Monday, January 23, 2012

My favorite sister.




I don't remember the first conversation I had with my sister wherein she told me that our parents weren't like other parents. By the time I was five or six, we would sit around after the bopsy twins had left for the night,   run my mother's good name through a wringer, and howl with laughter. Of course it was six and twelve year old humor.  But for those days we worked blue. It's hard to put a G rated spin on some guy nailing your mother while you dad's at work.
I have this flicker of her broaching the topic for the first time. Her sitting me down to make it known that our parents were not like other parents.  I remember me giving her the four to five year old version of duh duh duh duh. Ya think? I had sleep overs at friend's. I knew something was not right.
My sister and I played board games all night long and we would talk about about our mother.  I had not started school yet, so after summer vacation was over, I would fill her in on what all happened during the day.  My sister taught me how to play chess. And monopoly.  But no one taught me much else. Like how to tie my shoes. I still can't tie my shoes. Not like other people. I use a method that looks like Woody Allen strangling himself with a microphone cord. It's nothing like the way other people tie their shoes.
 I have a lot of quirks like that.  I am not impaired. I was just a little bit out of sync with the chronological development adhered to by other kids.
It was like living at the south pole and expecting today's issue of the wall street journal to show up on time.
The best thing about having an older sister is having the older sisters friends hanging out in the room next to me. They were compelling.
They "forced" me to hang with them and play barbie dolls or else receive a "beating".
One day my sisters friend Patricia called me into the room. She sat me down close to her.
Doug she says, I called you in here for a reason.
I was eager to please.
Doug she says, see this lamp in my hand? The light bulb has been removed.
 I need to know if when it was taken out, was the switch on or off?
 Her asking me to come into my sisters room was a red flag. Nothing good was coming of this.
Doug she says.
I am going to plug this lamp in.
I want you to stick your finger in the socket and tell me if it is on or off.
How will I know?
Oh you'll know.
I stuck my finger in there and lit up.
I went back to my room.
I think she set me up to do something stupid.
I also think it's hilarious. That this chick would go to such a length to mess with me, and that I would actually fall for it.
I told that story to my mother shortly before I went no contact and I thought she would bust a spring.
She told me that I dreamed it all up.
She is told me I am permanently impaired.
If anyone knows anything about being impaired it would be her.
I think she thinks one story will tarnish her image as a perfect mother. Like someone will hear it and after decades of bulldozing her kids under, someone will suddenly say hey! I am not so sure you aren't a lousy mother.
I don't know where she was when they were testing my conductivity, but I can guess.
I bet a gust of wind blew her skirt up over her head and she tripped and fell on some guys penis.
But I could be wrong.











6 comments:

upsi said...

You make me laugh.

The mother-bashing, the conductivity testing, the oops-I-fell-on-this-dick - your humor is transformative.

keep it coming! :)

xo
upsi

q1605 said...

Yes upsi.
We must laugh.
Lest we beat them with a brick we stole from a construction site on the way over to their house, and spending the rest of our days moldering in a cell on death row.

Anonymous said...

Mon dieu- this whole "Light Up My Life" post reminds me of some incidents with my psycho momma as well. Haven't thought of this in years...

Growing up in the '50's they didn't have things like cars with seat-belts, "child-proofing" the house etc. And no caps for electrical outlets which are just kind of the right height and fascinating to a little one.

One day I was crawling around the floor/just starting to learn how to walk and I found one of psycho momma's bobby pins....hmmm...bobby-pin, electrical outlet...less' see what happens when I put "this" into "that.." YEOW, 220 and I can't let go! And guess who sat there, watched the whole event unfold and laugh like a mo-fo? Didn't make a MOVE to help-and I started finding bobby-pins all over the floors/carpets after that. Yep, went back for more because I wanted to "please mommy" and "make mommy laugh" as she stood by and 'encouraged' me with this perverted smile to "Show me your little trick!"

Must a been her first attempts to "encourage" some home-made entertainment/electro-shock-your- own-kid "treatments" circa the 1950's.

So I guess that's my "excuse" for having "scrambled brains" or what ever re-writing of history, denial of her behavior, my "faulty memory" etc. when I tried to discuss her behavior and abuse when I became older....like in my 20's, early 30's. The usual response was rage, but occasionally I'd get her cornered and THESE would be the kinds of responses I'd get (over the phone I wasn't within physical smacking distance.)

Yep, musta been the bobby-pin/electrical outlets/220 "performances" that did it. Uh huh...
And yeah, I can't tie shoe laces like anyone else either. A left handed kid in a right handed world with a pscho momma out-in-left-field so far I needed binoculars or a telescope to find her.

I understand the grown-ups like to "get lit" occasionally but c'mon you don't light up your little one for fun and entertainment. :P sick, sick, sick......

q1605 said...

That's crazy. I remember that if I got hurt out running wild in the streets with my friend's, I would anything to hide it. We were not doing anything real bad, just the things kids did when the three channels of TV were off at midnight, and when phones were still party lines, and we would do anything to kill the boredom. I jumped out of parked truck that belonged to a friend's parents and broke my arm. That was about noon. I stayed out till after 10 that night. My father could tell by looking at it that I needed to go to a doctor. (it wasn't that bad) As he was collecting his wallet and stuff to go she sat there and cussed at me the whole time.

Charity said...

Your momster cussed at you for having a broken arm. She must have been worried that your doctor bill would cut into her douche and makeup money.

q1605 said...

HA HA HA. That's the spirit. Keep smiling.