupid, so this did not convince us that we were anything but unintelligent freaks who could in fact, read.

Maureen and I fought over "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret" and I finally let her read it first. I read "Deenie" I did not understand it much, but I had always thought being a model was the most glamourous job in the world, and this was about modelling. I really think I was too young to "get" the book though. It wasn't ONLY about modelling. It confused me, actually.

Gran did check the titles of our books, and when she saw them, she thought they were about good Catholic girls who prayed. We were safe!! She rarely ever checked our books, but every so often she'd ask what we were reading. Since we weren't allowed to watch television, books were the bulk of our entertainment. Yes, my brothers were allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons, and "The A team" when it came on, and we were allowed to watch "Mickey Mouse club" and the "Brady Bunch", but that was about it. Maureen and I were not even allowed to watch "Little House on the Prairie" because Gran said it was too emotional for us and we wouldn't get it anyway. We had read all the books, what wasn't to get? But we never dared ask, it wasn't worth her inevitable rage.

Maureen and I both finished our books in a day, and quickly exchanged them. Boy, were we getting an education!!! I had never even heard of a period, it sounded kind of scary, and since Margaret in the book was about Maureen's age, we figured she'd be getting hers any day.

We finished all our "bad" books, and I started on Tom Sawyer. One Sunday afternoon, we were all outside in the sunshine, reading, and I came across a passage in the book that I didn't understand. "Becky sat down and had what her sex called, a good cry" I was on my beloved maple tree, on the little hump at the base of the tree. Seamie and Margaret had gone home that morning.

I looked up from my book, and asked Gran, "What does sex mean?"

Gran snapped to attention, charged at me, and walloped me, knocking me off the tree, demanding "What are you reading??!??!??" I was stunned, and instantly the tears sprang up into my eyes as I shakily handed her Tom Sawyer. I couldn't catch my breath, and was trying hard not to cry. She grabbed it, and demanded to know which passage I had just read.

She read it, her lips pressed into a thin line, and a look of understanding came onto her face. "oh" she stammered, "Um, that means, er, well, it just means a girl or a boy". I still had no idea what she meant, or what it meant, but I felt it was best not to continue questioning about it. Gran handed me the book and told me to keep reading, that the rest of the book would explain the meaning. My face stung, and my head hurt, and I just wanted to run into the woods sobbing. But I didn't. I sat there, trying to read, but the print just ran together, and I could no longer concentrate. I hated Gran at that moment. It was obvious that she hated me, too.

The next time we went to the library, I went to the enormous dictionary and looked up the word sex. What I saw was too confusing, and did not explain a thing.* Most of all, I was looking for something that would explain to me why Gran reacted the way she did. I saw nothing. There would never be any rhyme or reason to her rages, no explanation, and no warning. She was an irrational person, and I did not understand it. I only got angry with someone if they were mean to me, I'd never get angry or hit someone for doing NOTHING. I couldn't imagine what she thought I had done, to elicit that sort of reaction.

We were getting older. Gran seemed to hate us as we got older. We felt bereft of any kind of affection, any kind of understanding. Maureen and I turned to each other for our solace and comfort, and the boys turned against everyone. They were becoming more and more disturbed. Darek was the angriest. William was living in a fantasy world. Harlan was the baby, four that summer, and the only one that Gran seemed to love.

I was feeling more and more isolated from the world. More and more hopeless that anyone would ever really make an attempt to understand us, understand that we desperately needed someone to be kind to us. There was no one.

*sexPronunciation[seks] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1.
either the male or female division of a species, esp. as differentiated with reference to the reproductive functions.
2.
the sum of the structural and functional differences by which the male and female are distinguished, or the phenomena or behavior dependent on these differences.
3.
the instinct or attraction drawing one sex toward another, or its manifestation in life and conduct.

Tuffy

Gran and Grandpa had a dog named Tuffy. Tuffy was a beautiful white fluffy dog with large black spots, and a brown golden retriever-like head. He was obviously a mix of some sort, probably Australian shepherd and Golden retriever.

I adored Tuffy beyond all reason. He would sneak upstairs, and come into our room and sleep at the foot of my bed. This gave me unspeakable joy. I felt so honored, so special, that Tuffy loved me enough to pick MY bed to sleep on. I loved that dog.

One night, I must have wriggled to the foot of the bed in my sleep, and stretched out and apparently kicked Tuffy accidentally. He snapped at me, and I woke up, scared, confused and not sure what was going on. The light was on and Gran and Grandpa were yelling at me. "What did you do to the dog???" they demanded. I was too sleepy to know what had even happened, and Gran took Tuffy off my bed and said that would be the last time he would be allowed to sleep with me. I cried myself to sleep that night, and missed him terribly from then on. I tried every way I could to entice him to come into my room again, and sometimes he would sneak in, but Gran always came and got him and took him away. I worried that Tuffy would think I no longer loved him, and did not want him on my bed. I worried that he would wonder what he had done wrong to be punished in such a way.

Gran always said that Tuffy was Brigid's dog. She said they brought him home as a puppy for Brigid's birthday.  I thought Brigid was the luckiest person on the planet to own such a wonderful pet. I loved Tuffy so much.

Tuffy was my constant companion when I was very little. We went outside and played together, and I tried to get him to come back when he would roam the neighborhood. I worried that one day he would never come back.

When we went on our long trips to the farm upstate, Tuffy would come with us. He did not like the car at all. He cried and whined the whole time. Sometimes he would howl. It must have bothered his ears, because Gran and Grandpa took him to the vet one day, and he had an operation on his ears. I burst out crying when I saw them taking Tuffy out to the van, he was unconscious, and Grandpa and another man were carrying poor Tuffy upside down, by the feet, out to the van. Poor Tuffy's tongue was hanging out, and a little blood and yellow stuff was draining from his ears. I vowed to nurse him back to health. It took Tuffy a long time to wake up. I wondered what had been wrong with his ears, but Gran said she didn't know.

One day at the big blue house in Staten Island, Tuffy was lying on the dining room floor, and I noticed two black lumps near his back end. I asked Gran what that was and she yelled at me to mind my own business. I did not know what had made her so angry, so I did not ask again. When she went into the kitchen, I went up to Tuffy and touched the black lumps to see what they felt like. Gran saw me, and came flying at me from the kitchen, spanking me soundly. It was just another one of her usual unexplained rages, where I never saw it coming, and never knew why she had gotten so angry. She never explained why I got hit, and never told me what those black lumps were. I never tried to touch them again, but I did feel a sense of detached shame that I had touched them to begin with. Gran had called me "piggish" as she was hitting me, said I was disgusting and had a filthy mind. So I figured it was one of those same instances where I must have just been born bad, as she said over and over, and would do bad things without even knowing it.

Tuffy hadn't seemed to mind. He never even woke up. I wondered if it were just "dog poop". That maybe It was stuck there, amongst his fur, near his back end. I didn't always see these black lumps, Tuffy was very fluffy, so maybe when he went to the bathroom, it would become stuck in his fur. I decided that was why Gran got so angry with me, and said I was piggish. She did make me wash my hands after she was finished spanking my bare bottom. I figured that must be it. I warned my brothers against ever touching Tuffy there, telling him that it was dirty and telling them what had happened to me. They listened, wide eyed, and we all speculated as to what it could possibly be, hanging from the dog's hind quarters.

We unanimously decided it was dog poop. Dog poop that would stay forever, and Gran never helped the dog rid himself of it because then she might get dirty and feel piggish.

One day, Maureen and I wanted to play "house" under the dining room table, our very favorite place. There was a tablecloth on the table, so we couldn't see the floor. We had our Barbie dolls all ready, and she had her beloved Barbie clothing case. Maureen had a Malibu Barbie, and I had a Malibu Francie. I was a bit jealous of Maureen's doll because hers had beautiful clothes, and mine was smaller and wouldn't fit into the same clothes. The year was 1974, and I was 8.

Well, we decided to play with our dolls, and I pulled up the tablecloth to go under the table. Tuffy was sleeping under there, and he looked up, startled. I made a face at him, due to the fact that he was taking our spot that we wanted, and unexpectedly Tuffy LUNGED at me, teeth bared, and bit me on my left thigh. I was so shocked and scared, I did not know what to do. I heard Maureen screaming for Gran, and yelling that Tuffy had bitten me. I started crying, my leg hurt so badly, but my feelings were hurt more than anything. I could not believe my beloved dog would do such a thing. My only friend.

Next thing I knew, Gran had put me on a chair in the kitchen. She and Brigid (or Kathleen, I'm not sure which sister it was) were discussing the cut and what to do. It was a very deep cut, and was bleeding. They were being very quiet, trying not to let me hear. Gran had this horrible stuff we called "red spray". It burned like fire when it was sprayed into a cut. Gran had it, and a band aid on the table. I started crying again at the thought of the red spray, and Tuffy came slinking into the kitchen to see me. He looked sorrowfully up at me, and gingerly placed his head on my lap, which started a fresh flood of hiccupy tears from me. I loved that dog so much and it seemed to me that Tuffy felt very badly for what he had done. I forgave him instantly, even though Gran yelled at him to get away from me. I had extremely mixed feelings about this. Gran never stuck up for me, yet she was yelling at my beloved dog in my defense. I chose to keep my mouth shut, but I did reach out carefully and petted Tuffy's head. Gran then said something about possibly pouring the red spray into the cut. Brigid (or Kathleen) said doubtfully, "In the cut, Mom???" I was terrified. I knew it would burn and hurt worse than it did already. Gran did not seem to know what to do about it. It was a pretty deep cut. I still have the scar from it today.

It took me a long time to stop crying and calm down, and when grandpa came home from work that night, I started crying again, when he asked me about it. He then asked what I had done to Tuffy to make him bite me. I told him I did not do anything to him, that I pulled the tablecloth up, and made a mad face because he was in Maureen's and my favorite play spot. Grandpa gently told me that under the dining room table was Tuffy's favorite spot to sleep, and if he wasn't there then it was ok to play there, but if he was there, then we needed to leave him alone. I tried to assure Grandpa that I hadn't bothered Tuffy, but he nor Gran believed me. They said I HAD to have done something to make him bite me. I decided that Tuffy did not like mad faces, and tried to keep a pleasant face on around him from then on.

Side note::

Obviously those black lumps were the dog's testicles. Back as a small kid though, I did not know about such things, so when I noticed them on Tuffy, and touched them, I had no understanding as to why Gran reacted the way she did.

Also, I saw it as a punishment that Gran prevented Tuffy from sleeping with me. In reality, and in hindsight, I realize she was probably afraid that he would hurt me if I inadvertently kicked him during the night. Perhaps they had heard Tuffy growling at me while I slept, and that is why they were already in the room when he finally snapped at me. At that time, we were still their foster children, and they would have been liable for any grievous injuries to us. If it would have only been EXPLAINED though, I perhaps would not have grown up so resentful of Gran and her methods.

First Holy Communion

I was in second grade, and would soon be making my First Holy Communion. I was so excited, as it was a very long year since Maureen made hers. I had longed for this day for a many months, and it seemed as if it would never get here.

Before the first holy communion, however, we as a collective 2nd grade class had to have our very first Confession, in the confessional. I was intrigued. I always wondered what those little boxes looked like on the inside. They had such rich deep red drapes on the entrances, I imagined that perhaps they were like the "I dream of Jeannie" bottles on the inside and were quite opulent and decadent, and comfortable. I couldn't wait to get a look in one.

Before we could do this, however, we finally learned what an "Examination of conscience" was. This entailed a long boring quiet moment of closing our eyes, and putting our heads down, and thinking of all the things we had done to displease God. I was completely stumped. I really did not think that conning my brother William out of his two o'clock treat was THAT bad, but then again, I couldn't really say. They taught us what a mortal sin was and I knew I had never ever even thought of doing any of those things, but they left the definition of regular every day sins rather vague, I thought. So I was at a loss. I figured I'd just tell him of the few lies I'd told and maybe a few fights I'd had with my brothers. I did not want to tell Father Mullin about the box. I figured he'd throw me out of the church and tell me I was going straight to hell for that sin. I still had not forgotten the beating I had received for that.

Before we were able to make our very first penance, Father Mullin decided we had to review all of the sacraments up to the point of Penance. Basically, all we had done thus far was the Sacrament of Baptism. I was very worried about this. I had no proof at all that I had been baptized. Did my parents care enough to see that we were baptized? I asked Gran several times, but she never gave me a straight answer.

I worried that I'd have a fatal accident and go straight to hell due to not being baptized. I was convinced that it never even happened. One day, Father Mullin picked two kids from 2nd grade to participate in a mock baptism to enable us to see what happened during a baptism. I raised my hand to participate, frantic to be picked. I thought, "This is my chance to be baptized, in case it hadn't happened yet!!!" I did not want to take the other sacraments unless I had been baptized, as Father Mullin, Father Miller AND Father Dorney all said it was a mortal sin to receive the body of Christ if you had not been baptized. I did not want to commit a mortal sin.

Father Mullin picked ME!!! I was so happy. Now it would not matter if I had not been baptized, because it was about to happen for real!!! No one would ever have to know that I was not sure if I had been baptized as a baby, no one would ever suspect a thing, and I could go on to receive all of the future sacraments without committing a mortal sin!! This made all of my stresses go away until Father Mullin started off the ceremony by telling us it was only for a demonstration. I got very worried and asked him if we were still using Holy Water. He said that all of the water in the church had been blessed, so yes, we were still using Holy Water. I was very relieved and did everything Father Mullin said to do, and was very soon baptized.

Father Mullin instructed the class to write a short report about our experience, and what we had gotten out of it. In my relief, I told all that had happened, and finished up the report with, "It was so funny, it was almost as if I were being baptized again!!" For some reason, Mrs. McKee and Father Mullin found this very funny, and sent my report to the bishop. This was a great honor, but instead of being proud, I worried so much that the bishop, who was quite important and Holy, would realize from reading it that I was not sure I had been baptized the first time, and keep me from making my first holy communion.

It never happened. I was greatly relieved, and we went on to make our very first confession. I was disappointed to realize that we were not going to go into the confessional, that we were to kneel at the alter, and each of my classmates was to speak in a low soft voice to the priest. We had to start off by saying, "bless me Father, for I have sinned. This is my very first confession" Then we were to tell the priest our sins and wait for him to tell us what our penance was.

I worried that I would mess up in some way, but I did fine. I was very relieved when it was over and I could go kneel in my row and do my penance. Two weeks later I would be receiving my FIRST HOLY COMMUNION!!! I was so excited!!

The evening before my communion, Gran took me to Grant's for new underwear, socks, and shoes. She was also going to take me for a special dinner, just the two of us. I was in heaven as we walked around the store together. I never had Gran all to myself, and she was really nice to me! When we got dinner, we went to the little diner in Grant's, and ordered. I got pot roast, green beans and mashed potatoes and gravy. Gran let me order a soda!!

The dinner was so good, some of the gravy got on the green beans, and I decided that any time thereafter that I had anything with gravy, I'd dip my vegetables in it because it made them taste delicious!

The next day was my communion, and it passed in a blur. I did everything right, and we had a party afterwards. I got a Scapular medal as my gift. It was beautiful, and gold, and I was incredibly proud to wear it. It was much nicer than the cloth scapulars.

Sadly, I wore it to school the next day, and someone asked to see it, and to pass it around the classroom, and someone stole it from me. I never saw it again.

To this day I do not know who took it, but I was heartbroken for a very long time.

The box

One day my sister and I came home from school and went up to the room we shared. In the middle of the floor was a large cardboard box. I was intensely curious about this box, and went downstairs to ask Gran about it. She glared at us both, and told us not to touch the box, and not to look inside of the box. We said ok, and did not bring it up again. After supper that night and after the rosary, we were put to bed at our customary 7pm. As always, Maureen and I could not sleep that early, and looked out the window and talked. It was still light outside, and we could see the Verrazano Bridge from our window. We wondered where it led to, and talked about being grown up and traveling to exotic places. Our "cousins" had just gone to Aruba, and we saw pictures of their trip. They were rich, and went to lots of wonderful places that we wished we could go to. They got to go on an airplane and everything.

We heard Gran coming down the hallway, and scrambled back up to the top of the bed and pretended to be asleep. She came in and yelled at us to go to sleep, and looked sharply at me and asked if I had looked into the box. I said no. She looked at the box, and back at me, and said, "you'd better not!!" It scared me to think that she might not beleive me, and punish me anyway.

I was too afraid to look in the box. That night, Maureen and I pondered what might be in that box. We imagined all sorts of treasures. We decided that it held some of the most precious things we could imagine, things from our parents, that Gran never let us have. Every Christmas, our parents would send gifts, but Gran would never let us have them. Maureen and I decided that the box in the middle of our room contained all the things that our parents had ever given us.

The next night, the box was still there. Maureen asked if I were going to look into the box, and I got brave and got out of bed. I went to the box, and cautiously opened the cardboard flaps. It was full of the most beautiful clothing we had ever seen!!! They were all our size, and there were some beautiful dresses in there too!!! We got excited, my hands diving deeper and deeper into the box to try and see all the things at the bottom. Maureen was above me, on the bed, but I was in the middle of the floor, with my arms in the box. We heard Gran coming, and I quickly replaced everything and folded the flaps back up and jumped back into bed. Gran yelled at us to go to sleep, and went into her room, which was right next door. Grandpa was downstairs watching a fight, and Gran watched "Little house on the prairie" in her room. Maureen and I liked when Gran watched TV in her room, because it meant we could talk quietly and Gran wouldn't be able to hear us over the TV.

We excitedly discussed what was in the box, and why had Gran left it in our room? It would have made more sense to leave it in her own room, we thought. Then we would never know it existed. I was 7 years old then, and Maureen was 8. We could not make sense of much that happened to us back then, but we never questioned anything, because to do that meant a slap in the face, or a severe spanking.

Most of the time, I never knew when a slap was coming. It always seemed so sudden, so violent, and SO unfair. I never knew what I had done to deserve it. It seemed I must have just been a naturally very bad kid, like she said we all were, to get hit and not know why. I must have done things I shouldn't have done, without realizing it. Gran always said we deserved everything we got, and probably more.

The next night we were sent to our room, and Gran said, "you had better not look in that box!!"
I assured her I wouldn't, and as soon as I heard her go downstairs, I was in the box looking to see if there were anything I missed the night before. I took every single thing out of the box, and put it back in again. My arm was again deep in the box, when Gran came bursting through the door. My heart sank, then came up into my throat as I saw Gran go over to the window shade and pull out the long narrow stick of wood that was inserted in there to keep the shade flat.

I had scrambled up onto my bed for safety, but Gran grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me down the length of the bed to the bottom. God, that was a long trip. I knew what awaited me, though. She wielded that stick and raised it high, shouting with each connection with my butt and legs (each syllable was its own slap with the stick, almost like a punctuation), "I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK IN THAT BOX!!! YOU HAVE DELIBERATELY DISOBEYED ME!!! HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY ME? DID YOU THINK I WOULD NOT FIND OUT? DID YOU THINK I WOULD NOT CATCH YOU???" Gran was relentless with that stick.

I laid there, sobbing, and she slammed out of our room, saying I should think about what I had done.

She came back a short time later, and I said I was sorry, in between sobs and hiccups. She sneered at me and asked, "Are you really sorry? Or are you just sorry because you got caught?"

I cried that I was really sorry, but knew it would not do any good.

The box stayed there for 3 more days. I never touched it again. We never saw the clothing that was in that box again either.

The mixture of psychological torture along with the physical abuse was what ultimately took its toll on my overall self esteem. She set us up to fail, over and over again. Then punished us for that failure. I loved her so much anyway, as she was the only real mother I knew. I believed her. Grownups did not lie, right?