I really, really, want to write a book. I wake up with ideas swirling in my head most every day. I try to articulate my thoughts in this blog, as kind of a place holder, for when I finally have time to process. Uninterrupted thought is a premium commodoty around here. I don't get much of it. I just get a crazy case of the swirly brain. Ideas on motherhood, the trials of youth, the firing and refining process, fate, God's divine hand in our lives, all of that is just swirling. I can assure you those swirled up thoughts wouldn't make very interesting reading in their current form, but some day. Some day life will be quiet. I will miss the noise, the thumping, the hustle and bustle. In the mean time, if I can document the little moments, maybe some day, with miraculous divine intervention, all of the puzzle pieces will meld into a book. :)
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5/13/13
Do you ever think back to your childhood, and think about the Mother's you knew growing up? The Mother's of your friends, your neighbors, ladies at church, etc... I do. I remember a little something about all of them. Some of what I remember is not earth shakingly interesting, but other things really had impact on me, or was at least memorable enough to stick with me years later.
I will start in the early years. The Mom's that I remember were Ms. Joan, my best friend Jody's Mom. My friend Janet's Mom. Ms. Alice across the street. Debbie Reynolds mom, they had like six kids, and that was a little odd back then. My next door neighbor Scotty's Mom, Ms. Maxine. My Aunt Bobby, who lived a few doors down, and of course my own Mom. My Mother was young then, super young. She was a wife at 18, a Mother at 19, I had no idea then that my Mom was still trying to reconcile being a kid herself, being a wife, a Mother, wow, that must have been hard.
One thing I remember, and I could be wrong, is that most of the Mom's didn't seem really happy. They seemed kind of depressed. Not a lot of lovey couples. More like a lot of wives trying to stay out of the way of husbands with bad tempers-- my own Father included.
When you live in "rowhomes" you tend to know everyone in your "row".
From left to right ours was Aunt Bobby, Reggie & Sue (they gave me a puppy, Scooter), Us, Ms. Maxine & Mr. Pete (Scotty's parents) Mr. Dick & Miss. Ruth, and then Joanne's family (Joan & Fred) All the grown ups knew one another, drank together on the front porches. We played tag running across the communal front yards and no one cared. We yelled to each other over our chain link fences in the back yards, swam in each others pools, and hung out at each others houses. We knew which houses had the creepy Daddy's, and tried to avoid them. Several Dad's in the neighborhood were Police, and they all drank to much, so the teenage would be trouble makers were sufficiently warned to stay out of trouble. In the case of my Father, sometimes at gunpoint. Every now and then someone got hurt, a bike got stolen, a girl got attacked, a house got broken in to. When we were young it was an ok place to be. As we got older, the neighborhood got a little dicey. I took way to many chances. I am very lucky I didn't get seriously hurt. More on that later.
Ms. Alice across the street, was really big, like circus lady big. Her husband Mr. Carl was a skinny, shy, man. Her children were much older than me, but for some reason, my friend Jody and I liked to hang out over there. I even remember my parents letting me go to West Virginia for the weekend once with their family, am I dreaming that?? Mom? Ms. Alice was always eating sweets, and drinking Pepsi's from the tall glass bottles. I remember her husband bought a huge round bed for them, and it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. In hind sight, I don't think I should have been spending so much time over there, kind of weird.
Our next door neighbors, Scotty's parents, used to fight a lot. We lived in a brick row house in Baltimore, and you could hear the screaming. Scotty and I were good friends, and played a lot. I would spend the night at his house sometimes. His dad was some kind of minor celebrity, like a TV or Radio personality. His Mom Maxine, I am not sure. Cocktail Waitress maybe? Lot's of make up, thin bleached blonde hair, teased high up on her head. She was always kind to me. One time when I was at there house playing, Scotty and I heard screaming coming from upstairs. We ran up the stairs to find his Dad punching his Mom on the bed. She screamed for us to go get a knife. I ran home and told my Mom, the adults took over, I don't know what happened after that, I got sent to my room.
Jody's house was my favorite. Her family seemed rich to me. She lived in a brick row home just like me, but it was on the end of a row, so it was a little bigger. The bedrooms had new shag carpets, and girly furniture. Their basement was all finished, and they had an RV. Jody and I loved hanging out in the RV, especially when we were teenagers. Her Mom was beautiful. She was always stylishly dressed and had her make-up and hair done. Jody had an older sister, and I thought that was sooooo cool. I would have followed Shelly around all day, but she wanted nothing to do with her sisters goofy little friend. Her Dad was a Policeman just like my Dad. There were guns, and police scanners in the house. One day something bad happened to Jody. She was attacked by a group of teenage boys who lived across the alley. We were five then. She was crying, and bloody. Our father's were at work. I remember my Mother screaming in rage, and grabbing a broom, like she was going to kill someone with it. She sent me out for a walk with Ms. Alice's teenage daughter, and the grown up's took over. I don't really know what happened after that. Jody and I are friends still to this day. Her life took a lot of twists and turns, but that day changed her forever. I love her like a sister, and I am one of the few people in her life who remembers what life was like on Belvedere Avenue, when we were 5.
(Note to work in: When Joanne and I were little we would get up early on Saturday mornings and play at one anothers houses. When I would go to her house we would go play in her basement. It had a play room, and her Dad's workshop and stuff down there. In the bathroom in the basement he kept a stack of porn magazines. We would always sneak and look at them. They were mostly Playboys and Easy Riders, which were a little rough. Jo and I would look at them and she would be like, "I wonder if I'll have boobs that big when I grow up?", or "do you think you'll smoke when you grow up? I definitely will." It is so strange as a mother, being so paranoid about my kids access to porn, etc... on the internet, and all of their devices. I remember Playboy magazines on top of the fridge in my house when I was little, they were my Dad's. My PopPop kept them in the bathroom. That was normal back then, I suppose. No one ever mentioned it. I didn't have brothers, so I don't know what it was like if you had teenage boys around the house.
I remember Joanne and I snooping once in her parents bedroom and finding sex toys. Years later, when her parents got divorced, I remember hearing something about them "swinging" with another couple they went camping with, then it turned into an affair. -- I need to fact check that one with Joanne.
My friend Janet who lived down the street and across the alley, was half Japanese. Her father was also a Police Officer. Her Mother doted on her. She didn't speak much english. She was stern, but kind too. Janet was an only child. I remember their spare bedroom was converted into some type of chapel for her Mother. It had a big ornate alter, with idols, maybe Buddah statues. She left offerings and said prayers several times a day. Janet lived in an "end of row" house, which meant she had a "huge" yard! All of the neighborhood kids would gather in her yard, and we would have pretend weddings on her swingset. I was just chatting with an old, old friend Roger Naumann about that the other day, and we were laughing over those memories. We didn't even know one another then, but we both remember the weddings at Janet's house!Her Father yelled a lot. He didn't seem especially kind to her Mother. Years later, I heard that her Father had shot Janet's Mother, then himself. Poor Janet.
My own parents didn't seem very happy. My Mom didn't laugh much. I have fond memories of my Dad from when I was small. I was his princess. He loved to shower me with gifts. He called me #1, as in his #1 daughter. He liked to bring me along to the hobby store when he shopped for model airplanes, and he always showed me off. We would always stop at the bar first where he'd have a beer, and he'd buy me an orange juice. It was a special treat going to the bar with Dad all by myself. Dad was handsome, and he smelled good, he had a beautiful smile, and twinkling blue eyes. He would whistle, and he was friendly to everyone.
(This is a disjointed place for this, by I am feeling like I need to take notes here on Mom)
Mom, we have a complicated relationship. I love her. I know she loves me. It is weird though, she has always seemed a little detatched. As a little kid, I remember her looking unhappy, crying, in her nightgown. Smoking ciggarettes and drinking pepsi's. Then she and my Father split up, and Dad moved in (literally-- it was like that. Out and in.) She was happier, laughed more, was prettier. Dad didn't know how to handle the kid thing though. He tried at first. He did ok with Christy, she was little (like 2-3 and cute) but I was sad, and mad, and older. I had just had my world turned upside down. My Father, who was my world, had been moved down the street to my Aunt Bobby's basement, and this man, who didn't even seem to like me, was there, and he wasn't very nice. I had also just lost my Great Grandmother, and that made me so, so, sad. I was in 3rd grade and I was depressed. It was a tough time. My Mom was going through something really happy, new love, a fresh start-- and I was incredibly sad, and resentful, so we were not in sync as a family.
We moved to Pennsylvania in the Fall of 4th grade. The school year had already started, so I was the New Kid, and starting after everyone was already settled in. It was November I think. Most of the kids in my class had known one another since Kindergarten. I got a lot of "boy" attention, which meant I got alienated by the other girls. I didn't make many friends in elementary school. I remember being a loner on the playground, kind of wandering around at recess. Sue Bortner was kind. She went to our church too. Being a kid is tough. It doesn't make it easier when you are the only girl in 4th grade who needs a bra.
Mom seemed much happier in Pennsylvania. She got a job, made friends, got hobbies. She laughed more, and was more beautiful. She still got sad. Mom struggled (struggles) with depression. She would go into her dark bedroom for days on end, and not really talk to us. This would usually happen when Dad was away on business. There would be nothing we could say or do to make her laugh or even smile. She would just stare at the TV. She would go to sleep with it on everynight, till the networks went off the air, and there was nothing but static.
Mom went to school to become a nurse in her 30's. She is a very smart woman. I think school is her happy place. She did well,
I always knew when he was really feeling good because he would play his records. He was a child of the 50's and he loved his 50's music. My Dad always had a beer in his hand. It was totally normal for the Dad's to hang out on the front porch of the row houses with their white t-shirts, khaki shorts, black socks, and Jack Purcell sneakers on. I think my Dad even had a Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer tattoo. He was a handsome man. When he got dressed in his Police Uniform, combed his curly hair just right, and splashed on his cologne, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. My Dad was special. It wasn't till much later, after my parents divorced, then my Dad's second marriage failed, that I realized that my Dad was not perfect. He had very serious demons. He was addicted to alcohol, he was violent, and had other demon's I couldn't have ever imagined. My mother, the quiet, less demonstrative of the two, was, and still is my rock. She and my Dad divorced, I was broken hearted. She remarried a good man, who became a Father to me. They are still married and in love today. She never bad mouthed my father, despite the fact that I am sure that he hurt her. She has never once told me a story of violence, but I know they must exist. She allowed me to idolized him in my young years even as it probably stung her to tears. She let time uncover the tale. I praise God every day that she was able to start a new life, and take us with her. I fear life would have been very different without that divine protection.
I would be remiss if I didn't talk about my Grandparents. They lived just down a few blocks, next to the big Baptist Church that rang out every Sunday with loud, rowdy worship. My grandmother kept a lovely home, with beautiful upholstered furniture, curtains, and fancy wall coverings that she changed every few years it seemed. She used to babysit me after school. Jody and I would walk home together, and I would stay there till my Mom came home from work. My MomMom, made me yummy sandwiches (the best), would tickle my back till I fell asleep, she let me play at her beautiful vanity, trying out all of the powders, creams and cosmetics. I loved MomMom's house. One of my favorite play places was under her dining room table. My PopPop was a fun, light hearted guy, with a hearty laugh. I can still hear his laugh if I concentrate. He liked to tell off-color jokes, and also always had a beer in his hand. He drank to much, and he scared me when he drove. He was the heavy around the house. I knew that if I didn't behave I would have to answer to him when he got home. PopPop could be scary. He would take off his belt, and snap it, like I was really going to get it. Unless I blocked it out-- and I don't believe I did-- he was all bluster. I can't remember a single spanking at his hand.
My Aunt Grace was just a teenager when I was a kid. I remember her living at home, hanging out with her friends. She was kind of a hippy, that was cool then. She had all of these art supplies in the basement, and was always talking about witchy stuff to scare me. One day my little sister, just a baby then, maybe 2 or 3, took a swig from a Burger King cup she had down there on an easel. It was filled with turpentine. Christy had to be taken to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. Aunt Grace used to tell me that trolls lived under the stairs down there. Typical let's scare the pants off the little kids stuff. She started dating Bill, started having babies, and that's that. I do remember one time when they got in a fight, she and Bill, out in the street out in front of my Grandparents house. He was beating the piss out of her. My grandfather went at him. You don't mess with a Navy man. She came with the babies to live with my Grandparents for a while, but she went back to him. She always went back. They are still together today, living in poverty, who knows what their quality of life is. I have never seen their home. I have never been invited there. My cousins Billy and Ricky, though they look like relatives, I don't feel any emotional connection to them. MomMom and Pop were all that really connected us. With them gone, things kind of fell apart. I do miss MomMom and Pop. I even miss the smell of smoke, beer, and coca cola, from the American Legion. Now there, Pop was King. He was Mr. Social. He loved the American Legion. He would shoot pool, tell jokes, laugh out loud, and have a ball. I feel bad for how life beat him up in his later years. He was a good man.
I just had a revelation, that alcohol, is very comforting to me. It reminds me of people I love, and miss. My father, who I resent for his drinking and how it destroyed him, but it is also attached to positive memories I have of him. Bette Davis. Pop and Mom Mom. I miss them. I miss the smell of beer, and the sound of whistling and loud laughter, Pops wheezing laughter. Cigarettes and bar smells, are comforting, in a positive way. Weird.
My grandmother loved Days of Our Lives when I was a kid. I still watch it today, and she introduced me to it when I was like two. She also had a little vice for candy! That's where I get it!! She would always have Juicy Fruits, those chewy fruit candies on hand. My vice is Swedish Fish. My grandmother was a lady. She always had her face on, her nails done, and her pearls on. When she drank her beer, it was in a glass. She smoked like a chimney, and had no tolerance for complaining about burning eyes and such. If I don't get lung cancer from all of the second hand smoke I took in growing up, it will be a miracle. I miss her. I miss her a lot. I know my Mom does too. Helen was a special lady full of piss and vinegar, with just the right amount of kindness. She didn't mince words, but she always thought she was helping when she said them. I learned a lot from her. She was a fierce Momma Bear too. She lost my Uncle John, my Mom's brother when he was just 40. His death took a piece of her with him. She never fully recovered from that loss. I can't even imagine the pain of losing a child.
I remember her home so fondly. My PopPops recliner with the barrel table lamp beside it. That barrel opened up and was a treasure trove of buttons! I loved playing with all of those buttons. I can still remember the smell of their home. It is strange, because in hind sight, you would think all I would remember is the smell of cigarette smoke, but that is not the case. I remember the smell of the wood polish, my MomMom's purfume, her linens. I especially loved to play in the basement. They had this cool 70's orange pleather sofa, and black and white linoleum tiled floors. My Pop had this huge bar, that my father had built for him. It was panelled on the front, and had Pop's initials JLA on the front. My Father had built that in our basement, and to keep me quiet about it, he told me he was building an airplane, and of course I believed him. He was always building airplanes. My grandmother didn't care that I didn't like dolls. While all of my friends were playing with their dolls, I would make leashes to drag my stuffed animals around like live pets.
Now my other Grandma Bette Davis, as my cousin Kellie and I so fondly named her-- was a character. Also a beauty in her day. (Did I mention how beautiful MomMom was. Till the day she died, she was beautiful) Now this Grandmother, was my Father's Mother (Bill Port's Mom), officially named Margot Suzanne, but her dramatic nature, and perfectly coiffed brows, and lined lips earned her the nickname Bette Davis. Rarely did a day go by when her face was not on, but she would lay about her bed in house dresses all day because she was agoraphobic. She NEVER left her tiny little Dundalk apartment. She would hang out in her bedroom all day, every day, feigning some illness, arranging plastiic flowers, and running her drug empire. Yes, I said drug empire. How does an agoraphobic, old woman run a drug empire you ask? She some how managed to charm and train an entire team of drug runners. She would find and make appointments with all of the crooked Dr's in the city, and send her girls in for prescriptions for Diet pills, anxiety issues, uppers, downers, you name it. Women would be in and out of that apartment all day long paying homage, bringing her bags of ?? cash I presume, picking up stuff from her little lockbox she kept by the bed. I grew up with this, so I just thought Grandma Sue had a lot of girlfriends checking in on her. It wasn't till I was a teenager, that I started to put things together. All the while I'd be there visiting, and she'd send me to the fridge to make here a beer with a vodka shooter at 9am, sure that's normal. Any wonder why I might have a few substance challenges?
When my parents got divorced, my Mom & Dad (Al) moved us to Pennsylvania. I got to go visit my Dad every 4-5 weeks on his weekend off. He would drive up after school and pick us up for the weekend. I loved going there. I got to be his #1, I got to run down the street to see my MomMom, up the street to see Jody, two doors down were my Cousin Kellie and my Aunt Bobby. I felt treasured. I didn't feel so treasured at home. I was the daughter who didn't know what to do or what to say to make Dad (Al) happy. Everything I did brought on disgusted looks, angry words, and frustration. If I cried, I made him angrier. If I talked back, he would raise his hand, wanting to strike me, he only actually hit me once that I can remember. I believe I threatened to tell my Father who would surely kill him for it. Maybe that threat was just in my head, I don't really know anymore, but he never hit me again. He just didn't like the sight of me, of that I was certain. Walking on egg shells was my daily existence. Hoping to stay out of his way. Wanting my Mom to stand up for me, to protect me. I am sure she did, but it didn't feel like it. I felt like I was on my own. He yelled at her too. He berated her, and put her down. She wasn't so strong then. She has grown to be a much stronger woman, and they have a healthy marraige now, praise God, for working in both their hearts.
I grew older, for the most part kept my head down, and stayed out of Dad's way. I was rebellious though. I took my first drink at 15, guzzling from a gallon bottle of Old Grandads whisky with a bunch of friends at a party. We weren't all drinking, just me and a couple of other friends. I couldn't just drink a little though, I had to drink until I got good and drunk, and good and sick. That was a telling moment, but hind site is 20/20, and in the moment I was blind to what that meant. I came home that day reaking of puke and whisky. I didn't get in trouble for it though, strange huh. I would get hell rained down on me for forgetting to leave the washing machine lid up when I was done, but come home wasted and stinking, and it wasn't even addressed. That was also a telling moment. The beginning of a spiral of sorts. Drinking lead to smoking, then to pot, then to more drinking, and other wreckless behavoir. Drinking and driving was the norm. Coming home stoned was not unusual. I do not recall getting grounded, yelled at or punished for any of that though. I do however remember getting screamed at for not stacking wood properly, and for not emptying the sink strainer. I remember being called lazy for reading books, and being afraid to be caught sitting still. It was better to not be home. I preferred spending the night at my friends houses as much as possible in my teen years. When it came time to go to college, I was free. Free to make my own choices about how I used my time, and who I spent my time with. I hadn't gotten much guidance on that account, so as one could imagine, my choices were not good ones. The theory that a girl with Daddy issues seeks attention and approval from boys and men in all the wrong ways, certainly rang true for me. In high school, and in college, then in to my 20's, I sought attention, and validation. It was an empty quest. All I managed to prove is that yes, I could get most anyone I wanted to pay attention to me for a night or two. Those shallow encounters left me feeling empty. I sought them, even when I had boys/men in my life who really cared about me. Somehow it wasn't enough to fill me up. I still responded to the attention of other boys/men, despite the hurt it would bring to those who dared to care about me. I didn't usually feel regret, or shame either. I just kept repeating the same mindless, attention seeking behavior. It is perplexing to me now, I wish I could go back and protect my past self. I can't. There must be a reason God let me walk through that. I don't know if I would be the same person today, if I hadn't walked that walk.
In college I met Jody. I thought I was in love. Our relationship was tumultueous. When we met we were both in relationships, and were cheating on them with one another. That should have been a sign that we were headed for rocky territory. I could explore my wild side with him, and he encouraged that. We fought. We had trust issues. He cheated. I cheated. Much screaming and crying ensued. We had a lot of fun though. Looking back through a lens of maturity, I think we would have made better friends than lovers. We had much in common. We had a genuine love and care for one another, that still holds true today. We just weren't capable of being good to each other in the way that builds trust, and edifies the other person. He didn't bring out the best in me. My flawed, attention seeking, needy self, was brought to the surface, rather than my strength. We dragged this relationship on, kicking and screaming for 7 years. When we finally let it go, finally, and certainly, that is when I met Jeff, who would forever change my life. I still care deeply for Jody. He was a big part of my life for a long time. I am so happy that he has gone on to love, and marry a fine woman, and father a son he adores. Everything works out as it should.
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5/13/13
Do you ever think back to your childhood, and think about the Mother's you knew growing up? The Mother's of your friends, your neighbors, ladies at church, etc... I do. I remember a little something about all of them. Some of what I remember is not earth shakingly interesting, but other things really had impact on me, or was at least memorable enough to stick with me years later.
I will start in the early years. The Mom's that I remember were Ms. Joan, my best friend Jody's Mom. My friend Janet's Mom. Ms. Alice across the street. Debbie Reynolds mom, they had like six kids, and that was a little odd back then. My next door neighbor Scotty's Mom, Ms. Maxine. My Aunt Bobby, who lived a few doors down, and of course my own Mom. My Mother was young then, super young. She was a wife at 18, a Mother at 19, I had no idea then that my Mom was still trying to reconcile being a kid herself, being a wife, a Mother, wow, that must have been hard.
One thing I remember, and I could be wrong, is that most of the Mom's didn't seem really happy. They seemed kind of depressed. Not a lot of lovey couples. More like a lot of wives trying to stay out of the way of husbands with bad tempers-- my own Father included.
When you live in "rowhomes" you tend to know everyone in your "row".
From left to right ours was Aunt Bobby, Reggie & Sue (they gave me a puppy, Scooter), Us, Ms. Maxine & Mr. Pete (Scotty's parents) Mr. Dick & Miss. Ruth, and then Joanne's family (Joan & Fred) All the grown ups knew one another, drank together on the front porches. We played tag running across the communal front yards and no one cared. We yelled to each other over our chain link fences in the back yards, swam in each others pools, and hung out at each others houses. We knew which houses had the creepy Daddy's, and tried to avoid them. Several Dad's in the neighborhood were Police, and they all drank to much, so the teenage would be trouble makers were sufficiently warned to stay out of trouble. In the case of my Father, sometimes at gunpoint. Every now and then someone got hurt, a bike got stolen, a girl got attacked, a house got broken in to. When we were young it was an ok place to be. As we got older, the neighborhood got a little dicey. I took way to many chances. I am very lucky I didn't get seriously hurt. More on that later.
Ms. Alice across the street, was really big, like circus lady big. Her husband Mr. Carl was a skinny, shy, man. Her children were much older than me, but for some reason, my friend Jody and I liked to hang out over there. I even remember my parents letting me go to West Virginia for the weekend once with their family, am I dreaming that?? Mom? Ms. Alice was always eating sweets, and drinking Pepsi's from the tall glass bottles. I remember her husband bought a huge round bed for them, and it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. In hind sight, I don't think I should have been spending so much time over there, kind of weird.
Our next door neighbors, Scotty's parents, used to fight a lot. We lived in a brick row house in Baltimore, and you could hear the screaming. Scotty and I were good friends, and played a lot. I would spend the night at his house sometimes. His dad was some kind of minor celebrity, like a TV or Radio personality. His Mom Maxine, I am not sure. Cocktail Waitress maybe? Lot's of make up, thin bleached blonde hair, teased high up on her head. She was always kind to me. One time when I was at there house playing, Scotty and I heard screaming coming from upstairs. We ran up the stairs to find his Dad punching his Mom on the bed. She screamed for us to go get a knife. I ran home and told my Mom, the adults took over, I don't know what happened after that, I got sent to my room.
Jody's house was my favorite. Her family seemed rich to me. She lived in a brick row home just like me, but it was on the end of a row, so it was a little bigger. The bedrooms had new shag carpets, and girly furniture. Their basement was all finished, and they had an RV. Jody and I loved hanging out in the RV, especially when we were teenagers. Her Mom was beautiful. She was always stylishly dressed and had her make-up and hair done. Jody had an older sister, and I thought that was sooooo cool. I would have followed Shelly around all day, but she wanted nothing to do with her sisters goofy little friend. Her Dad was a Policeman just like my Dad. There were guns, and police scanners in the house. One day something bad happened to Jody. She was attacked by a group of teenage boys who lived across the alley. We were five then. She was crying, and bloody. Our father's were at work. I remember my Mother screaming in rage, and grabbing a broom, like she was going to kill someone with it. She sent me out for a walk with Ms. Alice's teenage daughter, and the grown up's took over. I don't really know what happened after that. Jody and I are friends still to this day. Her life took a lot of twists and turns, but that day changed her forever. I love her like a sister, and I am one of the few people in her life who remembers what life was like on Belvedere Avenue, when we were 5.
(Note to work in: When Joanne and I were little we would get up early on Saturday mornings and play at one anothers houses. When I would go to her house we would go play in her basement. It had a play room, and her Dad's workshop and stuff down there. In the bathroom in the basement he kept a stack of porn magazines. We would always sneak and look at them. They were mostly Playboys and Easy Riders, which were a little rough. Jo and I would look at them and she would be like, "I wonder if I'll have boobs that big when I grow up?", or "do you think you'll smoke when you grow up? I definitely will." It is so strange as a mother, being so paranoid about my kids access to porn, etc... on the internet, and all of their devices. I remember Playboy magazines on top of the fridge in my house when I was little, they were my Dad's. My PopPop kept them in the bathroom. That was normal back then, I suppose. No one ever mentioned it. I didn't have brothers, so I don't know what it was like if you had teenage boys around the house.
I remember Joanne and I snooping once in her parents bedroom and finding sex toys. Years later, when her parents got divorced, I remember hearing something about them "swinging" with another couple they went camping with, then it turned into an affair. -- I need to fact check that one with Joanne.
My friend Janet who lived down the street and across the alley, was half Japanese. Her father was also a Police Officer. Her Mother doted on her. She didn't speak much english. She was stern, but kind too. Janet was an only child. I remember their spare bedroom was converted into some type of chapel for her Mother. It had a big ornate alter, with idols, maybe Buddah statues. She left offerings and said prayers several times a day. Janet lived in an "end of row" house, which meant she had a "huge" yard! All of the neighborhood kids would gather in her yard, and we would have pretend weddings on her swingset. I was just chatting with an old, old friend Roger Naumann about that the other day, and we were laughing over those memories. We didn't even know one another then, but we both remember the weddings at Janet's house!Her Father yelled a lot. He didn't seem especially kind to her Mother. Years later, I heard that her Father had shot Janet's Mother, then himself. Poor Janet.
My own parents didn't seem very happy. My Mom didn't laugh much. I have fond memories of my Dad from when I was small. I was his princess. He loved to shower me with gifts. He called me #1, as in his #1 daughter. He liked to bring me along to the hobby store when he shopped for model airplanes, and he always showed me off. We would always stop at the bar first where he'd have a beer, and he'd buy me an orange juice. It was a special treat going to the bar with Dad all by myself. Dad was handsome, and he smelled good, he had a beautiful smile, and twinkling blue eyes. He would whistle, and he was friendly to everyone.
(This is a disjointed place for this, by I am feeling like I need to take notes here on Mom)
Mom, we have a complicated relationship. I love her. I know she loves me. It is weird though, she has always seemed a little detatched. As a little kid, I remember her looking unhappy, crying, in her nightgown. Smoking ciggarettes and drinking pepsi's. Then she and my Father split up, and Dad moved in (literally-- it was like that. Out and in.) She was happier, laughed more, was prettier. Dad didn't know how to handle the kid thing though. He tried at first. He did ok with Christy, she was little (like 2-3 and cute) but I was sad, and mad, and older. I had just had my world turned upside down. My Father, who was my world, had been moved down the street to my Aunt Bobby's basement, and this man, who didn't even seem to like me, was there, and he wasn't very nice. I had also just lost my Great Grandmother, and that made me so, so, sad. I was in 3rd grade and I was depressed. It was a tough time. My Mom was going through something really happy, new love, a fresh start-- and I was incredibly sad, and resentful, so we were not in sync as a family.
We moved to Pennsylvania in the Fall of 4th grade. The school year had already started, so I was the New Kid, and starting after everyone was already settled in. It was November I think. Most of the kids in my class had known one another since Kindergarten. I got a lot of "boy" attention, which meant I got alienated by the other girls. I didn't make many friends in elementary school. I remember being a loner on the playground, kind of wandering around at recess. Sue Bortner was kind. She went to our church too. Being a kid is tough. It doesn't make it easier when you are the only girl in 4th grade who needs a bra.
Mom seemed much happier in Pennsylvania. She got a job, made friends, got hobbies. She laughed more, and was more beautiful. She still got sad. Mom struggled (struggles) with depression. She would go into her dark bedroom for days on end, and not really talk to us. This would usually happen when Dad was away on business. There would be nothing we could say or do to make her laugh or even smile. She would just stare at the TV. She would go to sleep with it on everynight, till the networks went off the air, and there was nothing but static.
Mom went to school to become a nurse in her 30's. She is a very smart woman. I think school is her happy place. She did well,
I always knew when he was really feeling good because he would play his records. He was a child of the 50's and he loved his 50's music. My Dad always had a beer in his hand. It was totally normal for the Dad's to hang out on the front porch of the row houses with their white t-shirts, khaki shorts, black socks, and Jack Purcell sneakers on. I think my Dad even had a Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer tattoo. He was a handsome man. When he got dressed in his Police Uniform, combed his curly hair just right, and splashed on his cologne, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. My Dad was special. It wasn't till much later, after my parents divorced, then my Dad's second marriage failed, that I realized that my Dad was not perfect. He had very serious demons. He was addicted to alcohol, he was violent, and had other demon's I couldn't have ever imagined. My mother, the quiet, less demonstrative of the two, was, and still is my rock. She and my Dad divorced, I was broken hearted. She remarried a good man, who became a Father to me. They are still married and in love today. She never bad mouthed my father, despite the fact that I am sure that he hurt her. She has never once told me a story of violence, but I know they must exist. She allowed me to idolized him in my young years even as it probably stung her to tears. She let time uncover the tale. I praise God every day that she was able to start a new life, and take us with her. I fear life would have been very different without that divine protection.
I would be remiss if I didn't talk about my Grandparents. They lived just down a few blocks, next to the big Baptist Church that rang out every Sunday with loud, rowdy worship. My grandmother kept a lovely home, with beautiful upholstered furniture, curtains, and fancy wall coverings that she changed every few years it seemed. She used to babysit me after school. Jody and I would walk home together, and I would stay there till my Mom came home from work. My MomMom, made me yummy sandwiches (the best), would tickle my back till I fell asleep, she let me play at her beautiful vanity, trying out all of the powders, creams and cosmetics. I loved MomMom's house. One of my favorite play places was under her dining room table. My PopPop was a fun, light hearted guy, with a hearty laugh. I can still hear his laugh if I concentrate. He liked to tell off-color jokes, and also always had a beer in his hand. He drank to much, and he scared me when he drove. He was the heavy around the house. I knew that if I didn't behave I would have to answer to him when he got home. PopPop could be scary. He would take off his belt, and snap it, like I was really going to get it. Unless I blocked it out-- and I don't believe I did-- he was all bluster. I can't remember a single spanking at his hand.
My Aunt Grace was just a teenager when I was a kid. I remember her living at home, hanging out with her friends. She was kind of a hippy, that was cool then. She had all of these art supplies in the basement, and was always talking about witchy stuff to scare me. One day my little sister, just a baby then, maybe 2 or 3, took a swig from a Burger King cup she had down there on an easel. It was filled with turpentine. Christy had to be taken to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. Aunt Grace used to tell me that trolls lived under the stairs down there. Typical let's scare the pants off the little kids stuff. She started dating Bill, started having babies, and that's that. I do remember one time when they got in a fight, she and Bill, out in the street out in front of my Grandparents house. He was beating the piss out of her. My grandfather went at him. You don't mess with a Navy man. She came with the babies to live with my Grandparents for a while, but she went back to him. She always went back. They are still together today, living in poverty, who knows what their quality of life is. I have never seen their home. I have never been invited there. My cousins Billy and Ricky, though they look like relatives, I don't feel any emotional connection to them. MomMom and Pop were all that really connected us. With them gone, things kind of fell apart. I do miss MomMom and Pop. I even miss the smell of smoke, beer, and coca cola, from the American Legion. Now there, Pop was King. He was Mr. Social. He loved the American Legion. He would shoot pool, tell jokes, laugh out loud, and have a ball. I feel bad for how life beat him up in his later years. He was a good man.
I just had a revelation, that alcohol, is very comforting to me. It reminds me of people I love, and miss. My father, who I resent for his drinking and how it destroyed him, but it is also attached to positive memories I have of him. Bette Davis. Pop and Mom Mom. I miss them. I miss the smell of beer, and the sound of whistling and loud laughter, Pops wheezing laughter. Cigarettes and bar smells, are comforting, in a positive way. Weird.
My grandmother loved Days of Our Lives when I was a kid. I still watch it today, and she introduced me to it when I was like two. She also had a little vice for candy! That's where I get it!! She would always have Juicy Fruits, those chewy fruit candies on hand. My vice is Swedish Fish. My grandmother was a lady. She always had her face on, her nails done, and her pearls on. When she drank her beer, it was in a glass. She smoked like a chimney, and had no tolerance for complaining about burning eyes and such. If I don't get lung cancer from all of the second hand smoke I took in growing up, it will be a miracle. I miss her. I miss her a lot. I know my Mom does too. Helen was a special lady full of piss and vinegar, with just the right amount of kindness. She didn't mince words, but she always thought she was helping when she said them. I learned a lot from her. She was a fierce Momma Bear too. She lost my Uncle John, my Mom's brother when he was just 40. His death took a piece of her with him. She never fully recovered from that loss. I can't even imagine the pain of losing a child.
I remember her home so fondly. My PopPops recliner with the barrel table lamp beside it. That barrel opened up and was a treasure trove of buttons! I loved playing with all of those buttons. I can still remember the smell of their home. It is strange, because in hind sight, you would think all I would remember is the smell of cigarette smoke, but that is not the case. I remember the smell of the wood polish, my MomMom's purfume, her linens. I especially loved to play in the basement. They had this cool 70's orange pleather sofa, and black and white linoleum tiled floors. My Pop had this huge bar, that my father had built for him. It was panelled on the front, and had Pop's initials JLA on the front. My Father had built that in our basement, and to keep me quiet about it, he told me he was building an airplane, and of course I believed him. He was always building airplanes. My grandmother didn't care that I didn't like dolls. While all of my friends were playing with their dolls, I would make leashes to drag my stuffed animals around like live pets.
Now my other Grandma Bette Davis, as my cousin Kellie and I so fondly named her-- was a character. Also a beauty in her day. (Did I mention how beautiful MomMom was. Till the day she died, she was beautiful) Now this Grandmother, was my Father's Mother (Bill Port's Mom), officially named Margot Suzanne, but her dramatic nature, and perfectly coiffed brows, and lined lips earned her the nickname Bette Davis. Rarely did a day go by when her face was not on, but she would lay about her bed in house dresses all day because she was agoraphobic. She NEVER left her tiny little Dundalk apartment. She would hang out in her bedroom all day, every day, feigning some illness, arranging plastiic flowers, and running her drug empire. Yes, I said drug empire. How does an agoraphobic, old woman run a drug empire you ask? She some how managed to charm and train an entire team of drug runners. She would find and make appointments with all of the crooked Dr's in the city, and send her girls in for prescriptions for Diet pills, anxiety issues, uppers, downers, you name it. Women would be in and out of that apartment all day long paying homage, bringing her bags of ?? cash I presume, picking up stuff from her little lockbox she kept by the bed. I grew up with this, so I just thought Grandma Sue had a lot of girlfriends checking in on her. It wasn't till I was a teenager, that I started to put things together. All the while I'd be there visiting, and she'd send me to the fridge to make here a beer with a vodka shooter at 9am, sure that's normal. Any wonder why I might have a few substance challenges?
When my parents got divorced, my Mom & Dad (Al) moved us to Pennsylvania. I got to go visit my Dad every 4-5 weeks on his weekend off. He would drive up after school and pick us up for the weekend. I loved going there. I got to be his #1, I got to run down the street to see my MomMom, up the street to see Jody, two doors down were my Cousin Kellie and my Aunt Bobby. I felt treasured. I didn't feel so treasured at home. I was the daughter who didn't know what to do or what to say to make Dad (Al) happy. Everything I did brought on disgusted looks, angry words, and frustration. If I cried, I made him angrier. If I talked back, he would raise his hand, wanting to strike me, he only actually hit me once that I can remember. I believe I threatened to tell my Father who would surely kill him for it. Maybe that threat was just in my head, I don't really know anymore, but he never hit me again. He just didn't like the sight of me, of that I was certain. Walking on egg shells was my daily existence. Hoping to stay out of his way. Wanting my Mom to stand up for me, to protect me. I am sure she did, but it didn't feel like it. I felt like I was on my own. He yelled at her too. He berated her, and put her down. She wasn't so strong then. She has grown to be a much stronger woman, and they have a healthy marraige now, praise God, for working in both their hearts.
I grew older, for the most part kept my head down, and stayed out of Dad's way. I was rebellious though. I took my first drink at 15, guzzling from a gallon bottle of Old Grandads whisky with a bunch of friends at a party. We weren't all drinking, just me and a couple of other friends. I couldn't just drink a little though, I had to drink until I got good and drunk, and good and sick. That was a telling moment, but hind site is 20/20, and in the moment I was blind to what that meant. I came home that day reaking of puke and whisky. I didn't get in trouble for it though, strange huh. I would get hell rained down on me for forgetting to leave the washing machine lid up when I was done, but come home wasted and stinking, and it wasn't even addressed. That was also a telling moment. The beginning of a spiral of sorts. Drinking lead to smoking, then to pot, then to more drinking, and other wreckless behavoir. Drinking and driving was the norm. Coming home stoned was not unusual. I do not recall getting grounded, yelled at or punished for any of that though. I do however remember getting screamed at for not stacking wood properly, and for not emptying the sink strainer. I remember being called lazy for reading books, and being afraid to be caught sitting still. It was better to not be home. I preferred spending the night at my friends houses as much as possible in my teen years. When it came time to go to college, I was free. Free to make my own choices about how I used my time, and who I spent my time with. I hadn't gotten much guidance on that account, so as one could imagine, my choices were not good ones. The theory that a girl with Daddy issues seeks attention and approval from boys and men in all the wrong ways, certainly rang true for me. In high school, and in college, then in to my 20's, I sought attention, and validation. It was an empty quest. All I managed to prove is that yes, I could get most anyone I wanted to pay attention to me for a night or two. Those shallow encounters left me feeling empty. I sought them, even when I had boys/men in my life who really cared about me. Somehow it wasn't enough to fill me up. I still responded to the attention of other boys/men, despite the hurt it would bring to those who dared to care about me. I didn't usually feel regret, or shame either. I just kept repeating the same mindless, attention seeking behavior. It is perplexing to me now, I wish I could go back and protect my past self. I can't. There must be a reason God let me walk through that. I don't know if I would be the same person today, if I hadn't walked that walk.
In college I met Jody. I thought I was in love. Our relationship was tumultueous. When we met we were both in relationships, and were cheating on them with one another. That should have been a sign that we were headed for rocky territory. I could explore my wild side with him, and he encouraged that. We fought. We had trust issues. He cheated. I cheated. Much screaming and crying ensued. We had a lot of fun though. Looking back through a lens of maturity, I think we would have made better friends than lovers. We had much in common. We had a genuine love and care for one another, that still holds true today. We just weren't capable of being good to each other in the way that builds trust, and edifies the other person. He didn't bring out the best in me. My flawed, attention seeking, needy self, was brought to the surface, rather than my strength. We dragged this relationship on, kicking and screaming for 7 years. When we finally let it go, finally, and certainly, that is when I met Jeff, who would forever change my life. I still care deeply for Jody. He was a big part of my life for a long time. I am so happy that he has gone on to love, and marry a fine woman, and father a son he adores. Everything works out as it should.
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