It was a time when there was very little intervention in domestic situations.
We all know that
shared events will produce a variety of perspectives. My sisters and brothers have their own experiences which are very different from mine. They don't even
know about most of the horror I experienced as a child. Five of us ten kids died young. I tried to tell remaining siblings my story. They mostly denied. I
understand but still, they are enablers of evil & wrongdoing. And they each suffer residual effects of growing up in that home.
These are MY experiences.
My childhood in 1 word: horrific
2 words: thankfully over
3 words: I'm writing
My Mexican/European mother was severely sexually damaged as a child, later enrolled
in a Catholic boarding school. A multiple personality with a sadistic streak. Narcissist. Pill popper. Sex addict. In those days they called it "nymphomaniac".
She was a genius. She was an entertainer, an artist, a botanist, and amazing cook. A florist, an accountant, a dog breeder, and many other things. One thing
she was NOT is a nurturer. Her children were her dolls and pawns. She was taught how to manipulate men to get what she needed in a misogynistic world. She was
the classic chameleon. Her genius mind was a rolodex of imitated behaviors which allowed her to appear "normal" and
navigate a complex world of her own design. She ruled. She destroyed. She denied and she endured for ~90 years.
My father's mother died when he was a baby. He was raised by a country Pentecostal
fanatic father and mildly retarded step-mother who was not really married, but hired to be a slave & enabler. They thought they could beat the devil out
of him. When he was an adolescent, they humiliated him in front of the congregation for bedwetting. He hated religion. He was a racist bigot. He was a giant
of a man, masogynist, extremely prideful German/Swiss/Norwegian with undiagnosed bipolar disorder and deeply rooted rage. He was a violent alcoholic, sexually
perverse, and clever. He was a Neanderthal who has not evolved much beyond ancestral karmic issues. He lived and died a sentimental, self-loathing brute.
First born was a girl who they constantly heaped gender disappointment on to the point
where she tried to become a boy. Her menses was delayed. She was a tomboy who never quite figured out who, what, or where she was or how she fit into this world.
I was second, a natural nurturer, raised as the nanny and substitute wife. Each baby
that was spit out was handed to me with, "Here, Dianne - here's your baby." After that it was, "Dianne, go take care of the baby." This started
when I was 3 years old. Other things started at that same age, which I will not mention here.
Third was another girl, and then another. Four girls in five years. The fifth girl
was from an affair, so she was put up for adoption in order to salvage the marriage. My older sister & I discovered the birth certificate while snooping in mother's papers. The first boy was born in 1954 in our log cabin house in Fairbanks, Alaska. He lived
for three days then died from torn brain tissue, related to an affair and subsequent botched home abortion. Then there were four more boys. One boy was initially
fostered by the grandmother - perhaps another affair - I don't remember. I was ten. At age three months, he died in his bassinet choking on his vomit. It was
a day I insisted that my mother take care of her own baby. They blamed me for his death. Each time a sibling died, I felt maternal loss. Many years later, I
actually did lose my own son to family legacy: drug overdose.
Mother disappeared for days at a time. I ran the household when she was gone.
In 1956-57 living on N. 200th
Street near Echo Lake in north Seattle, [click here for photos] the neighbors noticed we children had been left alone for several days. They called the authorities.
We were sent to an orphanage. Police said, "There is no mother in this home." I was deeply offended. I thought I was doing a good job running the household with
the 2-week old baby and my three sisters. I cooked the meals, kept them from fighting each other, bathed them, put them to bed, and I took good care of my
new baby brother - the first boy. I was six years old.
.... to be continued