I did something horrible before. I wrote a blog where I mentioned meeting my mother, and I didn’t title it correctly. I feel compelled to correct that mistake here. I apologize to all my imaginary friends. I am forever humbled by all 134 of you.
** Special shout out to Todd and Linda who have named their first born in my honor! Best wishes guys! **
My earliest memories are living with one of my aunts. Let’s just call her Aunt Mom since I thought she was my mom. Dad managed the only movie theater in 100 miles so he worked late.
At some point, a strange woman comes and takes me to my other house. When we get there she doesn’t leave. Dad isn’t home. She must be watching me until he gets here. I’m not happy, I want my cartoons. The woman keeps trying to talk to me. Why would she do that?
She starts saying weird things. She keeps telling me she loves me like she wants me to say it back. It’s annoying. Finally, I tell her, “I think I like you ok.” She seems upset.
She point blank asks, “you don’t love me?” How awkward could this get?
My routine is shattered. I’m suppose to be watching Chip and Dale. I am too far out of my comfort zone. She is still staring at me, she looks surprised and sad. Who the hell is this woman?!
An eternity passes. Dad comes home. The woman still doesn’t leave. They tell me this woman is my mother. Claims she always has been. I’m skeptical AF, I don’t buy it for a second. I want to go home. It’s time for Care Bears. This vicious cycle goes round and round.
Of course, none of these things happened. I made them up for.. I don’t know, reasons? It just sounds better. Obviously it isn’t possible for Mom to be wrong, so it must be true. I hope everyone can hear the eye-roll in the this.
It’s amazing how vivid the memories that really bother us can be. I don’t remember when I stopped thinking about it. I guess that would be redundant. Eventually I settled into a new routine.
When change didn’t literally kill me, I adapted. Story of my freaking life. Anyway, that’s actually how I met my mother no matter what story she’s pushing around.
Aunt Mom is highly offended her years of work are treated as non existent, but she has two boys. I am the closest she has to the girl she always wanted.
For all Mom’s bitching she still dumped me at Aunt Mom’s doorstep every time she couldn’t handle something.
I have poor coordination, I wasn’t joking in my earlier blog about tripping while standing still. That happens to me a lot. People who don’t know my name will know who you mean if you refer to me as, “The weird girl who is always getting hurt.”
In Kindergarten, they taught us to skip. I couldn’t do it. They asked Mom to teach me at home, saying it is important I learn how. Mom didn’t give a single damn about skipping.
Time passed, teachers kept trying to show me how to skip. I didn’t understand. I had scrapes all over my hands and knees from tripping over my feet. I watched teachers and other kids go from amused to annoyed to angry to defeated. They were completely over it.
They talk to Mom again. They’re really annoyed she isn’t helping. Dad is working too much. They tell Mom if I don’t learn to skip over the weekend, I’ll have to repeat the year of kindergarten. Apparently it is the way they measure coordination development.
That got her attention. We were living in a trailer because Dad sold the house to keep me out of public school. As bad as I had it at my school, I have to look back and be grateful to him. They would have killed me at a public school and I think he knew that.
Mom takes me straight to Aunt Mom. She’s having a full blown episode even if I didn’t know the term for it yet. I stand by angry and silent while she explains to Aunt Mom she would not allow Dad to pay for two years of kindergarten.
It was no picnic from my end either. All these scary strangers yelled at me about some kind of run-jumps every day, and I was always in pain from so many impacts with the ground. I was tired and frustrated and this kept cutting into cartoon time.
While Mom continued ranting, Aunt Mom bent down and said, “Hey, you want to play Wizard of Oz?”
Finally! We were getting somewhere. “Yes I want to play Wizard of Oz, and then I want to watch it 50 more times before bed please!”
I took off across the yard. I pranced all over pretending to frolic with Lion, Scare, and Tin. I called them that because it sounded like we were good friends. Apparently, these idiots were calling frolics “skipping” can you believe that? Troglodytes.
It’s all about communication people. This is another perfect example of how being born before the Google Age has hindered my development. Alright that was it, peace out.