Defying the Rules

When I was a little girl, children were treated differently than they are today. Parents didn't run ahead of their little ones to remove obstacles from their path, or fret about the danger that could be lurking around the next corner. Nor did they fulfill every desire, wish, and whim, put their children first, tolerate temper tantrums, or allow their kids to set the agenda for the family. The adults ruled their fiefdom with strict discipline and "Ouch!" to any child who dared break a rule. Children were to be seen and not heard. There was no freedom of speech or the right to assemble wherever one chooses. "Get off that roof right this minute, young lady!" 

Since I've already told you about my father's departure from our family on the very day I was born, I'll just skip over that story and the one about living the first five years of my life with my aunt and uncle, and hop up on the roof for a picnic I was hosting for six of my friends when I was ten and now living in Hazel's house.

"Get off that roof right this minute, young lady!" Ouch!

Up until the age of five, when Hazel talked Mother into moving in with her, I enjoyed a life without rules. With little attention given to me, I was a free agent in the duplex that my mother, sister Judy, and I shared with Aunt Gracie and Uncle Jimmy. Jimmy was always off somewhere flying airplanes, Gracie worked all day, and Mother took a lot of naps. There was little discipline, and as long as I kept a low profile and didn't wake Mother (or get on her nerves), I could say and do whatever I wanted (with a few exceptions that I won't mention here); I could come and go as I pleased. And I did. The sidewalks, streets, houses, and alleys on Walcott were my playgrounds and no one in my family seemed to care about my long absences as long as I eventually came home. My freedom came to an end on the day Hazel changed my address.

The transition from no rules to a lot of rules was so difficult that in the seven years I lived under Hazel's reign, I never adjusted to the rigid discipline and was always in trouble. I developed a standard of behavior that I believed to be good and decent and continued to live my life as a free agent.  But by defying the rules of the house, I had to suffer the consequences: spankings, a lot of spankings (physical abuse by another name).

One day, many years later, during a visit with my mother, she asked me if she'd been a good mother. How could I answer that question any other way than to say, "Of course you were, Mother." After getting the answer she had hoped for, she mentioned the seven years we had lived with Hazel. "You know, I wasn't in favor of Hazel spanking you, Carol Louise." She looked down at her lap as if reliving regret and then looked back up at me, smiled, and said, "But you turned out okay, didn't you?"

"Yep! I guess I did."