Childhood

Ann, agee with your summation.

Sometimes it takes a long time for the truth to sink in.

I said my mother loved me, but did not like me.

I didn't realize this until after she passed away and I was going through her personal effects. She had a prayer list and hello, I was nowhere on it. She had someone commissioned, however, to pray for my brother.

Then Dave and I took a drive down the road I used to ride my bike to school and where a dog had chased and bitten me. I had said I was afraid of the dog.

Dave was horrified by the deep ditches and narrow shoulder on the road. I got to thinking about the ugly clothes and neglect--left alone in a house in the woods when sick and I realized I was hardly cherished.

I loooked into postpartum depresssion and understand her problem. She was a victim herself and unaware of her wrong actions.

Some things are just the way they are. No one's to blame, just make sure it is not passed on.

Dear Alice,

You have a beautiful soul. It shines forth and lights many dark paths.

You have shone upon my dark path many times.

Love

Betty

Betty,

Your path is hardly dark. I don't see how you survived, but you rose above it all to show endless love to others.

Very Well done.

Dear Alice,

So did you. You are a beautiful person. That beauty comes from your own heart and soul, not any parent, not any one else, just you.

Love,

Betty

As is often the case, you've all made me feel the widest range of emotions in your posts. Betty, my heart breaks and I am still weeping as I write this. There is no redemption possible for me for anyone who would willfully hurt any child, let alone a son or daughter. It is unimaginable to me, and all the more horrible for not being uncommon. You are special, and this world is better for having you in it. That is a message you should rightfully have heard every day of your life, especially from those who should have known it best.

I don't have much, am not much, but would give anything to have a child--especially a daughter--and to have her share the center of my universe along with my wife. In another place and time, if you could have been my daughter I would have been the happiest man in the universe and my wife the happiest woman. I don't know you, but I know that as much as I have ever known anything and wish I were as sure of my own salvation. I am still weeping as I write this. I can't imagine your strength. I know it sounds trite and perhaps even condescending, which is the farthest emotion from my heart at the moment, but I am so very proud of you.

Dear Victor,

Thank you for your kindness and your words. I wish you a child to love. You have love to give in abundance!

I want you to know that I no longer hurt. I hope I never hurt anyone.

Love, Betty

I have no doubt but that you bring joy to all who know you, Betty. Consider yourself hugged.

Your post and Alice's and D.K.s' before you left me shaken. Strong people can be strengthened in the forge of adversity rather than be consumed by its fire as I would be. God Bless you.

What Victor said, Betty. I congratulate Victor for expressing his emotions. Too often we try to hide what we feel. I'm speaking of myself here. It is difficult to express emotions when one has been taught to hide them.

Victor,

Our son is 37 and his wife 36. They are expecting their first child at any moment now. I hope you have one too. It would be a very lucky child.

In rereading these posts, I can see I have left a wrong impression,. My folks were very good people. They were respected in the community and well meaning .

My mother can not be blamed for having part of her brain chopped out. My life has been very good and I am not due any sympathy.

I am like both of them--a mixture of good and not so good. Just a person in need of God's grace!

Alice,

Wow. I wish you, your son and daughter in law the happiest and (most appropriately) Thanksgiving ever! God Bless you, your new grandchild and all of our friends/colleagues here and their families.

Victor

Thank you,

Dan.

We are hoping the baby waits until after dinner.

You and your family have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

We all see the world through many perspectives. It always seems someone else had things quite difficult as a child from my perspective. My sister-in-law's mother (no longer living) was given to the Shakers by her parents during the depression because they had no food for her and the Shakers had no children of their own and raised the children of others. Another friend of mine's sister was given to an aunt and uncle to raise because her single mother could only care for two children, not three - and the aunt and uncle wanted a child to raise and were quite wealthy. I was put in foster care at nine when my parents divorced. All three of us were raised by people who loved us dearly, maybe even more than our own parents. We are not to be pitied. However, each of us felt abandoned - and that feeling haunted us all our lives in spite of loving care in the arms of kind people during our childhood.

How we cope with the years after childhood often relates to how we felt about that childhood as much as how it actually was. Mine was perfect. Yet, I remember in my teens learning that I could get sympathy by sharing with a friend how I had been raised by a foster family and emancipated at 17. My emancipation status lined me up for college loans added to scholarships that put me through some college. However, in all my life, I have never felt I "belonged" anywhere. I note the same feelings in my sister-in-law's mother and my friend's sister. In spite of our loving childhood environments, that initial "giving us away" made an indelible mark - that fear of abandonment. I think its relevant that we all entered careers of serving others - one a missionary, one a teacher and one a social worker. It's as though helping others overcome their trauma provides that sense of belonging.

This forum has been more open than others. People have shared deep hurts and magnificent joy and touched many lives. Even to find the expression of understanding in the words of Victor is beautiful. Perhaps our paths have crossed for just this reason - to open parts of our soul - as Ivanna van Sant says, (I know I spelled it wrong), "my soul just opened up" - to the heartfelt connections that are the essence of being human, male or female.

Dk,

It doesn't sound perfect to me.

No one has a perfect childhood, however and how would they live if they did?

My foster family was like a story book. Three little girls always dressed up pretty by my foster mom; I was the oldest and given special privileges for that reason. We lived in a brick house with a half basement on a corner with the neighborhood park in our backyard. All the kids hung out at our house and my foster mom encouraged it by providing snacks and kool aid. We played tennis at the courts, played "kick the can" at night, ice skated there in winter and went water skiing in summer. The girls had a big St. Bernard named Billie who lived in the breezeway between the garage and the house. I hated the slobber and never did understand how the girls could love Billie so much. I was a Brownie and a Girl Scout and sold more oven savers and cookies than anyone because I thought ahead to take orders. We went camping as a family and to Girl Scout camp. My foster father was an award winning photographer and worked for the local newspaper, so he was exciting and took lots of pictures of the three girls and Billie. He and my foster mother had parties on the weekends that we peeked at through our bedroom door. He went deer hunting; I never liked the meals from the venison in the freezer. I had a couple good friends. One was Catholic and her house was always a mess with kids everywhere and her mom laughing good-natured in the kitchen making bread. They bought a bus and drove cross country to their dad's new job.

All those good things went on around me; I was part of them but not part which is hard to explain or understand. Though I went through all the motions of that life, I always felt "different" and "other." I can't think of any foster family that could have done more to make this child feel part of their life, though. I tried to deserve their kindness.

Would you have preferred to stay with your mother and dad?

Did you feel as though you belonged with them?

I was nine. I did not understand why my dad moved away at all. I did not understand why I went on a tour of foster families to find a place to live. I knew I could not live with my dad because he lived in a motel room. I could not live with my mom because she was moving and going to work. I think deep down I felt they must not want me so I was willing to go. I visited with them on weekends, but the longer I stayed with my foster family the more I disliked my obligatory weekends with either my mother or my father because they felt awkward. He took me to the zoo; mother cleaned her apartment and might take me to a movie. It was not natural and I preferred being with my new sisters and their family. I look at nine year old children; they are quite smart but still very young. No one tried to explain anything to me about divorce. One day I was in a family, the next day it was mom and me. Not long after, it was the foster home. It just all rolled out without me having any power to stop anything. I left my school and everything familiar to start over with a new family. I think it wasn't real. I just sort of followed the script.

Your story makes me think of my children, DK.

They were 6, 8, and 10. I was in complete shock when their dad told me he wanted out. Things were not great between us; over the years after, looking back, I can see that they were worse than not great, but I was still living in my illusion.

People like us did not get divorces. I insisted that it was not an option. It took me several months to realize that there was actually no other option. What he chose to do was out of my hands. I was powerless to do anything about it.

I seriously thought about having a nervous breakdown, but couldn't, because they needed me. I decided to put it off, only by the time I might have managed it, I no longer needed it. The children were all making it through high school and starting college. It hadn't been easy for them. We moved from our little city to Houston, and they found that they had no extended family support anymore. But they were great kids. I never had to set curfews. they shook their heads and rolled their eyes when their friends got grounded for breaking the rules. I tried to find a balance between setting limits and staying flexible. They were all honor grads and headed for college knowing that they would do well. Their father took up the slack, somewhat. He insisted that they would get no help unless they moved to SA and lived with him. He gave them free room and board and a used car apiece, but no allowance - they had to work to pay for their tuition, but they always kept their grades up and went on to grad school, on their own.

I didn't realize how much they were hurting inside until I retired and moved here. We had been this team - working together to get through it all, but underneath - they would visit their dad and see him living the same easy life that had ended for us when he chose to walk away. I think I probably "offered" myself up as a sacrifice so that they could believe that their father loved them. All the crap became my fault, and were are still learning to get it all straightened out.

I started the pattern of accepting blame (my dad called it "being responsible") as a child, whenever my mother would throw a tantrum and rage and cry to him about how "impossible" I was. I knew she didn't love me, and figured it must have been my fault. I did eventually come close to that breakdown, after she moved in with me, a few years before she died. I got a therapist instead. But we never completely get over those childhood hurts. We just finally realize that if our own lives are miserable - they win. So we let it go, move on, and do our thing - that thing we came into this world to do..

Our stories here are all different on the surface, but underneath, we all really do tell the same ones, in a metaphorical way.

Some say we choose our parents before we are born. I don't know about that, but today, I can look back and see that those experiences have led me to where I am today. And I don't mind being where I am - not at all.

You are a strong and intelligent woman, and I imagine you have affected many lives in a positive way.

That's what it is all really about, isn't it?

Posts like these help make one more aware.

Dear DK and Ann,

I am so sorry for your most unfortunate situations. I wish they could be reversed.

I truly don't know what to say except I wish it hadn't been that way.

Hey, Alice. Sometimes the Universe is just over my shoulder, looking after me, like now. When I read your post, I remembered the following lines. I had to think, who said that?. I instantly recalled not only who but what book. Not always an easy task these days. I glanced around my office, and saw it immediately - on the shelf where I probably put it the last time I read it, which was years ago. Now that in itself is a small miracle, but I'm not done. I picked up the book, flipped the pages, and landed right on the lines that I hadn't read for such a long time.

You should thank me for taking the time to type them in. As soon as this post is done, I'm going to copy and paste them to my quotations file, so that I will have them the next time I need them.

Quote :

You married the wrong man. Became a teacher instead of a country and western singer. You didn't finish college, join the Peace Corps, move to New York. If you had, your life would have been different. But not necessarily better. That's because we, not our outer circumstances, are the catalysts for the quality of our lives. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
Sarah Ban Breathnach; Something More; "Designing Women"

Actually, I did type them before - even longer ago than the last time I read them. It was not long after my mom died. As I said, I had gone to a therapist for a while. As I got better, my relationship with Lynn and Susan got worse. I couldn't understand why, so I talked to my therapist about it. She said that I had changed, and when I did, I created a vacuum, and it forced all of those people I had close relationships with to change as well. Not long after, I read Something More for the first time. I typed those lines into an email and sent it to the girls. They both replied the same words: Thank You. It wasn't enough, in itself, to fix things; they had a lot of stuff to get through and clear. As I said, we are still working at clearing it, but we are working at it together.

I am so glad I found that book. I am putting it in my stack to read again - soon.

And, BTW, I recommend it highly.

Fortunately children are resiient and bounce back from most situations quite well.

Alice,

The last time I read through these posts I was overwhelmed. I had intended to respond with my own childhood story but simply could not. It was--is--trite in comparison to the joy and pain expressed by our friends here. Here is a second try nonetheless.

Both of my parents were loving, caring and sacrificed themselves to provide for me a good life. They were both hard working individuals who emigrated from Spain to Argentina in their mid teens in search of a better life than was available under Franco's Spain. Some day I hope to write in full about their extraordinary courage and experiences which prove not only the indomitability of the human spirit but also that God indeed looks after the innocent even under extreme conditions.

Shortly after having me after three years of marriage, the Argentine economy began to quickly unravel in a process that continues to this day. Life savings evaporated in two failed businesses due to hyperinflation and economic collapse and the predictable response of irresponsible governments to deal with it by printing money (sound familiar?)--the first a machine shop and the second a grocery store. My dad worked a full time job and put in all the overtime possible with excellent pay through it all, and my mom eventually worked outside the home again after the business failures. They refused to declare bankruptcy and paid off every cent they owed which left us very poor while both of my parents were working 12-hour days and bringing in excellent money that went mostly to pay off bills.

There were a number of lean years, though I never felt it. They maintained one luxury--my Catholic school tuition--while skimping on every other aspect of their lives. I felt loved, secure, and never saw real want of anything important. We downsized to a tiny house that provided me with ample room to play out of doors. I had few friends and no siblings but I did not know this to be anything but normal and always preferred the company and conversation of adults over kids my own age in any case.

When I was nine, we came to the U.S.--it was either come here or return to Spain which in the 1960s was still under Franco's control and provided few opportunities. My dad is a world class machinist/mechanic--give him a fully equipped machine shop and he will create another for you given time and sufficient stock and parts. He could find good paying work anywhere in an industrialized country. Neither my parents nor I spoke a word of English. I adapted, though very, very painfully at first, and within six months became their translator/agent/facilitator. Both found work almost immediately here--their hard work and experience opening doors despite their very limited language skills.

It was a lonely childhood for me that did not include a healthy enough dose of stimulation such as the company of various other children until I was in my teens, a guidance towards challenging books, and the help and guidance that most children take for granted with homework, with career choices, with life. My parents loved and protected me into a neat box; my job was to excel in school, which I did, and everything else would take care of itself. In a sense they felt they had nothing to teach me that I did not already know as a very young old man. They were wrong, of course.

The effects of my late socialization are still evident in a tendency to shyness covered over by long years of practice. It would shock some of the people that know me best to read this, more so people with whom I worked and served. Given my previous and present work, it seems absurd even to me on some level. But is is nevertheless true. We become adept at hiding our weaknesses from the world.

I've been accused of arrogance more than once and not unfairly. It is mostly a shield, though. At the same time, students have noted many times in my evaluations that I am too hard on myself, misinterpreting my self depricating sense of humor and attempt at drawing them out and making them at ease in my classes. The only things I am truly insecure about, really, are dancing and my life-long inability to remember names (or worse, misremembering them).

In all my memories of childhood are very good ones tempered by loneliness that is the bane of only-children. For a variety of reasons and circumstances that go well beyond childhood, I remain half-baked, unfinished, like a fallen souffle. Some of the fault is mine, some fortune's wheel. If only life had a reset button!

What an exciting bio of childhood! Such a picture of immigration and the strength of your parents. So revealing about the feelings in childhood that haunt us through adulthood. It is so fine to know a bit about a person not always revealed. It helps tie together that humanity that binds us all to different experiences but common feelings. You add much to our forum. I hope it benefits you equally. Certainly you need to continue your writing goals as you certainly have a way with words that evoke clear pictures.