One of the scariest – yet recurring events – was mom waking the boys in the middle of the night. For clarity, she never did that to me. Probably because I was terrified of her and made sure I towed the line without question. Or she hated men (boys). Either explanation would fit.
To be honest, one of the episodes was understandable – in theory. After going out with a friend, she’d come home late to find the trash cans still in their storage space and not at the curb. “I thought I told you to take out the trash!” She’d demand as she yanked my brothers out of their sound sleep. I understand the frustration, but isn’t there a better way to instill responsibility in your kids? It was brutal no matter how you looked at it. Now the whole house was awake because of the trash. Or because she had too much to drink at dinner.
Another fright was the middle of the night haircut. She hated any hair that hung lower than your eyebrows. Be it professionally coiffed newscasters, someone in the supermarket, her own kids. It’s as if it was a trigger point. With clenched fists she’d grit her displeasure through her teeth. “Get that hair out of your eyes”, she’d seethe at the offender on TV.
One night she cut Len’s hair while he slept. I’m using the term ‘cut’ very loosely. Grab a handful and cut. What a horrifying thing to wake up to. I wonder how much a kid learns at school, now publicly shamed and humiliated. Ah…just another day in our household.
When I was a young adult – out of that house and living on my own – I picked up the book Mommy Dearest. Joan Crawford fascinated me as an actress so I thought it would be an interesting read. I had no idea. I started sobbing uncontrollably at the scene where Christina was forced to scrub the bathroom floor with cleanser – yep, in the middle of the night. I knew too well the panic, shame, powerlessness that a child feels at such an afront. You can’t fight back because you have no idea how deranged the unpredictability would become.
It’s not lost on me. I understand that kids have chores and responsibilities. But this was not instilling responsibility. It was finding an easy target for uncontrollable adult rage.
As I’m writing, some of these stories seem unbelievable to me. A few times I’ve slipped into – it really wasn’t that bad. But it was. A one-off would be one thing. But it was unpredictable and ongoing. And nobody knew because mom was a stickler for “What would the neighbors think!”. We presented well, and nobody was the wiser.
Exhausting, depleting tears stream at every memory – every story. I’m going to continue writing until there are no tears left. I hope I’m not damaging myself further by this rapid recall, yet I think having all the pain finally set free is a good thing.
