Pss. 73: 16 When I thought to know this, it was too painful for me;

Where Was Your Mother?

“Where is your mother?” screamed Grandmom as she walked in the front door to find me dangling from a rope, on a makeshift swing my brother and sister had made, forcing me to be their guinea pig. I dangled from our third floor railing, which ran straight to the first floor where I hung, doe eyed looking at grandmom, then darting my eyes upward and tugging as a sign to ‘pull me up’.

Instead, I was lowered to the floor where my mean grandmother stood, waving her finger at me, scolding me and yelling, “You kids are animals! I’m telling your mother when she gets home!”

And she did. My mother was out at the time, who knows where, and as always, my brother, sister and I got into mischief. Whether it was condiment fights, wrestling matches that brought me to tears, or just plain old name calling. We were the animals in grandmoms eyes. My other brothers were out making their own mischief I imagine, because after all, we WERE animals!

I remember one time placing a ladder out the second floor window to my cousins’ roof next door, so we could climb out the window. We didn’t know danger; all we knew was mischief and being up to no good.

Where was my mother…

When my sister and I were having yet another giggle fest? She was sleeping, awakened by us and ready to whip!

Yeah, a WHIPPING! My sister crawled under the blankets so she didn’t feel the WHIPS me, I didn’t have a thick enough blanket. The fat black extension cord went across my back and legs like glass! I cringed, I cried, I bled, I bruised. All for laughing.

Pss. 25: 18 Look upon mine affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sins.

Where was your mother when you took that first drink?

I’ll tell ya. She had gone off to the ladies room. I was sitting in a smoke-filled bar at a table my father, mother and I were sharing.  My dad went to the front of the bar to chat up some of his shipyard friends, mother went to the ladies room, and there was her whiskey sour, just sitting all alone, looking like a normal breakfast drink with all that orange juice. No harm no foul in me taking a sip, is it?

It was delicious! When my mother returned her glass was empty, my dad rejoined us at the table, but had to return to the bar to get a refill for my mothers drink. No one the wiser. Thus began my drinking, sneaking drinks days, I was nine.

Where was your mother?

Well she was always somewhere, either work, dragging me to the bars to meet my dad after work, or at bingo in my younger years before the trips to the bar. I was the youngest of six kids, so while my brothers were all being neglected; no baseball or football games for my mother and dad, my two oldest were enjoying the drug scene being the hippies that they were, my sister was off finding boyfriends and roaming the streets AWAY from the drunken mother and father and brat for a sister.

Where was your mother when..

My brother was stealing my clothes? She was getting a lock for our drawers, buying a trunk to lock up all of our undergarments, and moving hell and high water for my father NOT to find out or in her words, “he’ll kill him if he ever finds out.”

So what? The pig deserves to die, were my initial thoughts but in later years I had to come to a place of forgiveness, whether I liked it or not, for my sanity’s sake!

One time, when I was sixteen and pregnant, I remember getting so peeved at my bro for his actions, I took all my underwear, placed them in a paper bag, set them on the sofa with a note B.U.T.T!!! Bra and Underwear Taker! He was so mad he flew off the handle, went and got his gun and chased me up the stairs in anger. I ran into the bathroom and he came banging on the door putting a big dent into the wood.

My other brother arrived home in time to stop him, calmed him down, and I got out of the bathroom and left the house for my boyfriends house and awaited for my mother to come home to do SOMETHING about him!

Tell no one!

How frustrating to live in a house, with drunken parents, a pervert for a brother, and no one to care if I was going to live or die at any given moment. My pregnancy was my saving grace. Had I not gotten pregnant, I for sure was heading down a suicidal path.

After I lost the baby at nine months pregnant. I dove! Dove more and more into drinking and drugging. I was 16.

I LOVE YOU MOTHER AND DAD!

Job 14:22 But his flesh upon him shall have pain, and his soul within him shall mourn.