The Jigsaw That Was My Family

Before

Like a puzzle whose pieces snapped into place perfectly, I wanted to fit in the jigsaw that was my family, but no matter how hard I tried to work my way into my very own special spot, I just couldn't do it.  My need to fit in, to be an important piece of the puzzle became desperate after we moved away from my aunt and uncle's duplex on Walcott Street. From where I sat on the outer edge of the table waiting to be picked up and snapped into place with the others, the puzzle looked perfect and complete. But wait! How could it be complete? My piece wasn't in the puzzle yet. I was missing but would anyone notice? Hey! I'm here. Over here on the edge of the table. Do you see me? Please see me!

After

My new dad saw me. From the very beginning of our forty-one-year relationship,  I was a valuable piece of the new puzzle that included his three children and Mother's two.  He picked me out of our crowd of seven and acknowledged, appreciated, and valued me. Me! But I didn't trust his motives at first and kept him at arm's length. For all I knew he was going to suck me into his fraud, just like Hazel had, and then turn me into his whipping post.

You know the rest of the story. I've told it a half dozen times in my blog and books, so I won't tell you again how Royal Orville,  a good, kind, honest, hardworking man, rescued my mother, my sister, and me, took us back to his home in the enchanted forest on the northeast side of Indianapolis, provided a stable home for us, genuinely loved each and every one of us, fathered a baby daughter (my sister Lynnette) and gave Mother what she had been searching for her entire life: happiness.

That is the story I told you, isn't it? My stepfather rescued us, took us back to the enchanted forest, provided stability, loved us, and gave us the gift of Lynnette. Yep! That's the story alright. Didn't want to leave anything out.

Poof. Gone.

She stood in the threshold of the door crying, no, sobbing uncontrollably. I'd never seen her like that, this woman with so much self control and strong resolve. "Please, don't go! Please don't do this!" she cried through the sobs, but it was too late. Prince Charming had come to rescue Mother; they got married and now we had to go back to the enchanted forest from whence he came. There was no turning back. How could she possibly think we could alter Mother's fairy tale destiny?

It was a cold November night, just days after Mother's wedding, and we were in a borrowed truck picking up the last of our belongings from a place that just the day before we had called home. With the last of our things now in the bed of the truck, it was time to put the gear in reverse and back out of Hazel's life forever. Inside the cab was a new family now: Prince Charming, Mother, Judy and me. As we slowly backed out of the drive, I watched with no emotion as the woman who had welded absolute control over my mother, Judy and me for seven years, the step-parent who I believed hated me, the person I feared the most in life crumbled down into a pile right in front of me. The power she had over us had evaporated into thin air. Poof. Gone. Just like that, her reign was over.

You know the rest of the story. I've told it a half dozen times in my blog and books, so I won't tell you again how Prince Charming met Mother in church and fell in love with her instantly. They married within a year, combined his and hers, moved to a new ranch-style home in the suburbs where they lived happily ever after, and I got my very own bedroom.

That is the story I told you, isn't it? They met in church, fell in love, got married, combined his and hers, moved to the suburbs, I got my own bedroom. Yep, that's what happened alright. I didn't want to leave anything out.

One Fragile Egg

Mother, Judy and I had been living with my aunt and uncle in their small two bedroom apartment on Walcott Street for five years when Hazel, a lady Mother met at church, promised a better life. Aunt Gracie's natural tendency to be in control of her environment and everything in it was beginning to create tension between the sisters, so Hazel's offer to rescue Mother from what she believed to be constrictive living conditions was a prayer come true.

When I heard what Hazel and Mother were planning to do, I informed everyone that I would not be joining Mother and Judy in the move. There was no way I could leave Uncle Jimmy. Aunt Gracie was the stability in my life, but my uncle was where I went for attention, affection and adoration. Aunt Gracie was the one who put Humpty Dumpty back together again after she fell off the wall, but it was Uncle Jimmy, the prince who plucked me up out of the broken chaos and carried me away to safety. It was in my uncle's arms where I felt the most loved. He was big and strong and no harm could come to me with him as my protector. I couldn't leave him. Nope! No way! Not gonna happen! Not going and you can't make me!

We moved to a one-bedroom duplex at 17th and New Jersey first, but when the landlord discovered the new tenants came with children, he evicted us. A promise of a better life took us to another one-bedroom apartment at 16th and Broadway where Hazel's natural tendency to be in control of her environment and everything in it was beginning to look and sound familiar. Mother was once again not in control of her life or her daughters'.

After we moved away from Walcott Street, my times spent with my favorite aunt and uncle were narrowed down to holidays and birthdays. My young brain was incapable of understanding why I went from being their child whom they loved on a full-time basis to a niece they saw a few hours a year. The emptiness, loneliness, the longing, the dread that I carried with me for years after we moved in with Hazel was combined with her excessive use of corporal punishment and her natural tendencies to withhold love and affection, and if you mix all those toxins together inside one fragile egg and put it on a wall, it might fall and break into a million pieces. And if that happened, who would put those pieces back together again? Not Aunt Gracie or Uncle Jimmy; they're gone. Not mother. Not Judy. And definitely not Hazel. With no one left to protect me from crashing to the ground, I had to steady myself, all by myself, on that damn wall and wait and wait and wait for seven long years before being rescued by not my Prince Charming but Mother's.

 

Always Be Good and Kind and Beautiful and...

Before Cinderella's mother died, she called for her daughter to come to her bedside. "Promise me that after I'm gone, you will always be good and kind. If you promise that, God will protect you." Because her mother asked nicely and because this was her last wish, Cinderella did make the promise, and for the rest of her stint as a character in this Grimm Brothers' fairy tale, she was known as the hardworking, never-complaining, beautiful young girl with unparalleled kindness and a sweet temperament who, despite her ugly step-family's efforts, snagged the King. And she did it all by hersel... uh...she did it all with the help of a fairy. 

Princess Aurora, aka Sleeping Beauty, was an unintended victim of a fairy fight. One fairy got mad at another fairy and the first fairy, said, "No one messes with this fairy! I'll show you!" So the first fairy, aka "ugly, bad fairy," put a curse on the young princess; on her sixteenth birthday, she fell into deep slumber. She was doomed to spend the rest of her time in this fairy tale sleeping...unless. Yep! You guessed it. This sleeping beauty could not get out of this mess by herself. Enter three fairies and a prince. 

Snow White, aka Excellent Housekeeper for Dwarfs, couldn't get a break. She was just too beautiful for her stepmother to handle. "Off with her liver and lungs," the wicked ugly stepmother said while primping in front of a talking mirror. Three murder attempts failed so she was put to slumber and later placed in a glass gasket in an enchanted forest where a passerby prince just happened to be passing by, and he instantly fell in love with her. Well, she was pretty darn beautiful, ya know; he couldn't help himself. Beauty does that to people. Excellent Housekeeper for Dwarfs couldn't get herself out of this predicament. Bring in the fairies and the prince. Once again, problem solved by someone other than the hardworking, never-complaining, sweet, kind, good, beautiful protagonist of these stories.

Did you see it? I didn't see it for decades. It's so clear, yet the underlying message in most of the fairy tales that influenced my early thinking wasn't obvious at all: Always be good and kind and beautiful and hardworking and a non-complainer, and if you are all that and more, you still don't have what it takes to make it in the world--a world full of ugly antagonists--all by yourself. But don't despair, you sweet, pretty little thing. Prince Charming is on his way to rescue you. All you have to do is believe and it is true. 

I believed.

Enchanted Forest

After my father left, before Hazel came, while my mother, sister and I were living with my aunt and uncle, there were times when the floor in my world would quake. When that happened, I would drop to my knees and crawl to the safest place I could find: behind a couch, under a bed, in a closet.

This sudden breach in normal and calm was terrifying to a toddler, and it was during these times when I found safety in an imaginary world, my enchanted forest. I was too little to comprehend what was happening, but as time went on I came to understand that it had to do with my mother’s difficulty in accepting my father was gone and was never coming back.

Before Hazel came, when I was five, and took Mother, Judy, and me away from our safe haven with Aunt Gracie and Uncle Jimmy, my fantasy world complemented my real world. Life was good for me on Walcott Street. My aunt and uncle couldn't have children so my sister and I filled that void for them, and they provided a loving, affectionate, and stable environment for us. All of that changed with the move. Stability remained but love was hard to find and affection came with conditions.

It was my first deliberate memory. I was six. I willed myself to always remember this time and I have. I took off my shoes and sat down in a sandbox. Since the move, it had become one of my "go to" places to escape from one of those scary moments I mentioned above.  I used a bucket and shovel to transfer sand from one spot to another, but I wasn't building anything.  I was hiding in plain sight, yet deep inside an enchanted place of my own making, surrounded by those who were concerned about my wellbeing. I needed reassurance that I was a good girl and confirmation that I would be protected against any harm that might come from a moment. As I played in the sand, a peace came over me. Of course, I was good; of course, I would be okay. I just had to believe it and it would be true.

Even though Prince Charming was hanging out in my future waiting to rescue me, I didn't give him much notice when I was very young. I was just trying to get past six, seven, and eight without too much damage to my body and my mental and emotional health. I was just ducking for cover in a fantasy world that was designed to save me.

Another one of my deliberate memories happened was when I was nine, and we were living at 16th and Broadway in downtown Indianapolis. My addiction to fairy tales had altered my enchanted forest a little bit. I moved all the fairies to storage and brought in Prince Charming and his horse. The trees were moved--I didn't cut them down; no, really, I didn't--and a meadow took their place. The prince was on his white mount and waiting at the end of the meadow for his princess to make an appearance. Once he saw her--say, maybe she was in distress and needed to be rescued--he would race to her aid. He would fall in love with her instantly, and they would live happily ever after.

Deliberate memory No. 2 was prearranged in fantasy, but occurred in reality.

The prince was sitting at the end of the street on his brand new Schwinn bicycle. He was waiting for the sidewalk to clear so he could race as fast as his legs would allow to the other end of the street. But wait. What was that thing sitting in the middle of the sidewalk that was messing with his plans? Would he see that it was his princess in distress and in need of rescuing? Once he realized it was his precious beloved, he would race as fast as his big, strong legs would permit to help her, right? He would stop right before reaching her, jump off his bike to see what had happened to his love, right? Surely, he would not hit her, run over her, yell at her for being stupid, and then leave the scene, right?

WRONG! Only in a delusional world would anyone think that. And therein lies the problem with spending way too much time in the enchanted forest.

Friends From Another Dimension

At age seven, the people with whom I shared a one-bedroom apartment found me to be an irritant. My sister drew a line and in our relationship and warned me not to cross it, my mother's sensitive nervous system was challenged by me, and Hazel, the no-nonsense boss of our 900 square foot space, didn't like kids, which didn't bode well for hyper-active me.

Because of my “perceived” low ranking within a closed environment of real people I created alliances with imaginary friends from another dimension--a magical and enchanted place that existed for my stability and well being only. If you were a good person, they looked upon you favorably and would protect you from harm. There were those who lived in this enchanted place who you would expect and some you wouldn’t; it was crowded. All the good fairies from the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tale books were there as was Jesus, Santa Claus, and, of course, Prince Charming.  In this fantasy world that I had created, I was a beautiful and good princess with an entourage; in this place, I was special.

My very earliest notion of rescue and Prince Charming, around the age of nine, offered me the promise of happily ever after, but I'd have to wait for him to find me.

My invisible allies used their combined power to pick me up, prop me up, plant my feet firmly on the ground, and give me courage to face those who wanted to knock me back down and break my youthful spirit. But then, one by one they started to leave me. At age nine, Santa disappeared POOF! Just like that. Gone.

One ally was all that was left from my army of sentinels. My support system was down to one: Jesus. But was he enough to protect me from and give me strength against the forces that were not looking out for my best interests?

But wait! There was another ally who lived in another dimension, my future, and if I believed in his existence, he would someday materialize into flesh and blood.  He would be a real person in real time who would see my value, and he would love, honor, cherish, protect, and he would take care of me. My Prince Charming was out there waiting for me. All I had to be was good enough for him and he would find me.

Nine.  Not yet. There's laws, ya know.

Twelve. Nope, too young still. Read some more fairytale books while you wait.

Fourteen. No. Don't be so impatient.

Fifteen. He's out there; relax. No, he's not in your Spanish class, and his name is not Mike Nickels. You don't get to choose.

Sixteen. You're gonna have to do something about your looks. Prince Charming likes pretty girls, ya know.

Seventeen. You're pretty on the inside, but you still have some work to do on the outside.

Eighteen. He's just around the corner. Have you seen a doctor about those pimples? 

Nineteen. There he is!! See him? Oops! Sorry. False alarm. You can take the cotton balls out of your bra now.

Twenty. I'm pretty sure that's him in the blue corvette. Prop up your boobs. Take off your glasses. Put some lipstick on. Prince Charming likes pretty girls, ya know.

And so it was true after all. I had believed in Prince Charming since the age of nine. He wasn't a figment of my imagination, a fairytale fantasy, or an ally from a different dimension. He was flesh and blood and sitting in the driver's seat of a blue Corvette, and he had come to rescue me.

1966 - Prince Charming has arrived

Wake Up Maggie; I've Got Somethin' To Say

Happy birthday and happy anniversary to two of my big loves. Wake up Maggie; I've got somethin' to say to you. Happy fourteenth birthday to my precious little girl and happy anniversary to the love of my life. Together twenty years, married fourteen. It just keeps gettin' better and better.

The Price for Respect

Think back to those times in your life when you were disrespected. If you're not obsessive, like me, you will have forgotten all but a few. "People are human," you might say when making excuses for those who have treated you poorly. The excuses for being disrespectful are infinite, but the most popular ones are, "I've had a bad day," and "I don't feel well." Rarely will you hear, "I'm being mean to you because you deserve it!" 

Unlike you I remember most of those times in my life when others treated me with low regard. As a child, I was powerless over those who felt they had a right to use me as a scapegoat for things that went wrong in their life. Their depression or frustration or irritability or mental instability or anger found a way to express itself by pulling that switch down from the top of the refrigerator and then beating the hell out of my bare butt. Yeah. I remember most of those beatings, and the excuses behind them, very well.

As I age, I find that I sometimes repeat myself, so I apologize if I am repeating a story that I've already told you. I often repeat myself. You probably have already heard this story; I repeat myself sometimes. Have I mentioned that? It sounds so familiar.  Once upon a time, Prince Charming rescued Mother, Judy, and me when I was twelve and carried us off to a safe place, far far away from Hazel,  the switch, the beatings, the excuses. But disrespect is like a sneaky little mosquito: No matter how safe you think you are and no matter where you go, it will find you; you don't always know its there; it sneaks up from behind you and GOTCHA! That's disrespect for you. It can come out of nowhere and no one is immune from its bite.

I was sitting next to a lady at a restaurant the other day, when I overheard her say that her daughter treated her terribly, and she didn't know what to do about it. Her friend suggested she confront her daughter and say, "Why are you so disrespectful to me? I want it to stop!"  "Oh, no," the lady said, "I can't do that. She might get mad at me and not speak to me again. I have to take her disrespect. I can't risk losing her."

It occurred to me while I was listening to this lady talk: There is a price for respect, and some people are not willing to pay it: a mother who doesn't want to lose a child, a husband who doesn't want to give up 50% of everything in a divorce, a wife who believes she has no other options but to stay, an employee who doesn't want to lose a job. Oh, there are so many excuses why some of us will accept disrespect.

What's yours?

The Dangers of Intimacy

We've all heard, "They treat the plumber better than they treat their spouse." The reason that's a well-known saying is because, all too often, it's true. Some people are nicer to strangers than they are to those they profess to love and cherish and adore: their family and friends. Why is that? I wonder.

Well, I'm glad I asked myself that question because it has given me pause to think about the dangers of intimacy. The closer we get to someone, the more vulnerable we become to their potential disrespect of us. That doesn't make any sense, does it? It should be just the opposite: The closer we get to someone, the more they love and respect us, the more they cherish us, the more they adore us. 

DING! DING! DING! WRONG!

The reason people put their best foot forward when meeting strangers is because they want them to think they are nice people. They want to be viewed favorably. It's imperative they are liked because the strangers become that person's ambassadors to the world. "Oh, that lady over on Cowee Mountain, whose toilet I just fixed, is so nice. She even showed me her best foot," the ambassador might say in conversation with other strangers.

It's true. We want strangers to like us. Friends and family, on the other hand, now that's a different story and it's complicated. Friends were once strangers, and we did that whole nice thing in the beginning. Then, over time, some of us started to pull back our best foot ever so slowly. Friends didn't notice for the longest time. Then one day, they felt a sting. Ouch! That hurt. What was that? they might say. It would start out with one little sting at first, like a test. "This is a test. Respond if you got my disrespect." If no response was received, then more tests would come until it was understood that disrespect in the relationship was acceptable.

We choose and lose friends; they come and go, but family is here to stay. They're stuck with us. We don't have to work hard to get them to like us because by default, they love us. Or not. Maybe they don't like us much today, but tomorrow they'll come around. Or not.They don't have much choice. Family's not going anywhere. We may misbehave, but our family accepts us anyway. Or not. Either way, it doesn't really matter; family's not leaving.

There are inherent dangers when we become close to others. The intimacy breaks down barriers that we have put in place to protect ourselves; it reveals those secrets that until now, we've kept to ourselves; and it makes us vulnerable to attack. But without those intimate relationships, we lose the joy from loving others and being loved in return; we are alone and lonely in a world that doesn't see us; and we miss that connection with others who make us feel like we belong to something bigger than just ourselves.

The closer we get to someone, we trust they will make a choice to love and respect us for who we are, not for what they want us to be. We can't ask for their love; love must be voluntary but their respect is essential, not negotiable, and not up for debate. That's my elder perspective and I'm stinking' to it.