My mother's nonsense was given. I never knew of a time when the threat of her wrecking things wasn't omnipresent. It was her her ruining the lives of the adults around us that spilled over on me and my sister. She didn't turn her sights on me until I was an adult.
There was no period of my childhood immune to her whims.
In 1965, my father ran his hand through a table saw. He was off work for a few months and he decided to drive through the southwest and up the west coast.
As we made our way through LA, my father took us to Disneyland.
My mother saw the price of admission and all but threw herself on the ground writhing in anger. Now I know it was all contrived.
That money would be better spent on her. She was not the kind of mother that would pay good money to spend time in the midst of snotty children.
And summer in Los Angeles? The heat would cause her to perspire.
I was 6 years old. Her histrionics no longer made it to my radar.
I didn't trust either of them.
We walked back to the car and I never gave it a second thought.
With the percentage of sociopath's at large it's a wonder more people are not shoving bodies in the trunks of cars.