Last week I got a call from one of my best friends who lives in the town I grew up in. She is going through a difficult time in her life and asked me to come visit for some girl time. My husband was in agreement and was happy to stay home with our daughter so I could make the three hour trip by myself. Since I was adopted and moved I hadn't been home by myself. I had made the trip with a few of my boyfriends and my brother but never alone. I was anxious to see how I held up emotionally. Surprisingly it wasn't as hard as I thought.
The town I grew up in hasn't changed much. It's still about the same size and the people all look the same. It was interesting to see all the places from my childhood and how they changed. The grocery store I used to shop at is still there and looks exactly like I remember it. I used to shop there because it was right down the street from my house. All the cashiers knew me and would double bag my groceries so I could carry them on the handlebars of my bike. I went everywhere on my bike. I even had a employee at a local take and bake pizza place clingwrap a pizza to my handlebars once. The pizza place is no longer there. Even the old pizza arcade is gone. I only went there a handful of times for birthday parties and the like. Never had the money to play the games.
I drove by my old house on my way out of town. It's still there and looks the same except for a new paint job. I hated that house. Mostly because of the life I had there. As I drove by I noticed toys in the yard. It got me wondering about the people who live there now. Are they happy? Do they take care of their children like my mother never did? That house holds so many secrets I can't help but be glad it can't talk. The neighborhood looks the same as well. Only one new house but they all look the same. None of the neighbors are the same but I already knew that. The field I used to ride my bike through now holds a doctor's office.
The only thing that hasn't changed at all is the beach. It is still as amazing and beautiful as it ever was. It still calms my nerves and makes me feel relaxed. I only got about an hour on the beach but I could have easily lost four or five just sitting watching the waves break on the sand. Or I could have spent my time agat hunting. My mother used to take my brother and I down to the beach to hunt agats. We loved it. My mother would draw giant circles for each of us so we would have our own areas to hunt agats. We would spend the whole day at the beach. Even my mother found peace on these day trips.
The whole drive "home" I was anxious and I really felt I was driving into the past. I didn't really want to see the place where I lived in hell for so long. After spending the night and coming to peace with the town I felt so much better. I needed this trip as much as my friend needed girl time. I realized that my home is where my family is and I couldn't wait to get back to them. I may never want to live there again but I will no longer dread visiting.
Taya
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
What Death has Taught Me
*I am usually real names in this entry. Those who are gone still deserve to be remembered*
The last week and a half has been rough. I got some sad news on March 9th. An acquaintance of mine, Ta, died in a car accident. She was 29 years old and pregnant with her first child. Also in the car were her fiance and his two young daughters. Ta died at the scene, the children were airlifted to a major hospital 6 hours away and Ta's fiance suffered massive head injuries and is still unaware of what has happened to his family. I have known Ta for about seven years but we were never really close. She was however good friends with my best friend. While I didn't always agree with the choices Ta made in her life, she never personally caused me any anguish. In fact she was there for me through a hard time in my life. When I got the news of her death I was in shock. I hate all kinds of death but I hate shocking deaths more. I had been here before. My husband and I decided that I was going to make the 45 minute drive to my best friend's house to be some sort of emotional support. While experiencing their grief I couldn't help but reflect on the other deaths I have had to experience in my life.
My first experience with death came at the age of eleven. I was living with my mother and things were floating along okay. Life wasn't great but it wasn't the hell that was coming. My mother had found a kindred spirit in a young woman named Shelby. She was about 23 years old and moved in with us shortly after becoming friends with my mother. She had a lot personality and I could fill a whole blog post about her antics but I want to just focus on what I learned from her death. I can't trust most of what I remember of Shelby because I can hear my mother's voice in them. Shelby died in a car accident early one December morning. It was about a week before Christmas and my brother and I were really excited about it. Things in our home had been really good. My mother wasn't yelling at us as much and Shelby had turned into the cool aunt that was easy to talk to. I was at a friend's house when I found out about her death. I was crushed and everything in me hurt. This was a pain I had never felt before. I cried for a long time and when I finally calmed down I remembered my brother was at home with my mother and I was worried for him. I asked my friend to call home and explained about my brother. That's when she told me he was with his dad for the night and I was to stay the night with her and her family. I tried to call my mother but the line was busy. When I finally got through to her the call waiting kept beeping. All of my mother's and Shelby's friends were calling to see if the news was true. I could tell my mother wasn't doing well but could do nothing for her. I didn't sleep well that night and was anxious to get home. My mother didn't come get me until late afternoon. She looked like hell. I later found out she drank until she blacked out then she passed out. Apparently there were a lot of people at the house and a neighbor had to kick people out once it was apparent my mother was not waking up any time soon. It was a rough Christmas. For some reason my mother thought it was ok to take my brother and I to the wrecking yard Shelby's car was in. The car was completely totalled. After Shelby's death she became something of a saint to my mother. It's been 15 years since her young death but my mother still looks at it like it was yesterday. Things in my home went down hill quickly. It wasn't long before my brother and I were sent to live with our adopted parents. My mother let her grief consume her. She never really got over the death of Shelby. For a while I too thought of Shelby as some sort of guardian angel. And while there is nothing wrong with thinking that our loved ones who are no longer with us are watching over us, I didn't really know Shelby in her life. I was a child when we met and she was only in my life for about 7 months. I have had many people in my life that were there for about 6 months to a year and then I never talked to them again. That was just the way life was with my mother. I learned to not let my pain of Shelby's passing to control my emotions or my way of life. I am sure Shelby would want me to focus on what is and what is to come instead of dwelling on what cannot be changed.
Before the start of my junior year my adopted mother's youngest brother passed away from cancer. He was in his early forties and had only been diagnosed about a year prior to his death. I only met Mike once shortly after we were adopted. He lived in my adopted mother's home town in Southern California so we didn't see him often. My adopted mother's step brother, Marty, also died around this time. This was someone else I only met a few times but he had been fighting his cancer for a long time. My adopted mother was diagnosed with breast cancer just a few months after her brother's death. Thankfully she beat cancer's ass and is in remission. I learned that I hate cancer. It seems somewhat redundant to say I hate cancer because who says they love it? But I came to understand what cancer does not only to the person fighting but also what it does to the families and friends who fight along with them.
After graduating high school I moved to a small town to about 45 minutes away in a neighboring state. I was young and in love so I moved my whole life to another state without so much as a second thought. I worked a few different jobs while living there and it was while working at one that I met Zack. He was hired shortly after I was. He was a few years younger than me and had an attitude. After working together for a few weeks he felt comfortable enough with me to tell me he was gay. I made sure to let him know it was ok and I kinda had an idea that he was. He liked to give me grief at work about everything under the sun. It was always in a joking sort of way and I was sure to take a few jabs at him. The last time I saw him he came into my new place of employment, Taco Bell. He ordered his usual nacho bell grande and proceeded to complain about the amount of nacho cheese. I told him to suck it up and deal. We smiled at each other and said good bye. Two days later I got a call from a coworker to tell me that Zack had jumped off the highest bridge in the county. He posted a suicide note on Myspace. The only thing I remember from the note is he said he felt totally alone and felt like he had no one to turn to. I went to his memorial service and it was standing room only by the time I got there 10 minutes early. It later came out that Zack was bullied by people in town because of his sexual orientation. And even though he never really talked about it I got the impression his parents were not supportive of his choice to be who he truly was. Zack's death was a first for me in many ways. I had never known any one to take their own life.He was a big part of my early adult life and I will never forget him. I wish I could say he is the only person I have lost to suicide but I can't.
My buddy Tyler was the kind of guy you could take home to meet your parents but you can also get into trouble with. He had a smile for every one and seemed to enjoy life. Tyler was a big boy. And by big I mean really tall. He was like 6'7" or something. I have a hard time judging height because I'm super short and the majority of the population loom over me. Tyler took advantage of my short stature. It caused him no end of amusement. He would pick me up and carry me away from class so I would end having to run across campus so I wouldn't be late to class. I'm pretty sure he put me in a trash can once. One of my favorite memories of Tyler happened after my first real boyfriend broke my heart. I was doing my best not to show my freshly broken heart when Tyler sat down next to me at lunch. He asked how I was doing to which I responed with a weak fine. He then puts his arm around me leans in close and says with a smile, "So I hear you're single now?" The whole situation made me laugh. Quite a few of my friends would have jumped at this offer but Tyler was really like the big brother I never had. The last time I saw Tyler I was a senior at a new school and Tyler was in the Air Force. He had come to my school to do some sort of recruiting. He had also just come home from a tour in Iraq and he seemed proud of his service. He looked so good in his uniform and I was so happy to see him. he had graduated two years prior and I hadn't seen him since then. I lost contact with Tyler until about four years ago. He was in the middle of a divorce and was struggling with life after active duty but I seemed to have caught him on the upswing. We talked about hanging out and made a plan to try to hang out in the following week or so. I was in the middle of moving between states again when a friend from high school called to tell me Tyler had killed himself. Once again I found myself in shock. I couldn't believe that Tyler had done something like that. After the disbelief vanished confusion took over. Why did he do this? I know that I hadn't seen or talked to him in a while but should I have sensed something? I didn't make it to Tyler's memorial. I couldn't afford the trip and I was heart broken. Tyler and Zack both taught me to not judge things on the surface. I also learned the pain suicide leaves in it's wake. Suicide is just as bad as cancer, if not worse in some ways. At least with cancer you have time to come to terms with the inevitable(if that be the case). Suicide just rips a hole in your heart and leaves you to fend for yourself.
My adopted mother's family accepted my brother and I with open arms and that includes her mother. My grandma Joyce moved to the area when I was in high school. During my senior year I moved in with her in an attempt to act grown up. A few years after I graduated my grandma was diagnosed with skin cancer. She was a trooper. She asked me to come over to her house one day. When I got there she asked me to cut all her hair off. She figured since she lose it to chemo she might as well get rid of it now. I cut all her hair off for her while she kept reminding me not to cut her ear off. I attented one chemo session with her. It was not my idea of fun but she wanted me there so I went. A few months after Tyler died my adopted mother called me and asked me to come home and help with grandma. My grandma had decided to stop her chemo treatments and live out the rest of her days at home. She had a hospice nurse that came by twice a day but for the most part my grandpa was taking care of her. As I was making plans to come home one of my good friends called to tell me his first child was about to be born. I got town and went to see my friend. I didn't know his girlfriend well so I didn't stay. His daughter was born a few hours later. The next day I went to my grandparents' house. Grandma was now bedridden and hadn't been able to eat in a week. When I got there she perked up a bit and asked for icecream. I stayed for a week. My brother came out to visit and decided to spend the night. We were waiting for the hospice nurse to come when I sent my brother to check on grandma. I was making something to eat for grandpa so my brother went to grandma's room. He said she didn't need anything and was falling asleep when he went in there. About 20 minutes later the hospice nurse showed up. She and grandpa went to grandma's room. They were in there for about 15 minutes when the nurse came out to tell us grandma had passed. My brother was confused because she had been fine when he checked on her. I handled my grandmother's death better than the others. I had gotten to witness the life cycle at both ends. I also was there to help my grandma in her last days when she needed me most. I did the best I could to make her comfortable and I know she was happy that I was there. In her death and the birth of my friend's daughter I was able to find the beauty in life.
I never got a chance to know my husband's father, Steven. Due to a whole slew of events that happened before my husband and I started dating, he and his father were not talking. Most of what I know about him I learned after his death from his many friends and family. My husband's parents split up when he was in high school. Steve spent the next ten years with his young new girlfriend. Because of the life he chose to lead after his divorce, a distance grew between him and most of his family. He had a good relationship with his children. His sons loved him. His friends loved him. Steve may have had many problems but he was always generous and wanted everyone to have a good time. My husband and I had been dating for three months when Steve killed himself. My husband was devastated. His father was his hero. It fell on my husband's shoulders to plan a memorial and what was to be done with his father's remains. My husband and his brothers held the most beautiful memorial for their father. It was exactly what Steve would have wanted. I didn't know Steve but he did teach me not to let one person dictate my happiness and that the grass isn't always greener on the other side. It has been almost three years since his death and my husband is still struggling to make sense of what happened. It breaks his heart knowing our daughter will never know her paternal grandfather. I always remind him that she has her daddy and her uncles to teach her all about him.
Losing Ta a week and a half ago was hard. Mostly because I feel like I didn't give her enough credit. I know a lot of people who knew her wished they could have just talked to her one last time, to try to reconcile the friendship. I have decided that I will no longer take any friendship for granted. I have a few people in my life that for various reason are no longer my friends. I plan on reaching out to them if only to just say sorry even if I wasn't in the wrong. At this point it doesn't matter who is right or wrong. All that matters is that you make every effort on your part and the rest is up to them.
Taya
The last week and a half has been rough. I got some sad news on March 9th. An acquaintance of mine, Ta, died in a car accident. She was 29 years old and pregnant with her first child. Also in the car were her fiance and his two young daughters. Ta died at the scene, the children were airlifted to a major hospital 6 hours away and Ta's fiance suffered massive head injuries and is still unaware of what has happened to his family. I have known Ta for about seven years but we were never really close. She was however good friends with my best friend. While I didn't always agree with the choices Ta made in her life, she never personally caused me any anguish. In fact she was there for me through a hard time in my life. When I got the news of her death I was in shock. I hate all kinds of death but I hate shocking deaths more. I had been here before. My husband and I decided that I was going to make the 45 minute drive to my best friend's house to be some sort of emotional support. While experiencing their grief I couldn't help but reflect on the other deaths I have had to experience in my life.
My first experience with death came at the age of eleven. I was living with my mother and things were floating along okay. Life wasn't great but it wasn't the hell that was coming. My mother had found a kindred spirit in a young woman named Shelby. She was about 23 years old and moved in with us shortly after becoming friends with my mother. She had a lot personality and I could fill a whole blog post about her antics but I want to just focus on what I learned from her death. I can't trust most of what I remember of Shelby because I can hear my mother's voice in them. Shelby died in a car accident early one December morning. It was about a week before Christmas and my brother and I were really excited about it. Things in our home had been really good. My mother wasn't yelling at us as much and Shelby had turned into the cool aunt that was easy to talk to. I was at a friend's house when I found out about her death. I was crushed and everything in me hurt. This was a pain I had never felt before. I cried for a long time and when I finally calmed down I remembered my brother was at home with my mother and I was worried for him. I asked my friend to call home and explained about my brother. That's when she told me he was with his dad for the night and I was to stay the night with her and her family. I tried to call my mother but the line was busy. When I finally got through to her the call waiting kept beeping. All of my mother's and Shelby's friends were calling to see if the news was true. I could tell my mother wasn't doing well but could do nothing for her. I didn't sleep well that night and was anxious to get home. My mother didn't come get me until late afternoon. She looked like hell. I later found out she drank until she blacked out then she passed out. Apparently there were a lot of people at the house and a neighbor had to kick people out once it was apparent my mother was not waking up any time soon. It was a rough Christmas. For some reason my mother thought it was ok to take my brother and I to the wrecking yard Shelby's car was in. The car was completely totalled. After Shelby's death she became something of a saint to my mother. It's been 15 years since her young death but my mother still looks at it like it was yesterday. Things in my home went down hill quickly. It wasn't long before my brother and I were sent to live with our adopted parents. My mother let her grief consume her. She never really got over the death of Shelby. For a while I too thought of Shelby as some sort of guardian angel. And while there is nothing wrong with thinking that our loved ones who are no longer with us are watching over us, I didn't really know Shelby in her life. I was a child when we met and she was only in my life for about 7 months. I have had many people in my life that were there for about 6 months to a year and then I never talked to them again. That was just the way life was with my mother. I learned to not let my pain of Shelby's passing to control my emotions or my way of life. I am sure Shelby would want me to focus on what is and what is to come instead of dwelling on what cannot be changed.
Before the start of my junior year my adopted mother's youngest brother passed away from cancer. He was in his early forties and had only been diagnosed about a year prior to his death. I only met Mike once shortly after we were adopted. He lived in my adopted mother's home town in Southern California so we didn't see him often. My adopted mother's step brother, Marty, also died around this time. This was someone else I only met a few times but he had been fighting his cancer for a long time. My adopted mother was diagnosed with breast cancer just a few months after her brother's death. Thankfully she beat cancer's ass and is in remission. I learned that I hate cancer. It seems somewhat redundant to say I hate cancer because who says they love it? But I came to understand what cancer does not only to the person fighting but also what it does to the families and friends who fight along with them.
After graduating high school I moved to a small town to about 45 minutes away in a neighboring state. I was young and in love so I moved my whole life to another state without so much as a second thought. I worked a few different jobs while living there and it was while working at one that I met Zack. He was hired shortly after I was. He was a few years younger than me and had an attitude. After working together for a few weeks he felt comfortable enough with me to tell me he was gay. I made sure to let him know it was ok and I kinda had an idea that he was. He liked to give me grief at work about everything under the sun. It was always in a joking sort of way and I was sure to take a few jabs at him. The last time I saw him he came into my new place of employment, Taco Bell. He ordered his usual nacho bell grande and proceeded to complain about the amount of nacho cheese. I told him to suck it up and deal. We smiled at each other and said good bye. Two days later I got a call from a coworker to tell me that Zack had jumped off the highest bridge in the county. He posted a suicide note on Myspace. The only thing I remember from the note is he said he felt totally alone and felt like he had no one to turn to. I went to his memorial service and it was standing room only by the time I got there 10 minutes early. It later came out that Zack was bullied by people in town because of his sexual orientation. And even though he never really talked about it I got the impression his parents were not supportive of his choice to be who he truly was. Zack's death was a first for me in many ways. I had never known any one to take their own life.He was a big part of my early adult life and I will never forget him. I wish I could say he is the only person I have lost to suicide but I can't.
My buddy Tyler was the kind of guy you could take home to meet your parents but you can also get into trouble with. He had a smile for every one and seemed to enjoy life. Tyler was a big boy. And by big I mean really tall. He was like 6'7" or something. I have a hard time judging height because I'm super short and the majority of the population loom over me. Tyler took advantage of my short stature. It caused him no end of amusement. He would pick me up and carry me away from class so I would end having to run across campus so I wouldn't be late to class. I'm pretty sure he put me in a trash can once. One of my favorite memories of Tyler happened after my first real boyfriend broke my heart. I was doing my best not to show my freshly broken heart when Tyler sat down next to me at lunch. He asked how I was doing to which I responed with a weak fine. He then puts his arm around me leans in close and says with a smile, "So I hear you're single now?" The whole situation made me laugh. Quite a few of my friends would have jumped at this offer but Tyler was really like the big brother I never had. The last time I saw Tyler I was a senior at a new school and Tyler was in the Air Force. He had come to my school to do some sort of recruiting. He had also just come home from a tour in Iraq and he seemed proud of his service. He looked so good in his uniform and I was so happy to see him. he had graduated two years prior and I hadn't seen him since then. I lost contact with Tyler until about four years ago. He was in the middle of a divorce and was struggling with life after active duty but I seemed to have caught him on the upswing. We talked about hanging out and made a plan to try to hang out in the following week or so. I was in the middle of moving between states again when a friend from high school called to tell me Tyler had killed himself. Once again I found myself in shock. I couldn't believe that Tyler had done something like that. After the disbelief vanished confusion took over. Why did he do this? I know that I hadn't seen or talked to him in a while but should I have sensed something? I didn't make it to Tyler's memorial. I couldn't afford the trip and I was heart broken. Tyler and Zack both taught me to not judge things on the surface. I also learned the pain suicide leaves in it's wake. Suicide is just as bad as cancer, if not worse in some ways. At least with cancer you have time to come to terms with the inevitable(if that be the case). Suicide just rips a hole in your heart and leaves you to fend for yourself.
My adopted mother's family accepted my brother and I with open arms and that includes her mother. My grandma Joyce moved to the area when I was in high school. During my senior year I moved in with her in an attempt to act grown up. A few years after I graduated my grandma was diagnosed with skin cancer. She was a trooper. She asked me to come over to her house one day. When I got there she asked me to cut all her hair off. She figured since she lose it to chemo she might as well get rid of it now. I cut all her hair off for her while she kept reminding me not to cut her ear off. I attented one chemo session with her. It was not my idea of fun but she wanted me there so I went. A few months after Tyler died my adopted mother called me and asked me to come home and help with grandma. My grandma had decided to stop her chemo treatments and live out the rest of her days at home. She had a hospice nurse that came by twice a day but for the most part my grandpa was taking care of her. As I was making plans to come home one of my good friends called to tell me his first child was about to be born. I got town and went to see my friend. I didn't know his girlfriend well so I didn't stay. His daughter was born a few hours later. The next day I went to my grandparents' house. Grandma was now bedridden and hadn't been able to eat in a week. When I got there she perked up a bit and asked for icecream. I stayed for a week. My brother came out to visit and decided to spend the night. We were waiting for the hospice nurse to come when I sent my brother to check on grandma. I was making something to eat for grandpa so my brother went to grandma's room. He said she didn't need anything and was falling asleep when he went in there. About 20 minutes later the hospice nurse showed up. She and grandpa went to grandma's room. They were in there for about 15 minutes when the nurse came out to tell us grandma had passed. My brother was confused because she had been fine when he checked on her. I handled my grandmother's death better than the others. I had gotten to witness the life cycle at both ends. I also was there to help my grandma in her last days when she needed me most. I did the best I could to make her comfortable and I know she was happy that I was there. In her death and the birth of my friend's daughter I was able to find the beauty in life.
I never got a chance to know my husband's father, Steven. Due to a whole slew of events that happened before my husband and I started dating, he and his father were not talking. Most of what I know about him I learned after his death from his many friends and family. My husband's parents split up when he was in high school. Steve spent the next ten years with his young new girlfriend. Because of the life he chose to lead after his divorce, a distance grew between him and most of his family. He had a good relationship with his children. His sons loved him. His friends loved him. Steve may have had many problems but he was always generous and wanted everyone to have a good time. My husband and I had been dating for three months when Steve killed himself. My husband was devastated. His father was his hero. It fell on my husband's shoulders to plan a memorial and what was to be done with his father's remains. My husband and his brothers held the most beautiful memorial for their father. It was exactly what Steve would have wanted. I didn't know Steve but he did teach me not to let one person dictate my happiness and that the grass isn't always greener on the other side. It has been almost three years since his death and my husband is still struggling to make sense of what happened. It breaks his heart knowing our daughter will never know her paternal grandfather. I always remind him that she has her daddy and her uncles to teach her all about him.
Losing Ta a week and a half ago was hard. Mostly because I feel like I didn't give her enough credit. I know a lot of people who knew her wished they could have just talked to her one last time, to try to reconcile the friendship. I have decided that I will no longer take any friendship for granted. I have a few people in my life that for various reason are no longer my friends. I plan on reaching out to them if only to just say sorry even if I wasn't in the wrong. At this point it doesn't matter who is right or wrong. All that matters is that you make every effort on your part and the rest is up to them.
Taya
Friday, March 8, 2013
Spare the Rod...??
My daughter is at the age where she gets into everything. No matter how many times I tell her not to climb the back of the chair or to stay off the table she just keeps doing it. I know this is normal for children her age. She just wants to explore the world and push as many buttons as she can while doing it. However, this stage in her life opens the door to something I never really thought about as a parent: discipline. How the heck do I, the child of an addict, dicipline my child without falling prey to abuse or coddling?
My mother never practiced discipline with her children. We just kind of had to know how to behave or we got beaten. I can't ever recall a time when I did something "wrong" and was disciplined for it. I have numerous memories of making a simple mistake and suffering harshly for it. One such time is what I like to call the Sour Cream Mix-up. My mother was making dinner and discovered we had no sour cream. We lived up the street from a major grocery store so I was sent to go get sour cream. My mother told me to be quick about it or else. So I hopped on my bike and coasted down the hill as quick as I could. I ran into the store and went straight to the dairy aisle. Once there I reached for the first tub of sour cream I could find. I must have been in a real hurry because I didn't check the price like normal but I went ahead and paid for it. I hurried home thinking that my mother would be happy I went so fast and maybe tonight would be a good one. I got home and put the sour cream in the fridge while my mother was in her room. She came out, went to the fridge and asked where the sour cream was. I told her it was in there, right on the top shelf. I never saw her coming. She started screaming at me and pulling my hair to get me off the couch. I kept asking what was wrong but all she kept screaming was I was an idiot that didn't know how to read. I finally got a good look at the sour cream container and my heart sank. I didn't buy sour cream, I bought cottage cheese. I don't remember how long the screaming and hitting went but I do remember begging her to let me go back to the store to get the sour cream. She wouldn't let me and kept telling me that I ruined dinner. I never made that mistake again. Even to this day when buying sour cream I double check it.
Things like this were the norm at our house. My mother would ask me to do something without fully explaining what she wanted and I would get in trouble for not getting it right. I stood up to my mother only one time in my whole childhood because of a situation like this one. I remember screaming at her that I wasn't a mind reader and she should explain herself better. After that little outburst my mother tried to get me to hit her. Kept telling me if I was big enough to back talk her I was big enough to throw a swing. I never did but often wondered what would have happened if I had knocked her on her ass.
I want to be different with my daughter. I don't want her to ever feel like she can't ask me questions about the things I ask of her. I want to be clear on what sort of behavior is acceptable and what is not. But I don't want to control her. Children need to be free to explore but need their parents to let them safely explore. And I don't want to be one of those parents who is afraid to discipline their child. If my daughter deliberately disobeys either myself or her father she will be punished. If that means time out or a spanking I am not sure yet. I would like to say that I will never spank my child but I know that sometimes it is the only way to get a child's attention. I will never hit my daughter out of anger or use my own insecurities against her. Being a first time mother is never easy and I am finding my way. And surprisingly my mother is helping, by showing me what not to do.
My mother never practiced discipline with her children. We just kind of had to know how to behave or we got beaten. I can't ever recall a time when I did something "wrong" and was disciplined for it. I have numerous memories of making a simple mistake and suffering harshly for it. One such time is what I like to call the Sour Cream Mix-up. My mother was making dinner and discovered we had no sour cream. We lived up the street from a major grocery store so I was sent to go get sour cream. My mother told me to be quick about it or else. So I hopped on my bike and coasted down the hill as quick as I could. I ran into the store and went straight to the dairy aisle. Once there I reached for the first tub of sour cream I could find. I must have been in a real hurry because I didn't check the price like normal but I went ahead and paid for it. I hurried home thinking that my mother would be happy I went so fast and maybe tonight would be a good one. I got home and put the sour cream in the fridge while my mother was in her room. She came out, went to the fridge and asked where the sour cream was. I told her it was in there, right on the top shelf. I never saw her coming. She started screaming at me and pulling my hair to get me off the couch. I kept asking what was wrong but all she kept screaming was I was an idiot that didn't know how to read. I finally got a good look at the sour cream container and my heart sank. I didn't buy sour cream, I bought cottage cheese. I don't remember how long the screaming and hitting went but I do remember begging her to let me go back to the store to get the sour cream. She wouldn't let me and kept telling me that I ruined dinner. I never made that mistake again. Even to this day when buying sour cream I double check it.
Things like this were the norm at our house. My mother would ask me to do something without fully explaining what she wanted and I would get in trouble for not getting it right. I stood up to my mother only one time in my whole childhood because of a situation like this one. I remember screaming at her that I wasn't a mind reader and she should explain herself better. After that little outburst my mother tried to get me to hit her. Kept telling me if I was big enough to back talk her I was big enough to throw a swing. I never did but often wondered what would have happened if I had knocked her on her ass.
I want to be different with my daughter. I don't want her to ever feel like she can't ask me questions about the things I ask of her. I want to be clear on what sort of behavior is acceptable and what is not. But I don't want to control her. Children need to be free to explore but need their parents to let them safely explore. And I don't want to be one of those parents who is afraid to discipline their child. If my daughter deliberately disobeys either myself or her father she will be punished. If that means time out or a spanking I am not sure yet. I would like to say that I will never spank my child but I know that sometimes it is the only way to get a child's attention. I will never hit my daughter out of anger or use my own insecurities against her. Being a first time mother is never easy and I am finding my way. And surprisingly my mother is helping, by showing me what not to do.
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