Note: I’ve resigned myself to the fact God has a different agenda than I do.
I can only beg reader/follower patience.
Rather than the intended follow-up post – Esoteric EMF – I’m doing this one.
Don’t worry – that other is in the queue.
In my defense – a recent event – or a series of them leading up to the more recent one – let loose a doo doo load of skeletons – none of which are mine.
Freedom to tell the truth!
Or is it?
What will people think of me?
So says the adult…
To give perspective
Kids born into abusive – aka dysfunctional – families are pushed into a life of secrecy.
Carrying burdens that aren’t theirs to carry.
While not everyone sees their way to a point in time where they can speak, I have been blessed with the opportunity.
Probably doesn’t hurt that rather than lie I refused to talk – which usually got me back-handed or otherwise punished – from the time I was 7 if not earlier. Sometimes they grabbed my hair – which was down to my waist – as close to the scalp as possible while they slapped me. Exclamation point? It didn’t work. I kept silent rather than lie.
I have to make sure I don’t come across as vindictive.
But I’m the victim? Why am “I” apologizing?
I sure as hell don’t want to feed the ghouls.
Some of whom are “family.”
I spent time talking to a counselor who told me I needed someone to bear witness.**
Psychologist speak for someone who would not tell me what my – um – influencers – had been telling me for as long as I could remember – long into my adult years
- It wasn’t that bad
- You should be grateful
- That’s not what happened
- It didn’t happen that way
- Awww shut the BLEEP up you f-ing baby
You know – before I do it for you? Nothing new there…
I never backed down.
I’d rather be silent and beat than lie to protect them.
And so it went
Well – in between all the people taking shots at me I had a few folks looking out for me.
One is a cousin who – well – he knows who he is – promoting healthy lifestyles in Michigan…
He came up to me one day when I was 13, while we were all gathered at grandma’s for Sunday dinner.
One of the times I curled up with my Uncle Pat and watched the Red Wings. My cousin sometimes joined us.
“I’ve gotten wind through the family gossip vine” – many of whom are/were ghouls – “about what’s going on.”
I didn’t know how to answer so I stayed silent but he and I had been close forever so I waited…
“Here’s what you do…”
He went on to explain that he had a stepfather who refused to feed him because he wanted healthy organic food. So? He got a job and bought his own food.
And was” disciplined” by said stepfather – apparently for wanting to eat healthy.
This act of rebellion apparently enraged his stepfather to the degree he quit giving any support to him at all – including clothes.
Younger siblings watch wide-eyed & learn…though they don’t escape their own “challenges.”
So – he bought his own clothes.
The story of Christine’s jean jacket?
I bought my own jean jacket after being refused the $60 to do it – because I was supposedly spoiled – working at that time 2 jobs and getting grades good enough to earn a college scholarship. In terms of investment I had it for over 10 years. Worth my hard earned 11th grade money.
I told my cousin that while I appreciated his efforts to help, I was legally too young to work in the state of Michigan.
Even though I’d been working – while sharing a room in in my grandma’s basement with my mom – we shared a bed – and my younger brother – since I was 12 – at Okaland Hills CC. Yeah – real spoiled. Then again – I had a roof over my head right? I should be grateful.
My beloved cousin listened then told me how to get around that legal detail.
Every school knows they have poor peeps so they have a program with the state of Michigan.
Anything to keep us from being future State Aid payroll employees.
It allows [us] minors to work before we are legally able to do so provided
- Your parent signs it’s okay
- You find an employer willing take you on
The schools have a list of those who do which is how I found some of my very best jobs.
Needless to say – since I worked 2 then 3 jobs throughout high school – I followed my cousin’s wisdom and never looked back.
And loved loved LOVED my jean jacket bought at Tansy which was an offshoot from Meier Thrifty Acres.
I spent precious gas money I paid for*** – in my mom’s Chevette to drive to Rochester to get it after calling all over the place to find one within my price range.
Less than 1/2 what I would have paid at Husdon’s, which I definitely couldn’t afford.
You can’t put a price on pride let alone rebellion. Being slapped yet again – with braces – for disobeying and buying it myself? Worth the blood in my mouth.
I remember it like yesterday. I’m a junior – standing in my bedroom in front of cheap folding metal closet doors in our townhouse on Opdyke across from GM Truck & Coach not far from the Pontiac Silverdome. Yeah – we – Bloomfield Hills mailing address – were rich. Not.
And Corporate Black Hole management somehow thought they would show me? Really?
It was hell for me in those years but really?
I also bought my shoes at Payless in Pontiac and walked over 3/4 mile up Lahser Road/Woodward to work while my classmates drove by.
In their Jags, BMWs and Mercedes.
I lost count of the number who asked why I was walking up roads with no sidewalks… You know – where was MY car?
My mom needed her Chevette to go to work …
I didn’t care. I got – thanks to my mom’s sacrifices – an education worthy of me.
My parents were approached – after my MEAP Scores – by the US Government – when I was 7 – to enter a new program – Mensa for kids.
My mom said no.
She said I needed to be with my peers.
And so the story goes
** My knight in shining armor – the only one in my life – showed up to bear witness.
If not for Aaron I have a feeling I would be peeling wallpaper.
God really must have been behind the timing of this because I can take a moment to put a beautiful spin on it.
Thank you Paul McCartney!
I met my husband through work.
One of his colleagues invited me to lunch. He and Aaron were the only other two.
One of the very first truths that emerged via small talk (ie where are you from?/where did you go to school?/etc)… we both had humble beginnings.
He declared – proudly – “I never took a dime from my parents” – though he owned his own house at 25.
Hard work indeed.
In other words, he’d earned what he had – a sentiment I could appreciate even as we both acknowledged souls along the way who helped.
And our host who was much older and recognized kindred spirits listened and continued his not-so-subtle matchmaking efforts.
Once we got to the innards?
After we knew we would be marrying – which was not long after
I explained I had ultra-wealthy paternal grandparents but he shouldn’t expect any inheritance.
God knows I didn’t though I know for a fact the ghouls in my life definitely assumed – fools that they are/were.
I told him, “My name is search and replace with their dog Happy in the will which Jimmie updates regularly on his new fangled computer.
Every time I pissed them off by not doing their bidding.
I told my love – the man who loves me for who I am – Celt fighter and survivor that I am – “…every time I don’t bow and scrape…”
Which was never?
My paternal grandmother hit me for not telling her friend I’m her daughter – I was her granddaughter -and not telling people I was 16 when I was 26. She hit me!
As I explained to Aaron long before we were married – “…I’m regularly cut out of the will for disobedience – not participating in their psychosis – so they leave the money to those who do and to one organization or another…”
The Detroit Symphony Orchcestra got a multi-million dollar chunk – though he told me he couldn’t afford to fulfill his promise for college…though I did earn a scholarship…
Oh – the ASPCA and – um – who the hell knows? I lost count among all his trusts and REITs and… I mean seriously – who cares?
As my maternal grandma used to say – I have my soul intact.
For not selling it.
He not only didn’t care, he told me he could relate.
To the financial blackmail so prevalent with that generation.
God alone knows why they thought their money could make up for ..
Soooo – Paul McCartney?
As I wrote we went to Jerry Cantrell. Turns out he played the same night McCartney was in town.
It was – interesting – seeing people from each group.
You could pretty much tell by their outfits if not the proliferation of grey in their hair who was who.
Yes we were jeans and black leather jackets – including me. But – um …
I plead the 5th on their Flower Child – females at least – outfits.
Money Cant’ Buy Me Love!
You said it man!
Now tell your fans so they remember when it comes to drawing/editing their wills.
oooh – that smarts except
It’s honest true and from experience
A percentage at any rate…
I do remember hearing my maternal grandmother coaching my mom not to sell her soul when they offered her $$$$$$$$$$$ if she would lie and tell everyone she and my dad – their son – were still married.
“You want to be able to look yourself in the mirror”, she advised.
Aaron and I can.
I actually began working when I was 8.
As did my husband.
I once had a manager at the Corporate Black Hole tell me to stop telling people that.
I was baffled. It was true.
Apparently the DM – being from India and relating – respected me – which irritated her.
I’ve found over the years truth irritates quite a few souls on earth, though never those with nothing to hide.
Yep – more bad
*** My dad once sent me a Mobile charge card to use for gas then – without telling me – reported it stolen.
I was 16 – a high school junior.
The only reason the station manager didn’t call the cops – in front of all my friends – was she knew me.
Because I was dating one of her employees.
I was so ungodly humiliated.
My friends were baffled but good with it.
AKA They didn’t dump me.
I said he was an interesting character.