On Pause

I am on pause if you may have noticed. I have some goals I am working on currently and so I have been neglecting this blog. I was originally going to delete it but I was asked not to …… and I guess I am one for flattery at times.

Please continue to send me emails, posts, etc. I will update as I can. Eventually I will look to get this story into a book

Part 6, Chapter 1

Life was pretty normal for a few years. I was a happy child who was blossoming in school, I was making friends and my parents were madly in love with each other. We took family vacations. I had birthday parties with friends (I will get to one a bit later in this post) and home life was calm. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt comfortable.

I was just 6 years old so boys were not yet gross but they were nothing I really thought of. They were just boys. First grade felt like my coming out party. My teacher recognized I was a quick learner and she nurtured this. I was reading and completing more book reports than anyone in the class. In retrospect, I realize now my first grade teacher was likely “family” and so I now understand her extra attention to me in class. She would ask me to read out loud, she would praise how smart she thought I was and above all she did not treat me as if I was an outsider. School was something I looked forward to.

I felt comfortable in the first grade, but it was also the start of me learning that I might be a bit different than the other children. This was the year where all of the girls were pressured into joining Brownies. An after school activity that really only meant one thing: we got to sell those damn cookies but saw none of the profits. Brownies was, of course, led by the mothers. Most of the mothers were full time mom’s so these ladies turned Brownies into who’s little girl was the best with the most badges. Some of us were left out of this mess (and by some of us I mean me and the other girls whose mothers worked full time)  and I am thankful for that, but I was the one singled out to be asked “where is your mommy?” by none other than the mommies. It still kinda of angers me the way they would ask me this in front of my peers in the middle of one their mindless activities and I would like to say I can forgive their ignorance, but lets face it they were doing it to make sure their daughters understood I was different; I came from somewhere different and my family was different. It succeeded.

These same nosey mommies would start what would become a vicious cycle of picking me last for every activity when it came to teaming up. And, it was these same mommies who opted their daughters out of my birthday parties. You want to talk about your heart being sunk at a time when Battleship was one of the number one board games. Mine was a prime target for these women. Somehow, I never was invited to these girls birthday parties and they consistently declined by invitations. May I remind you that we were a class of maybe 18 students? You felt the sting even at that age even if you could not name it.

But, alas I did have a great 6th birthday at the child’s dream cave of terrible pizza and frightening mechanical animals, Chuck-E-Cheese. It was awesome. We ate too much, we ran in circles playing those games that spit out tickets for who knows what you can redeem them with and we had a blast. I do not remember any of the events of that day, which is unusual for me, but what I do remember is I felt really happy. Running off a sugar high is really all a child looks forward to on their birthday. I look at the photos from that day and you cannot tell that I have 2 gay parents. You cannot determine that my mother is not here for my birthday (and she did not call either …. a pattern for her). All that you can see is a happy healthy child with other happy healthy children she was happy to call her friends.

I often wonder whether any of the other girls felt left out by these Brownie/Girl Scout mothers. I wonder if they felt they were ostracized for not having the same family these women felt they had. These women would set the tone for a fear I developed when I am around groups of women.  I wonder if these mommies knew the damage they were inflicting on a little girl who was without hers.

Part 5 Chapter 3

Kindergarten came and went as I was starting to feel safe in my new school surroundings and safe with the familiar faces on the play ground. I had just turned 6 years old and it was time for summer vacation and our first real family road trip.

Oliver’s aunt lived in Southern California on the coast in Morro Bay. It was his favorite aunt. Oliver did not have to pretend about anything with Aunt Nena and she loved anyone who loved her favorite nephew. Aunt Nena was excited to meet Oliver’s love and his daughter. The plan was to go to Yosemite, drive down to Morro Bay, take a day trip to Hearst Castle and then the prize …. Disneyland! Disneyland is a 6 year old dream of all dreams! To see Mickey and Minnie en vivo was more than my little temperament could handle. It would prove to be the bargaining chip that would be keep me behaved for most of the trip.

What Oliver and my dad did not have much experience with was the stamina or lack thereof as it relates to a child. Little legs, needing food, nap time, and constant snacks were something you would think after having been around a child for the last 2 years they would have picked up, but they did not and my stubbornness was not something you could calm down once it perked up. It started in Yosemite.

Recall this is 1981 and two men traveling with a 6 year old was not acceptable if they were to present themselves as a couple. At second issue was a fairly new couple still madly in love and wanting to express themselves physically, but had agreed not to express such emotions in front of me. After a very long drive where I insisted on listening to John Denver’s “Rocky Moutain High -iiiiii Colorado” over and over and over again and my dad wanting to listen to the latest George Harrison tune we arrived in Yosemite to our rented cabin. The tree’s were breath taking, the sounds completely new and the smell of pure clean was not something I will ever forget. I was already a small child, but now I felt as if I could get lost amongst all of the plant life.

They unloaded the car, fed me and we went for a short walk. I started running on the trail. I was a newly uncaged animal that had been freed. My dad being the former basketball track star knew he could catch up with me at anytime and Oliver was content with soaking in the scenery. When they caught up to me I was captivated by a squirrel in the tree but more so I was pooped. The next thing I remember was being awoken by a loud roar coming from outside our cabin. My dad peeked out of the window and screamed “Shit! It’s a bear!! What do we do?” Oliver put me in bed between them and said “nothing go back to sleep.”

Morro Bay was our next stop and a favorite stop. They make salt water taffy in Morro Bay and Aunt Nena was prepared to greet me with it. Aunt Nena was wonderful. She was my nap buddy, my eating buddy and she moved at my pace in her walker which I thought was a mini playground just for me. She cooed to me and told me stories about princesses. She told me these were the same stories she used to tell Oliver; princess stories were also his favorite. It was difficult to imagine how we could leave her, but after two days and a very tearful departure on my part we did leave.

Hearst Castle has got to be the most frustrating place for a child. Do you know they have crystal clear pools that you cannot swim in? WTF? It’s a big tease and a terrible thing to do. We had a pool at our house that I could swim in whenever my heart desired, so how are you going to tell me that this one is off limits? I got into a lot of trouble for putting my hand in the water to test out whether it was the right temperature to dive into. Security came rushing over and apparently was going to kick us out. Well, this child was in need of a nap and a snack so as soon as I was scolded the photos ops were out of the question. I insisted on being carried through the rest of the tour AND would NOT turn around for any photos. The conversation went something like this: Honey, turn around for the picture. NO! Honey, please turn around for the picture and smile. I WILL NOT!!  Mickey and Minnie may not want to see you if they hear you have been a bad girl. NO! We have many photos of my burying my face in Oliver or my dad while they have a frustrated smile on their face. Folks, you must carve out nap time when taking a child on a trip. It’s just a must.

Disneyland was the last stop and the best stop. Sugar kept me going at full speed ahead and Mickey and Minnie kept me on my best behavior. Pirates of the Caribbean, The Tea Cups, Dumbo, The Jungle Book characters, it was a child’s complete dream. I wanted to stay forever, but we were kept to just one day. What I sort of noticed at Disneyland was people staring at us. I thought it was unusual that people thought Oliver was my grandfather and that my dad did not correct them. I also recall hearing people ask where my mother was. A small splinter in my heart would open up, but my two dad’s would assure me that Minnie was just around the corner and a sugary treat was sure to follow. Their small way of distracting me and healing the wound as best they could.

Part 4, Chapter 3

Borrowed from WoosterScott.com

Kindergarten is a right of passage for most children. Our little school in Hidden Valley was a wonderland for me and it was also the first place I discovered what an awkward child I was (but in a good way).  My dad decided because this was a big day for both of us he would drive me to school and skip daycare. Spending more time with my dad was always a plus and something I cherished. I was without doubt a daddy’s girl. My dad made me breakfast which was his childhood favorite, white rice, sugar, butter and milk. We ate together listening to John Lennon’s newly released Double Fantasy while my dad sang “Beautiful Boy” changing the lyrics to Beautiful Girl. He brushed out my thick hair while my eyes watered in pain and let me pick out a mismatched outfit of tan corduroy pants with a koala shirt. We got into his blue Monte Carlo with the continuing music of “Watchin the Wheels” in the background. My dad held my hand as I cuddled up next to him on the blue dusty seats.

We pull up to the side parking lot closest to the classroom which was the long way to the campus. The fear set in as my dad killed the engine. A child’s anxiety is different from an adults in that a child does not have as much experience to draw on but it is also more terrifying because a child has raw imagination. The gravel cracked under our feet and my hand was sweating in my dad’s hand as we walked to the classroom. Mrs. Rowe greeted us with a big smile, short blonde hair, blue eyeliner, blue mascara and a gold chain which bounced off of her shirt that clung onto her glasses. She was not someone I liked immediately. She seemed strict and succinct in her dicta; she barely addressed me. Mrs. Rowe was busy wondering where this child’s mother was as she showed us around the classroom and my dad was trying not to be affected by her obvious judgment. I did not spot any toys that caught my wonder but I did catch familiar faces from the daycare. I looked up at my dad for permission to be released from his grip so I could head out to the playground. He bent down, told me to behave and then released me to a group of little people who I would journey through life with all the way to high school.

I watched kids flip from the bars, sway their bodies to glide across the monkey bars, kick balls, throw balls and run from each other in pure delight. There were 18 of us total and even though we were pint size we felt HUGE on our first day of school. Allegra was there from daycare but she was busy showing the boys who was boss by kicking the ball further, running faster and pushing harder than any of them could hope to compete with. I spotted another blonde haired innocent who was alone and just observing the rest of the kids on the sidelines as I was. She was more like me. Introverted preferring to be invisible while walking through the children. We connected instantly. Marion was a girly girl. She liked dolls, dresses and all things pretty. She was delicate and quiet but as we held hands through the play ground she was my new best friend; to a small insecure girl, anyone who paid attention you was in fact your new best friend. We climbed to the top of the jungle gym and delighted in the birds flying above, at the sighting of the school neighbor taking her horse for a walk across the field and at the clouds running past our heads. When it was time to start class we insisted on sitting on the mat next to each other.

Mrs. Rowe introduced us to the rules of the room which were basically: if you get out of line, you will sit in the corner. We had stations of learning reading, math, spelling and nap time. If you completed each station successfully, there could be a prize…. bubble gum! I had a head start on most of the kids in reading. The family story is that I taught myself to read and by 18 months old I was spelling too. So, when it came time to sit at the reading or spelling station I shined as I reaped in the booty. This served me well for bringing me out of my shell since I was happy to give it away. Sugar never really excited my picky taste buds so I was more than happy to trade it for attention from my 17 classmates. One child in particular that seemed adept at instantly knowing my weakness for friendship and wanted my bubble gum was Erida. Erida was a child who I was friends with on and off throughout my life. All of my memories of her are soured pain because she was a cunning bully. Highly intelligent but completely unable to empathize with anyone unless they were giving her what she wanted; she was a person who alway made people feel bad about themselves and I was a consistent victim of hers. She was probably one of the coldest people I have ever met and it always amazed me how much people accepted her (and still do). She and I were forced friends because of our proximity of homes, the fact that her mother was a stay at home mom so my dad always could locate a babysitter when needed under the guise of playing at her house and because she was able to manipulate me constantly into making me feel less than her which she delighted in. There would come a point in our lives where I saw opportunities to hurt her as much as she had always hurt me and I jumped at them. It’s not something I am proud of but I always found it perplexing how Erida was so smart and yet confused at my betrayal of her.

As I think back to my classmates, I recall the lack of childhood diagnosis available. We did not have an option to label a child ADHD, conduct disorder or depressed. The kid was just simply unruly or odd. Why did Arthur put ketchup on his head during lunch time (and no I am not kidding. There really was a child who one year our senior who was so disturbed and angry he used to put ketchup on his head)? As a child you do not think about these things because at age 5 it just does not matter. With the exception of Erida, a 5 year old has not learned to be cruel and is not trying to herd people into conformity. We were all innocent quirky children who were more than happy to be friends with each other. Even with Arthur who never seemed bathed and always on the brink of meltdown was accepted by his minor peers.

Kindergarten is the point of your life where you are socialized to the order of things. You start at the bottom of the food chain, work your way up and once you get to the top you are forced back down so you can climb back up again. Kindergarten you’re at the bottom, 6th grade you have worked your way up to the top, middle school put you right back down again, high school and the circle just keeps going on and on and on.

Writers clog

So, I keep starting the story and there is just no flow to it so I have to discard it. Maybe it is all the changes going on in my life or maybe my creative juices are refueling. Somehow I think it is where I left off. It was painful being away from my mother and yet I was terrified of her at the same time. Maybe a part of me is still processing that physical severance from her. Whatever it is, it is postponing the next part to the story.

So, I thought I would share a few memories until Chapter 4 comes to me that probably will not make it into the story but are vivid quick movie like memories I have nonetheless. These little tidbits have been demanding some air time.

As I have said, my aunt Anita (we called her Nita or Neeters) was someone I was very close to. She was my babysitter, actually she was everyone’s babysitter, and she was the person I saw most frequently from my mother’s family. She was the second youngest of my mom’s siblings and probably the funniest out of the bunch. She had a crass sense of humor, a big heart and an even bigger laugh. She stayed friends with my dad for the rest of her life. I believe she was 16 years old when I was born; she was definitely my protector. You see I have this belief that we all have a little ghetto in us. Ya know that “oh no you din’ent” part of you that only comes out when pushed into the right circumstances? Well, Nita’s was always kinda close to the surface. For some people their ghetto is under extreme duress but for Nita it was under the third layer of her skin. Nita could take care of business and God help anyone who hurt someone she loved. Anyways, my mom and dad had separated. My dad moved to an apartment complex where his new friends lived. My mom playing the part of scorned woman decided to move to the same complex. It freaked out my dad in a “am I being stalked by my baby momma?” way but he felt it was good nonetheless since he could be closer to me.

Nita was my babysitter. There were a lot of kids in this apartment complex and it was probably not the best area of town but not the worst. These kids were ratty scrappy lookin kids. They were grunge before people knew what grunge was. One kid in particular was a bully. I remember him clearly. Blond wavy hair, tan shorts, never had his shirt on, dark brown freckles and much bigger than my 2 year old self. He was the kinda kid who is probably in prison today and not ever getting out. He used to kick dogs and throw rocks at cats. He was a frightening child and unusually cruel. Some might say he was not hugged enough as a child.

Well, Nita had bought me a tricycle. A beautiful red tricycle that was my very own. I loved this new found freedom of riding in circles around my auntie and her laughing hysterically at my joy. One day… isn’t always one day? … Nita was inside watching television and I was outside. It was the morning time and the sun was just starting to heat up the concrete. I was cruising around in my “allowed” area of exploration on my tricycle (which was about 10 feet from the door) feeling happy and quite independent. Out comes the little blond 6 year old sociopath from the bushes which were just outside the fence that enclosed the pool. He had his Peanut gang following him. He walked in front of my joy ride and told me that if I did not get off his new tricycle he would push me off and beat me up. I started to cry. Tears burning my blue eyes as I reluctantly surrendered my new pride and joy. He hopped on it and off he went even though he was a little too big for this toy.

Defeated and distraught I went inside for some comfort from Nita. I was crying so hard she thought I had injured myself. She kept asking me “Where are you hurt? Where are you hurt? Are you bleeding?” I finally calmed down and told her what had happened. Hell hath no fury than a pissed off aunt who is watching her niece monumentally upset. Nita told me to wait by the front door for her. It was not long before she came back with the sociopath turned little boy. He had one cheek that was slightly more red than the other. Had she hit him? She held his arm as he pushed my tricycle toward me. He apologized to me, reluctantly. This set Nita off. And I mean off! Her hair lit on fire. Her eyes squinted with furor. She crouched down to his eye level and I will never forget what she said “This is my niece you little piece of shit. If you ever make her cry again, I will hurt you. I WILL FUCKING HURT YOU. You gonna try dat apology one mo’ time.” Oh yes she did. She threatened a 6 year old. Her eyes must have been blazing because he looked at me and said “I am really sorry I stole your tricycle.” She let go of his arm and he ran like the wind. Nita looked down and told me “No one will ever hurt you. I will make sure of that.”

No, his mother never came to confront my Nita and yes he resisted from screwin around with me again. My Nita forever became my protector after that. She had saved me from feeling anxious of the little blond boy after that incident. It could have been one of those personality shaping moments for me as a child, but I think that experience was saved for the little blond boy. He stayed away from me and our apartment after that. I saw him every now and then with his Peanut gang but they always kept their distance. Remember …. Nita was not too far away.

Characters on Fawn Drive

* An email from a friend reminded me of how rich this daycare was with memories. No kidding, I could write a book just on this experience alone. Enjoy this small retrospective for now….

By the time I was 5 years old and integrated into Kindergarten I was used to the routine of my life. At 5:30 am I would hear Oliver walk past my room into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and leave for work shortly after. At 6:00 am my dad would rouse me out of bed for breakfast. While I was eating and making sure my furry shepherd mix companion Karma was getting some under the table scraps as well, my dad would be in my room picking out an outfit for me (no dresses though! I was all pants being the follower of Allegra that I was) and making my bed. Did I mention I was a Princess? By 7:00 am my dad was dropping me off at Jackie’s and off to work.

Arriving at Jackie’s was always an event. Who was there? Was she in a good mood? Were we watching television or was it a music day? Were we allowed outside? Can we go down to the play ground at the school? I arrived always looking for one of my friends: Allegra, Helen, Farah, Sam, Lance or Lawrence. I was never particularly fond of Jackie’s kids. Matt was closer to my age being 3 years older than me, but something was off about him and I could sense that at a young age. He also seemed obsessed with Allegra’s older sister Arianna. While I wanted to be included with her kids because Jackie watched me over the summer and when Oliver and my dad went on vacation, I just did not want to be too close. Matt would later be found guilty of being inappropriate with young girls and is currently serving time in prison for this. Yes, even as a child I listened to my intuition and no he never touched me or anyone else I knew of at daycare.

Typically, Allegra and Arianna were late and this was due to their mom. Her clock is not like other people’s clocks by which I mean hers is always about 10 – 20 minutes behind. So, I would find Helen or Farah and off we would go. Helen and Farah were girly. They liked flowers, holding hands and all things dainty. They were a good balance from Allegra and Helen lived right down the street from me so she was available even after daycare. With these two friends we became a three-some and I learned that flowers in the hair were pretty, you could suck honey out of a  certain blue flower, chew on wild mint to make your breath smell different and that being affectionate with your friends is a wonderful bond. All of us had bright blue oceans in our eyes but I had white gold hair, Helen had spun wheat and Farah’s hair was the prettiest obsidian hair I had ever seen. We were totally Charlie’s Angels and laughing was our specialty.

Lance was a child who did not respond to punishment of any kind. He was a “bad boy” even at the age of 4. A blond kid with glasses who spoke like a true sailor. It was not uncommon to find him in the bathroom crying from the soap that was still burning his mouth courteous of Jackie. Nonetheless, “no” meant go at full speed and I have never seen someone in constant trouble. Lawrence was his older brother and while he had the same face he was taller with light brown hair. He was smarter, still devious and slightly more attractive. He had an air of creativity around him all the time, but unfortunately it was directed at how best to annoy Jackie. It was Lawrence that came up with the idea one summer to make water balloons out of plastic bags with their discarded ties left on the campus from summer camp lunchtime. It was Lawrence who thought to hide up on the hill with these bags and throw them at unsuspecting vehicles trying to make their way around an unforgiving steep curve on the hill to Jackie’s house. And it was Lawrence who taught Lance how to curse with emphasis. When we were beckoned back to Jackie’s because she somehow knew what were were doing all of the time if it involved trouble, it was Lawrence who never seemed to get punished because he would arrive separately from our guilty group. Lawrence was the small devil that sits on your shoulder telling you it is okay to commit this one small infraction.

Sam was the beautifully innocent child that everyone wanted to be around. After hormones invaded my body in junior high school, he would become the one boy who was my age that I truly thought I loved. At daycare it was no different only we were lacking the hormones. Everyone wanted to play with this kid, wanted him on his team or just wanted to be around him. He was shy but social. He was never too dominating and yet he was a gifted athlete even at a young age. If he was at Jackie’s, I was next to him and because he was such a good child he never pushed anyone away. I realize now, of course, that while I thought I was a special friend to him (both Allegra and I were convinced we were his favorite playmates) he was in actuality just a really gentle soul. We were no more special to him than anyone else, but he had that affect on people. Everyone thought you were his best friend. It is a wonder he did not get into politics or some profession assisting people. I am still convinced he has yet to locate his calling.

More to come………..

Part 3 Chapter 3

Phone calls from my mother were infrequent. She was in an out of trouble which was not something I understood until I was much older, but what I recall feeling was abandoned. That sick empty feeling when followed by tears leads to the hyperventilation cry. The cry that is uncontrollable and animalistic. It is the feeling that nothing could be worse than that very moment no matter what age you practice it. I do not remember asking where she was or when I would see her, but I can vividly recall the feeling of needing her.

What I would discover 30 years later was that my mother did call. My father played interference until I was about 7 years old with my mother. He would not allow her to speak to me if he suspected she was high. Her tongue was sharp when she was feeling hurt and vulnerable; he did not want to risk this unpredictability when mixed with drugs with his daughter. A meeting was finally planned. My mother was coming to California to visit her little girl. I did not know this would be the last time I would see my mother alive. I was 5 years old and it was the only thing I cared about when I found out she was coming and the days following the short visit.

Oliver and my dad had a lengthy discussion on how this visit would transpire. They did not trust she would not take off with me. They did not trust she would not leave me somewhere while she looked for drugs. So, they told her the three of us would meet in Golden Gate Park. It was a central location, easy for her to find since she was not familiar with the City and sparse enough that they could linger while watching in the shadows. They allowed for a 3 hour visit that was not to leave the park. She decided she could only stay for one day.

Oliver, my dad and I walked through the park. And, then I saw her. It was a dream at first that my eyes needed adjusting to. I looked up at my dad for his approval and for his confirmation. “Go on and see your mother” he said. I ran. I ran fast as I could while her she slowly dropped her purse, knelt down to my height and enveloped me. My 5 year old arms were flung tightly around her neck while she cried.

We walked around a lot. She followed the rules and did not take me out of the park; she did not leave me; she held me as long as her arms would allow. We ate. We played. She chatted with me and she allowed me to feel like a little girl with her mother. I was as happy as I could remember and I did not want her to leave. She took me to get my face painted by a local artist in the park. I picked a rainbow with two clouds; it was very 80′s of me. The time moved by both slow and fast. When you are 5 everything seems to be in slow motion because things are still new. But, there is feeling of activities stopping too soon and my mother was getting ready to leave. I saw Oliver and my dad walk up. My mom told me it was time for her to go. I refused to let her go. A tantrum ensued and I could not breathe I was so upset. She kept telling me it was okay but she was crying too. My intuition though only 5 knew I would never see her again.

When we arrived home I was inconsolable. Actually, I was allowed to sit in the front with my parents because I was so upset and they did not know what to do. Pandora’s box of yearning for my mother had been opened and that emptiness would stay with me for 20 years.

After 3 days my dad finally would not take no for an answer on removing my cheek painted rainbow. I felt like if he washed it off my mother would be removed too. The wash rag stung but not nearly as bad as my heart ached.

Oliver and my father did the right thing in protecting me. My mother did the right thing in letting me go. But, how do you explain all of this to a child. The truth is that you don’t and you hope you provide enough for your child to understand when they get older.

To be continued……………

Part 2 Chapter 3

* Writers note: I beg your pardon as of late. I am feeling, as you may be able to sense, a bit scattered lately and have a lot on my brain to ponder. As a result, the writing is not as focused as I would like. I hope you are enjoying nonetheless

Adjusting to a new life, a new neighborhood and life without my mother was not without it’s challenges. In retrospect my life had just become a lot better and my mother had done one of the most selfless acts one could imagine; she had given me up from her life so that I could have a chance at a  life. Now that I was in California I was also away from the loving support of both my mother’s and my father’s family. I no longer had my Aunt Nita to protect me or my cousins as playmates. My cousin Lea was no longer around to tell me what I should like and not like. I felt lost. Not only did I feel that isolation but I felt my dad’s isolation. When my dad left Washington he left behind a group of friends who no longer accepted him and family who would talk around him (didn’t want to speak on the whole gay thing). My mom in her rage over his departure spoke frequently to the people who had loved him over his unpopular decision to be true to his soul. I was not immune from this discussion.

My dad had located a daycare for me. It was conveniently up the hill from the elementary school I would eventually attend and this daycare had A LOT of kids running around. Jackie’s must have seen like the perfect place for a dad who was trying to give his little girl some kids to play with while also attempting not to draw too much attention to himself from the other parents. This place had constant activity. Jackie had 3 children of her own (one girl and 2 boys), a large front and back yard, plenty of toys and she loved to cook. She turned her 2 son’s bedroom into a nap room that had a built in divider so the boys were able to keep their own space. Only the select few were allowed to enter into the domain of Alan and Matt’s bedroom/Star Wars collectible enterprise. The daycare kids ranged from ages 6 months old to 11 years old. I would say Jackie was doing quite well for herself given she had no permit to run a daycare and believed in punishing her daycare kids in the same manner she punished her own children: screaming and slapping.

It was at this daycare I would meet my oldest friend, my first big crush/heart ache and feel I was a part of something even though I was constantly on the fringe of it. Allegra was about 4 months older than me and at a time in a child’s life where age ranks supreme this was a big deal. It was actually our first conversation and both of still speak of this meeting with great affection. It went something like this: How old are you? I’m 3. How old are you? I’m 3 too. Well, when is your birthday? June. When is yours? February? Which one comes first? I don’t know. Maybe we should wait to see whose birthday comes next and then that person will be older. Ok. Let’s go play on the big wheels. Yeah.

Of course by the time Allegra turned 4 she had already established herself as the leader of the daycare. This girl was tough. She refused to wear pants. She could outplay the boys in any sport. And, she spoke her mind all of the time. No joke, ALL of the time. If you were 5 years older than her, it did not matter. Allegra would tell you what’s what. She had me in constant trouble with Jackie. Here was me a shy, timid and scared of everyone 3 year old who had just befriended a strong willed child who was determined to exhaust her energy daily. Allegra ran everywhere and usually had a soccer ball or baseball with her. Tha girl had energy! She also got me in good with Alan and Matt so that I was allowed to touch (not play) with the Star War’s figures which was as good as hitting the lotto for the time. She was the first friend I looked up to and wanted to do everything she did. Our friendship has spanned 30 plus years and because we are girls has had its ups and downs.

One activity that used to get us into a lot of trouble was making water balloons out of plastic bags left at the school. We would fill them up, locate a twisty tie on the ground (this was before ziplock), shut them off at the top and proceed to throw them at an unsuspecting fellow daycare child patrons. You would then hear from what seemed like miles away “Allegra and friends!!! Get back up here NOW!!!!” Our stomachs would drop. We would ponder our options and then wonder how the heck she knew what we were up to. Deciding between a timeout in the kitchen if we came up now or a red rear end if we came up later, we opted to trek back up the hill (a very very very steep hill) and face the music. Allegra always received the more severe punishment: time out in the kitchen in which she would obstinately kill ants on the kitchen floor with her thumb. I usually was given some sort of verbal scare and sent to another room away from her which was punishment enough.

An event that stands out at Jackie’s, although I could write a book just on my experiences there alone, was when Allegra decided it would be a great idea to use a new word she had overheard the night before. She not only utilized this word in perfect context but directed it Jackie’s punishment towards her. We were undoubtedly doing something we knew we should not be (card board sliding down the hill, hitting up the janitors down at the school for milk boxes, throwing tan bark at birds, Allegra attempting to teach me how to swing on the monkey bars which inevitably ended in me on my rear end) and Jackie was providing her schpeel on why we were such terrible children. Allegra with full confidence looked at Jackie and said “This is BULLSHIT!” I do believe every child in ear shot dropped their jaw in full disbelief. All of us kids took our medicine and did not dare talk back to Jackie. All of us. We were terrified of Jackie and her wooden spoons placing warschock designs on our behinds. Allegra let the gaffe of all gaffe loose! Jackie looked at her. She looked at us. She looked back at Allegra. She smacked Allegra right on the cheek. And ya know what? Allegra did not cry. Talk about the ultimate middle finger right back at cha! The next thing I recall is watching Allegra’s mother hear of the events as they were told by Jackie and then watch Jackie cower to Allegra’s mother. The tongue lashing was unforgettable and I was forever frightened of pissing off Allegra’s mother from that point on.

To Be Continued………

Part 2 Chapter 2

From the age of 4 through age 7 I remember feeling safe, loved, nurtured and adored. I had two dad’s who were madly in love with each other and were able to celebrate this love through having a family. We were the Gay version of Annie and I had a lot of Daddy Warbucks’ around me. I was the center of all parties and there were a lot of parties. Easter, Birthdays, Oscar’s, Super Bowls (yes, my extended family loved the 49ers), Thanksgiving and Christmas. All over the top and all a ton of fun for me. I was used to being around adults with no playmates in sight having spent so much time at my grandmother’s house and these fiesta’s were no exception. Many of my uncles craved a family and I was the closest outlet. I was carried around the homes, I was spoken to as an adult, I was played with, read to and I was LOVED! I am still convinced one of our closest family friends bought a dog so that I would have something extra to entertain me while at his home. They recorded movies for me to watch when it was time to wind down for bed. I had a bed always made up for me when I arrived. And, I always had separate snacks since I was a picky eater.

One thing that has always stood out at these parties is the lack of stereotypes exhibited. Granted they protected me from all things crass and treated me as a porcelain doll, but never did I hear a dirty joke, see anyone fondling each other, no affection was being staged or see any grandiose feminine gestures. These men were all professionals, travelled and educated. I am not sure what happened when I went to bed, but I can tell you that while the alcohol may have flowed with abundance I was always protected from anything that could be interpreted as vulgar. I was after all everyone’s child and favorite niece.

I recall observing on more than one occasion Oliver’s best friend Burt providing a severe tongue lashing to a new clique member. I would never see them back at any function after these scoldings. I always felt bad for them, but I was happy that I was never being told I had done something wrong. What I discovered later in life was the scolding was because of me. These newbies had been schooled prior to their invitation to the Gayest Gala in town that I was to be considered at all times. This meant a certain amount of control was expected and if any of my uncle’s felt this line was crossed the newbie would be told as such. Never one to take chances with my well being, Burt would promptly ban these younglings from ever returning to these parties because they had violated the sanctity of my innocence. Mind you that I never over heard what was being scolded, but the protection was so strong over me that whether I was in ear shot or not did not matter.

A little girl could not have been happier. Only a year prior I had come from a life where I felt scared all of the time. I was scared that I would never see my parents again or that I would be forgotten at one of the many homes I was left for care with. With this new family I started to come out of my shell of shyness and I was able to be a little girl (well, a little Princess really).  These parties were some of the happiest times I can remember and while there were very rarely any women around, these men taught me how a woman should be treated.

To be continued………..

Part 1 Chapter 2

My new home was a wonderland. It sat on a hill over looking a valley nested in fragrant pine and eucalyptus trees. The neighborhood was rural; the street twisted and turned sprinkling houses here and there as you rose to the top. There were no street lights, no airplanes flying overhead and you could barely hear whether your neighbors were home. The yards were well manicured with California Native flowers and shrubs. The backdrop for this neighborhood was a private school for girls on the other side of the hill and a water shed that cradled the valley. Wild animals could be heard and seen, creeks gurgled, blackberry bushes fenced the creeks and the woods that framed this scene seemed never ending. For a child that had never really seen so much life from living in a concrete cave this was something straight out of a fairy tale. Deers, birds, bob cats, vultures, wild turkey, lizards, frogs…all new to me and all spectacular.

The neighborhood families all had children of various ages. Next door to me was my first friend. He was not as frightened of people as I was, but he was most definitely shy. One year my senior and with a set of monkey bars in his yard, he was my new mate. His thick black hair always attempting to wisp over his peering blue eyes revealed a boy who was kind and curious. Jason’s yellow house was a play ground to me. It has something I had never seen before: 2 floors. I wanted to run and up and down the stairs all day long, but being the 4 year old boy he was more interested in all things outside. His mother had a gravely voice that you could hear from any radius of his home; the woman could project her calls what seems miles. We had no doubts when she was calling us back to her kitchen and there was no hesitation to begin moving toward it when the beacon was sent out. His father seemed to be a shy timid man. He was usually working but when he was not he seemed in constant contemplation. It was Jason who introduced me to the other children in the neighborhood. My across the street neighbors Ellen, also one year older, and her older brother Chad who would become my first crush. Down the street were Doug and Mark who I never was very sure about. They were awkward suspicious  boys. And, around the bend was Helen who would become a life long friend who I would lose track of and pick up again throughout my life. Jason and I walked to people’s homes, creek walked for hours and would study plant life while he would tell me stories of where this plant came from. Jason taught me to fly kites and not be afraid of the nature around me. A boy scout in the making he was adventurous and a small gentleman never allowing me to get hurt in any of our quests in the woods and creeks.

While it was never said it was known to me at a very early age my family was different and my family had secrets. The neighborhood children were not invited over to my house; my dad would always ask if I could go over to theirs for a few hours during the week while he sought out day care for me. I never questioned this being eager to please and terrified of being left again. The neighborhood parents also never asked if their children could come to my house. I have no doubt that there were suspicions of my parent’s gayness and I have no doubt that despite the progressiveness of Marin County the stereotype of homosexuals being perverts was prominent in parents minds. This is despite my yard having a pool and large enclosed yard to play in. This is despite me being a spoiled princess with more toys than I could possibly ever play with. But, this was the way it was due to the times and the mentality of most parents.

Oliver worked in San Francisco in the insurance industry. A white collar conservative and consistent industry that appealed to Oliver’s love of study and steady. The year was 1979 and it was still a time where a gay man could be fired if he was outed. Recall that this was the year after Proposition 6 was defeated. A politician from Orange County asked California to vote on banning any suspected gay teachers from educating children in California. This proposition also sought to out people who supported gay rights and ban then from public service as well. Although Proposition 6 failed there remained a reticent hurt and fear. More importantly, there were no anti discrimination laws protecting gay people from being fired just simply for being gay. Oliver was putting on a front with his employer. My dad could not be known to them and because Oliver’s home was more than an hour from the Financial District there was little threat of someone stopping by. This was a blessing because life at home was unsettling for all of us.

The biggest fear in our household was me. I was not warming up to Oliver and in fact I would neither speak to him nor look at him. Oliver’s hopes of having a family rested on my little heart opening up. 6 months had passed and there was no sign of this happening. I was a picky eater, I only wanted to be around my daddy and I refused to sleep by myself. Not exactly the situation described by the psychic Oliver had been counseled by so many years ago. My dad must have sensed that my love would be the glue to the relationship because he tried everything to help me warm up. To his dismay nothing was working. A trip to Golden Gate Park proved to be overwhelming for me and embarrassing for Oliver. I cried the entire time overcome by how many people were around us. I was weight in my dad’s arm who attempted to find relief for his arms in passing me along to Oliver but my protest quashed any success of that endeavor. Oliver tried cooking for me but I would not eat anything that was handed to me by him. He tried reading to me but I cried when he would enter my room without my dad. I was, to put it mildly, an impossible child.

A year passed and as Oliver frequently did, he went on a much needed business trip. He traveled at least 3 days per month for work, My dad and I would drive him to the airport and retrieve him from his returning flight. This trip was particularly special for Oliver. He contemplated his relationship, the lack of relationship with me and what effect this was having on everyone involved. He wondered if maybe this was not going to work. He felt he may have to break things off when he returned home. As he walked through the gate he saw my dad’s curly hair towering above all of the anxious greeters waiting for their loved ones. I was there too nestled in between my dad’s  legs circling in and out of them as he stood waiting. I heard my dad say “Oh! There he is!” I looked up and saw my dad’s love smile. My head turned towards the object of his affection and I ran. I ran not away from Oliver but to him. He dropped his carry-on to the floor and with shock opened his arms as he bent down to my height. I put my arms around his neck and hugged him tight. I had missed him. My dad peered on with confusion and mixed elation. Oliver stayed knelt down until I had put my little body so close to his that he could pick me up with one arm. He kissed my cheek, looked at my dad and carried me back to the car. I insisted on sitting in the middle of them cuddled up to Oliver the entire two hour ride home. My dad did not know it, but I had just saved their relationship.