Chapter 2

It’s been over a month since I posted the first chapter of my 18 til 40. I started it in July, 18 months until I will turn 40.  I’ve had time to reflect, I’ve gotten feedback, I’ve been contacted by old friends and even strangers telling me how I’ve touched them.  I’ve read it over and over and cried big ugly tears in the process.  What I realize the most from the first installment is that I gave access to a part of my childhood that was raw and not very pretty.  And while all of it was real and true, it did not honor my parents for who they were AS PEOPLE.  My parents, like all of us, made some bad choices, choices that would lead them and us to that apartment in Queens.  But, it was not who they WERE as people.  Having said that, I would like to take some time to honor my parents and show them in a slightly different light.  Sure, they had their issues, who doesn’t? And while the choices they made may have led them to a dark time in all of our lives, it did not, by any means DEFINE them as people.  When I think of my parents, my mother in particular, I do not think of the addiction or our living conditions, I think of strength, i think of unconditional love.  I think of endless hope and acceptance, I think of adoration.

I was young when my father died, and sadly I do not know very much about him, his childhood or his life at all.  The one thing I DO know is that he was a Sergeant in VietNam and had to see some truly horrific things.  Things that would FOREVER change him.  He went into the army a boy and came out a mess.  I remember my mom telling me he had night terrors for years after the war.  I cannot even fathom the things that he lived through.  Who am I to judge his decisions or how he needed to cope with those terrors? I don’t know the details on the how’s when’s and why’s of his journey, I wish I did.  What I DO know is he had serious demons that he battled every single day of his life after the war.  It makes me so sad that I never got to know my dad as an adult. To be able to have a heart to heart and talk to him, to hug him, to help him.  Who knows if I ever could help him the way he needed to be helped, but it would be nice to try.  

My mom, well I know a lot more about her, her life, her challenges and insecurities, her giving heart.  Yet, it’s still never enough.  I want to know more.  I want to hug her and tell her just how SPECIAL she was! My mama was the absolute most loving, caring, thoughtful, giving and unselfish person you would ever meet.  She would give you the shirt off her back.  Just being in her presence made you feel better and you didn’t even know why or how.  She had a magical aura, she could calm you with just a look.  She made everyone feel special, needed and loved, just by being near her.  The one thing she didn’t possess was the ability to see all of these things in herself.  Which in a way made all those amazing qualities even more genuine, she didn’t have to TRY, she just WAS.  She truly was like a white, bright light to everyone.  Only she didn’t see it in herself, so that light would dim.  She had too much pain in her heart to allow her light to shine through fully.  She would get lost in her pain. Pain that I know only a little of, but just that little bit is too much to even bare to think of.  It truly saddens me to think of all of the potential she had, to help people, to encourage and lift people up, all wasted because of her heavy heart.  She just couldn’t bare it, so she escaped the only way she knew how.  She turned to drugs about the same time my dad did while he was in Vietnam.  When he came home they had both dabbled on their own and both had so many reasons to escape, so they did, together.  It was never their intention to hurt their babies.  It’s a disease.  I know that NOW, but it would take me many many MANY years to come to terms with these things.  It would take many trials and tribulations for me to get to the place I am now.  Obstacles that resembled mine fields, Lots of pain, blame and regret on my part.  I’ve said things I’m not proud of and done things I may regret forever, but, in the big picture, it all has it’s place.  I am where I was always meant to be.  And every single thing that has happened to my parents, and subsequently to me, has had it’s place.  It has all made me who I am today, and for THAT I will never regret a single thing.  

I think I would like to focus on my Dad this chapter.  Considering I didn’t get much time with him, I don’t have all that many memories.  I didn’t know him well, only things I’ve been told by Mom and family.  I know that he was brilliantly smart.  He was the youngest of 4, with three older sisters.  He grew up in Richmond Hill, Queens.  From what I know, he had a typical and normal childhood and had pretty much anything he could ever want and need.   I know he was a SGT in the ARMY and was in the war, like I mentioned.  The next bit I am going to copy from a facebook message correspondence with my Aunt Lonnie on how my mom and dad met...Gosh, I love this:

“Your mom and dad met through a guy your mom was seeing. the guy was friends with your dad and they fell in love instantly. They went steady for almost a year then decided to get married but your mom was only 17 and my mom and dad said no way,so they decided to elope. So your mom,dad me and brother Tom hopped into your dads car and drove to Maryland where you didn't need consent at 17. We ended up in Brooklyn MD. We all stayed at a motel that night and they got the license the next day and got married at city hall. I was the maid of honor and Tom was best man. Then we all went to an amusement park there and celebrated by going on all the rides lol...When we got back home all the parents were furious. They didn't care. they were happy and in love. They moved into a 1 room basement apt. and the rest is history. Oh and they got married on your moms birthday. It was so sweet, so much in love.”

Every time I read this it is a reminder to me that my parents were just people.  Does it change the facts? No, but it definitely puts it all into perspective.  

I  guess now would be a good time to reflect on some things.  My memories of and with my Dad are quick flashes and from the point of view of a little girl.  Some are sweet, some make me sad.  

I remember my Dad would call me Jelly Bean and he’d always say “ya know what I mean, Jelly Bean” I somehow know this, even tho I only have one actual memory of it.  He would also always bring me a “surprise” back every time he went out.  It took me a long time to realize that he had to steal those surprises from the local 5 and dime because he didn’t have money.  I remember once we didn’t have any money, and didn’t have food for dinner.  So, my dad, being desperate, went through the apartment building alley to Lewis’ of Woodhaven (the 5 and dime) with me in tow.  He wore an oversized flannel overshirt and I distinctly remember him sliding a huge bag of candy in that shirt.  That would be our dinner that night….trust me, I wasn’t complaining!

Another memory I have of/with my Dad was when I was maybe 6 or 7, he borrowed his sister’s car and lawn chairs and drove me and my brother to Forest Park.  Forest Park was a local park, but not your run of the mill park.  It truly was a FOREST and took up a huge chunk of Queens.  It was beautiful! Anyway, he drove up to the park, where Ronald McDonald was.  For the life of me, I can’t remember what Ronald McDonald was doing there, but there he was.  There was a huge group of people and Ronald was standing on top of a van.  This van looked tremendous to me. He looked into the audience of children and chose me to come up there with him.  I was terrified.  But, what I remember most about this event is my Dad’s voice saying
“come on Jelly Bean, you can do this” I still tear up to this day when I remember this.  I didn’t go up on that van, I was too scared.  But what stays with me as an adult is the feeling of disappointing my Daddy.  Silly, I know.  As a parent, I know that he was never disappointed in me.  He just wanted me to overcome my fear.  That would be categorized as one of my “sweet” memories.  

Another would be the time my brother took me to Six Flags Great Adventure to see New Kid’s on the Block.  This must have been very close to the time my Dad passed away, the same summer.  We were gone for about 18 hours.  When we got home, my dad came running into the hallway of our apartment building to greet us, in  his little jean shorts and nothing else.  He was a tall, lenky guy.  He was SOOO excited to see us, but what was even more exciting? “Mommy made STEW”! I will NEVER forget the feeling! WHAT? Stew!? We didn’t always have real meals, so they are all pretty memorable.  I just remember his excitement at seeing us so much!

The last one for today.  It was my birthday.  Remember back in the “olden” days when you could make cupcakes and bring them in to share with your class? Man, I used to LOVE when it was someone’s birthday at school! I cannot remember what birthday this was, I’m going to guess around 6 or 7.  I was so excited to bring treats in to school.  Somehow my parent mustered up some money for a pack of Oreos.  I remember guarding that pack of Oreos with my life the night before.  I was so excited. Well, the next morning I find the pack has been opened and that almost half the cookies have been eaten.  I was devastated! I refused to bring an opened box of Oreos to school. so I went without them.  I remember the teacher looking at me for the treats and me having to say I forgot them.  A little while later, I am sitting at my desk and look up, through the little window in the classroom door I see my dads face smiling at me.  You’d think this would make a little girl happy, right? Well, not me.  I was mortified.  My Dad was high.  Bless his heart, he thought I had genuinely forgotten my Oreos, so he brought them into school for me.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to hide under my desk and stay there until everyone stopped looking at him and at me.  I could feel the other kid’s judging eyes on me.  I didn’t thank him, I don’t think I even smiled at him.  I wanted to run away and never come back.  After he left, the kids were making remarks “THAT was your DAD” “Eww” I am not sure which feeling resonates with me more right now, the feeling of embarrassment as a child, or the feeling of regret as an adult.  He had meant well.  By this time in my childhood I was already deemed the poor, dirty girl and his presence paired with the other kids stares and comments just caused my world to come to an end.  

After this incident I started cutting out of school.  I believe I was in 2nd Grade. I could not handle the looks and teasing.  I never had my homework done, and I was constantly being put on the spot and called on and I just could not handle it any more.  I didn’t do it every day.  Maybe on the days there was a book report due that I never started. Maybe on the days that my clothes were too visibly stained to hide.  Who knows what put me over the edge. But, that feeling of not being able to handle going into school would follow me forever.  It would overflow into the days of my first jobs.  I would have panic attacks every morning at the thought of going to work.  It took lots of therapy for me to finally realize that I had PTSD.  

This leads me into the last memory that I will share, but I want to save it for it’s own entry.  It is something that changed my life and deserves to be on it’s own.  Plus, it will be long and somewhat difficult to write about, so I need some time to gather my thoughts.  See you next month!

Please feel free to share this post with anyone you think it may help.  Do not hesitate to contact me or to refer anyone you know to me if you think me or my story could help them in the slightest way.  That is the purpose of this blog.  To tell my story and to help people along the way.