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.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Today is my dad’s birthday and I wish him the best day filled with a reminder of all of life’s joy. My dad has a zest for life and an understanding of how important it is to remain child like in your approach to the unknown. He makes me laugh, he provides me comfort and he is unabashed in his display of love.

I love you da-da!!!

Oy Vey People … Oy Vey

Maine??? Seriously? Good grief. It just feels like a big ol blow to the gut and to the heart. I wish I understood the passion behind the rage against gay civil rights, but honestly I just do not. It perplexes me how in the name of God, Jesus Christ or whatever deity they are invoking they say that being a human is wrong. My first reaction to this ignorance is anger, followed by sadness and then confusion. I want to feel love for them but damn it … it’s hard to feel love for people who are hating your family. But, I will try. I will try because I refuse to be apart of their state of mind and because it is better to kill with kindness.

 

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.

Enjoy this …. I did :) If you look closely you can see me

Outrage ….a fantastic film

I am so impressed with this film. It brings up so many emotions for me as a child of two wonderful fathers who were not always able to live their truth. And do you know why they were not able to live their truth? Because of bigotry in this country. I am sad to say that I have friends who fit into this category (that is a debate for another blog) and despite my complete love for my friends it is difficult to reconcile this. Although, I must say I remain hopeful that I can be a living example as to be a reason for them to review their views on gay civil rights.

This film is about how gay people in government who are in the closet repeatedly show hate towards themselves by supporting anti-gay legislation to prevent gay rights. When I hear people say “I don’t agree with the gay life style” it is like a dagger to my heart. You don’t agree with being a thinking feeling human being? You don’t agree with someone living their lives truthfully? Why do you think YOU can define what a gay life style is? Is there a “straight” life style? When someone says this to me or I hear this in the media it makes me feel like they hate my family. And ya know what? They do.

I encourage you to watch this film. It will touch your heart and your anger over how we can continue to show such hatred towards gay people.

Here is a link to one of the stars of the film:

http://www.blogactive.com/

Enjoy my friends.

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……………

Happy Birthday!

To one of my dad’s: I send to you the most loving beautiful birthday wishes from your doting daughter. Thank you for being my rock and my compass in life. You are more than any daughter deserves and I love you.

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.

Civil Rights and Obama….say it ain’t so!

Oh say it isn’t so! Obama is teetering between the religion right (who are on their way out of politics in my opinion…give it another 10 years) and gay rights. He made a lot of promises during his election to the gay community about DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act) and his feelings that it was discriminatory in nature. But, recently the Justice Department issued a brief on Arthur Smelt and Christopher Hammer v. United States of America to dismiss citing an incest case. WTF???!!! The sad thing is that this case is not strong (summary of the case it the fight for a gay married couple in California to have their marriage recognized in all states…ya know, something that hetero married couples have the right to? Get married in Alabama and your marriage is recognized in Washington) and in all likelihood should be dismissed. But, why would they make such a ridiculous argument as to compare it to a case that involved an uncle and a niece who wanted their marriage recognized??? It seems they have poured gasoline on the fire without cause and Obama being a constitutional lawyer should know this. Yes, I am fully aware that he did not compose the brief but what I am saying is that this is coming out of the mouths of his administration who represents him.

Now the balance to this is Obama has recently provided federal benefits to LGBT partners of federal employees. This is a good thing. He also appears to be saying that he will work towards repealing DOMA with Congress. Again, this is a good thing. I just have to wonder why his Department of Justice would issue a brief that is so Bush like. Sad. Sad. Sad.

Oh and by the way….Obama still does not believe in same sex marriage but he is for extending all of the legal benefits to same sex couples. Teetering.