I Was an Emotional Prostitute Part #28

My mother favored my brothers Mike and Wayne and some of her friends over me.

One night when Mike and I were young, before Wayne was born, mother and Don, her second husband were visiting some friends. They decided to visit late into the evening, past our bedtime. The couple they were visiting let her put Mike and I to sleep in their bed until they were ready to leave. Shortly after we were put in their bed, Mike started putting his legs over mine and refused to move them at my request. So, I hollered for mother. Of course by the time she got into the room, Mike had moved his legs; he did this several times. Each time mother would come into the room, I would tell her what had happened, and she would say, “Well, his legs aren’t on yours now. Go to sleep.”

Looking back on this, I realize that even then Mike was the “favorite.” I don’t remember her saying one word to him about keeping his legs off me, if she had; I suspect he wouldn’t have done it so many times. In essence, this kind of thing set me up to be the victim for men who wanted to use me. My own mother was teaching me that men were allowed to do as they pleased, while I was not.

She gave both Mike and Wayne private music lessons, but never asked if I might like to have the same when I was learning the clarinet, the guitar, or the piano. Not only that, she always told me they couldn’t afford to have the broken crown on my front tooth fixed because it would cost the equivalent of one of Bill’s whole paychecks. I find it rather ironic that she could find money for my brothers to have the luxury of music lessons.

When we started doing our own laundry, mother assigned each of us two days a week in which to do it. Originally one of my days was Saturday. I loved having that day because it meant I had all day to do my laundry, in addition to having one afternoon after school. Then one day Mike claimed I had traded him Saturday for another day in the week. I said I hadn’t. There was no way I would have given up having Saturday for a laundry day. He made a big fuss and she made me trade, even though I said I hadn’t promised to trade him. That there was no way I would have said such a thing.

She promised Michael a car for his 16^th birthday, but I was always told I’d have to buy my own car. I’ll admit she didn’t buy the car for him, but the fact that she promised him one in the first place really hurt.

When the other kids in school teased me, she told me to ignore them. Then when Wayne was teased, she made arrangements for him to be transferred to another school. To make matters worse, when the school district quit providing transportation for me to the school I was attending, I decided I may as well transfer. After all I could catch the bus for the school I should have been attending right down the street rather than walking five blocks to get public transportation. Michael attended the school I wanted to transfer to, so she made me ask him if it was okay with him. She was afraid he’d be teased because of my association with him.

I once moved a box from the big freezer out in the garage, which had Michael’s portable tape player on it. When the tape player fell off the box and hit me on the head, she acted like I was in the wrong for not taking better care of his tape player. She yelled at me for dropping it.

Then there was the time Mike decided to bake some banana bread using a recipe he’d gotten at school. As it happened, I had baked something that day just before he did. Several minutes after I finished using the oven, I walked past it and noticed that it was still on. I reached over and turned it off because I thought I had forgotten to turn it off when I finished. I had no idea that Mike was baking something at that time.

He called mother at work and cried over the phone. She had him give me the phone and proceeded to chew me out for turning the oven off. When I told her that I thought I had forgotten to turn it off after I’d finished baking and had no idea that Mike was baking anything, she simply told me that I should have looked in the oven. Mike never baked anything and this recipe was special to him. I told her again that I had baked something and thought I’d forgotten to turn the oven off. I still don’t understand why I should have been expected to check the oven when I knew Mike had never baked anything before that day and I didn’t know he was baking something then.

Then there was the time I opened the dishwasher for something and found a bowl full of water in the rack. I pointed it to out to Mike whose turn it was to do dishes. He dumped it over the dishwasher door and made a mess. Bill, mother’s third husband, who was standing there at the time, yelled at me and made me clean up the resulting mess. When I talked to mother about it, she took his side, despite the fact that I did not force Mike to dump the water over the dishwasher door. All I had done was point out to him that the bowl had turned over and filled with water.

Another time Mike put a toy down on a chair in the living room. I walked out to the living room and sat in the chair. When I did, Mike’s toy got smashed. He called mother at work and cried to her about it. She got me on the phone and told me I should have looked at the chair before I sat down. Since chairs are for people to sit on, why should I look to see if there was a toy on the chair? Not to mention that mother was always telling us to not leave our things where they didn’t belong.

Mike and Wayne were allowed to make their own choices about what to do with their life. I was always told what I should do with mine. No one asked me what I wanted to do. The few times I gave any indication of some of my choices such as being an actress or a singer, I was told point blank that I should pursue something else; such as typing. No one, not even my mother ever gave even a hint of encouragement for any potential dreams I might have. I never truly felt free to explore the world and all the possibilities it had to offer me and therefore find my own path.

I remember wanting to learn to dance on roller-skates and possibly become good enough to compete. I never told anyone that for fear of having my dream put down again. Looking back on all this, I realize now that there are talents I have that were suppressed because of the way mother treated me. I didn’t have the freedom or the energy to explore my talents beyond anything useful to her, such as cooking, baking, and sewing.

Even now she favors Mike and his wife, Danice over me.

I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 27

Every relationship carries with it the risk of being hurt. It doesn’t matter if its parent-child, friends or lovers, there’s always a risk of being hurt by the other person. The question is, are we willing to take the risk of being hurt? Sometimes we don’t get a choice in the matter, other times we do. I learned a long time ago to accept that risk. That without taking the risk of being hurt, we cannot know the joy of loving and being loved. The trick to avoiding major hurts in a relationship is to talk it out, forgive one another, and move on. I also know this isn’t always possible. There is one person in my life that has said and done things that hurt me, but to try and discuss such things with her tends to be impossible. I generally get a “can’t you just let it go” response or an excuse for her behavior and total lack of willingness to accept responsibility for what she did that hurt me. If I get an apology, it tends to be along the lines of “I’m sorry if what I did hurt you, but here’s my excuse.”

            There’s no real acceptance of responsibility for what was done. No effort to change her behavior or even a promise to try.

Who am I primarily talking about? My mother! All my life she has done things in favor of my brothers or friends or whoever her favorite person is at the moment while pushing me aside. Then she expects me to understand and go along with the program. That’s just for openers.

She is also terrible about keeping her word. If I confront her about it, she just makes an excuse. I learned from her early on how much it can hurt to have someone say they’ll do something for you and then not do it. The good thing about that is that I try to keep my word. If I don’t, it’s generally because circumstances beyond my control made it impossible for me to do so. In fact, I generally don’t make a promise, unless I am very sure I can keep it.

When I was in the 6^th grade, mother promised to make me a two-piece outfit, mini top and pants, in time for me to wear on the last day of school. Not only did she not make it in time for me to wear to school, she never made the outfit at all. She claimed she was too busy and forgot. Even though I reminded her once or twice. I was afraid to remind her any more than that for fear that she would yell at me.

We took belly-dancing lessons together. She started to make us costumes for the class. The costumes included sequined belts with false coins hanging from the bottom. She finished her costume including putting all the coins on the bottom of the belt, but she never finished putting the coins on the belt for mine.

When I was in high school, she started to make me a swimsuit, which took her 18 years to even come close to finishing. When I asked about it, she told me the pattern had been made wrong. Then she used my weight gain as an excuse to not work on it. Even when I lost the weight and brought the suit back to her, she failed to finish it. She also insisted on putting a fold of fabric in to hide my “jutting” pelvic bone. I suspect that extra fold played a role in the problems she had making the swimsuit.

Even if she does do it, it takes forever if it gets finished at all. Thanks to her I almost didn’t get to participate in my friend Judy’s wedding, because she almost didn’t get the dress done in time.

One time mother backed into my car with an 18-foot moving truck. It took her at least a week to call the insurance company. Even then it took me telling her that I would if she didn’t. She tried to tell me that because it was her insurance, which would cover the damage, I couldn’t call them and report the incident. I told her it was my car and therefore I could call them. Less than ten minutes later she was on the phone reporting the incident.

For one of my birthdays, I told mother that she could make me a cake at a later date, as it was unseasonably hot that year. Yet later that summer, in August, she baked two cakes for her friend Tracy, but never baked mine. I finally did it myself when I got tired of waiting for her to do so.

Mother expects me to remind her of her promises, but even when I do, it doesn’t help.

I can remember one time when I made a promise to her then deliberately and willfully did not follow through on it. She wanted a serger, but didn’t think she could afford it on her own. So she asked me to buy it with her. I agreed. Then after she was stuck with the lay away agreement, I backed out. She chewed me out over it, but I didn’t care. I realize now that in my own way I was treating her the way she had treated me all my life. I didn’t care about her feelings in the matter or how my actions affected her.

I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 26

It was hard for me to find my father after not seeing him for over 30 years and then not get along with him. It was also hard for me to deal with his seeming lack of acceptance of me as a responsible adult. That as an adult, I have the right to make my own decisions and the ability to accept full responsibility for my actions.

I did go to Florida again, without Caleb. My father was having heart trouble and his wife needed surgery on one of her legs. So I flew down to help them. I originally planned to stay for five weeks. After I arrived, we learned that the doctors couldn’t do surgery on his wife’s leg as the other one had a problem, which needed to heal first. I stayed for three weeks anyway as I’d made a commitment to be there and I felt Von needed me. I flew back early because Caleb needed me. As I told my father, my son’s needs come first. He understood.

While I was there, we decided to watch a movie one night. My sister, Crystal (a young girl he and his wife had adopted) wanted to watch “Harry Potter.” I said I wouldn’t watch it.

Von said, “Why not?”

I raised my eyebrows and said, “Because it’s about witchcraft and witchcraft is as rebellion unto the Lord.”

“Prove it.”

“I’ll have to look it up in the concordance as I don’t remember where exactly off the top of my head.”

“Well, if you have to look it up in the concordance, then you can’t prove it.” I knew he thought he knew the Bible well because he’d told me he’d read through it, but being unwilling to allow me to prove what I said on such a flimsy basis was a shock.

I think we watched Stephen King’s “Rose Red” instead that night. As we got deeper into the movie, I started thinking, “Can’t you see the spiritual battle in this movie?”

I didn’t say it out loud given my father’s reaction to what I said about “Harry Potter,” but I got so tense watching the movie, I was afraid I was going to grind my teeth that night. Thankfully, I didn’t.

After I got home I realized that the trip had been good for me. It gave me a deeper appreciation for my life here, and just as important, I got the sense that my father now saw me as an adult capable of taking care of my responsibilities without his advice, unless I ask for it.

For a time after this, Von and I kept in touch. His wife retired while he owned a store. Then he fell and injured himself making it so that he was unable to work in his store. While he was healing, he told me he’d bought me a birthday card, but couldn’t send any money as he had in the past. I didn’t mind that, I just appreciated the fact that he thought to buy me a card. I never received the card, but a few months later Caleb received a card from him that contained a check for $25. I was hurt, but thought maybe mine was coming. Then at Christmas, Caleb and I both received a card with money for the two of us, but still no sign of my birthday card.

A couple of months later my roommate David, Caleb, and I flew to Florida for a visit. Our first day there we all went out to breakfast together. I said something to Von about him having sent Caleb a card with money in it then a card at Christmas with money it for both of us, but nothing for my birthday. His response was that his store was just getting back on its feet.

I was hurt to think that he thought so little of me that he could ignore my birthday, but do something nice for my son’s. I decided then and there that if he did the same thing that year, I was going to send anything he sent to Caleb for his birthday back to him with a long letter telling him how much he hurt me by doing that.

A few months later my birthday came and went with nothing from my father. When Caleb’s birthday came around, I found a card in the mail from Von with a check enclosed for Caleb. I told Caleb about it so that he would know that his Grandfather had not ignored his birthday, but I made it clear that because his Grandfather saw fit to ignore mine, I couldn’t let him have the card and money this time. He offered to split the money with me, which I thought was sweet, but as I told him, I couldn’t allow his Grandfather to ignore me that way. So, I sent it back with a letter telling him the whole story from the start and explaining that I would not allow him to send my son things as long as he chose to ignore me. He never apologized for his actions. Never called me and said one word about what I’d written. In fact, I don’t believe he ever called me again before he died. I did call him, but we never had the same relationship after that. It was as if in telling him that he’d hurt me, I’d crossed some line I wasn’t supposed to with him. In the end, his actions cost him a relationship with me. The funny thing is that he told my mother when I was born that they had a “beautiful daughter.”

I came home one night to find that I’d missed a call from my sister, Crystal. Given that it was late in the evening, I figured she might be asleep. I got on Facebook and found a post on her page saying that he’d died. It hadn’t been up long, so I called her and we talked briefly. I spoke with his widow, Virginia the next day and learned that there would be no funeral. The hardest part of his death for me was grieving, yet being angry at him.

Angry because I didn't get to know him as I would have liked. Angry because he wasn't around while I was growing up and as a result I missed out on knowing his mother better as well (she’d died the year before). Angry that he did something that really hurt me and when I wrote him a letter telling him what he did that hurt me, he never responded to it in any way.  Angry that he was a stubborn, jackass who thought that because he'd read the Bible all the way through more than once, he knew all it contained and could not accept that I might know something he didn't. Most of all I'm saddened that he was not willing to pay the price to truly mend our relationship. I wanted that from him more than anything else.

I realize now that he was like so many other people in my life. As long as I fit his concepts of who I should be, things were fine. But if I dared to be real and tell him how much he hurt me or if I dared to say something was in the Bible that he didn't remember himself, I became a problem. To make matters worse in regards to the Bible, if I couldn't remember the reference without looking it up, then it wasn't there and he could go on his merry way believing he knew the Bible better than me, his daughter. 

I know that in the end, he paid the price too for his unwillingness to heal our relationship, but it bothers me nonetheless that our relationship will never be healed. Now I’m left to deal with the emotional aftermath of his actions.

I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 25

          About a month before I found out I was pregnant, I received a note telling me where I could write to my father. I was so excited, I screamed. Mother and Bill thought something was wrong with me until I explained why I was so excited. Then Bill said, “You’re not going to tell him where you live, I hope.”

            I said, “No, of course not!” I was really irritated at his question. Even though Von was my father, he was basically a stranger to me, as I hadn’t seen him in over 30 years. Of course, I wouldn’t send him my current address.

Over the course of the next several days, I learned a few things about my family that I never suspected. I had done most of the looking for my father over the years and while I had always had my family’s support, I also had the impression no one, not even my brother, Mike wanted contact with him. Now that I had a way to get in touch with him, everyone wanted to contact him. We even got together for a family meeting one evening at a favorite restaurant to discuss the issue. By the end of the evening, I had decided to do everything in my power to keep my contact with Von a secret until I had heard from him and knew whether further contact would be possible. I didn’t write to my father right away, as I was very nervous. Would he want further contact with me? If so, would it be possible or would he be married to a woman who wouldn’t allow it?

I finally to him a few months later. A good friend of mine, Al, allowed me to use his address for my return address on the letter to my father. I don’t remember how long I waited for a return letter; I just know that I was on “pins and needles” the whole time. When Al called me to let me know a letter had arrived for me at his place, I was so excited and nervous. I drove up right away.

When I got there, he gave me the letter, and at first I just looked at it. I was tempted to ask Al to open it and read it, because I was afraid it was bad news. Finally, I opened it. I got lucky, it was very good news. Von answered all my questions, such as family medical history as far as he knew it. He also told me that he didn’t know why I would want further contact with him, but it was up to me. I think the best part though was finding a letter from his current wife, Virginia. She told me that she snuck the note in with his and asked me not to tell him she’d done so. Virginia then went on to tell me how excited Von was to hear from me and that she hoped I’d write again. She also enclosed a couple of pictures so I could see what he looked like. I was so relieved; I had been concerned that if he was married, his current wife might resent me for wanting to be a part of his life again.

I wrote back and told him that no matter what had happened in the past, he was still a part of who I am today, even if only genetically. As it turns out, I inherited more from him than my coloring.

When Caleb, my son, was about two months old, he and I flew to Florida to visit my father for two months. I know some people think I was crazy for doing so, but I felt that might be the only chance I would ever have to spend such time with my father.

It was an interesting trip. I learned more about my father and how much alike we are, something, which had never occurred to me. While people have always said how much I look like my mother, I realize now that I also look a lot like my father. I have his same basic coloring. I also have his temper.

I had made arrangements to have Caleb’s picture taken for Christmas at JC Penney’s before I left for home. When I got there, I found out the date quoted to me to have the pictures back, was wrong. The actual date would be after I had left for home. I got upset and asked to speak to the manager. It turns out I was speaking to the manager and she informed me there was nothing she could do. I really started to get angry and upset then. Von and I took Caleb and started to leave.

On the way out, we saw a young man in the shoe department. Von stopped and asked him where to find the store manager. The young man hesitated. Von demanded to know if the fellow even knew where the store manager’s office was. He said he did, he just wasn’t sure if he should direct us there. Von asked again where it was and this fellow finally told us. As we turned to find our way to the manager’s office, a woman stopped us and asked if there was anything she could do to help us. Von asked if she was the store manager. She said, “no, but she was a department manager and might be able to help us.”

We told her how I had made an appointment to have Caleb’s picture taken under the impression that I would receive my pictures in time to take them home with me. Then when I came in, I found out I wouldn’t get them back in time. I also told her how I had spoken with the photo manager who told me there was nothing she could do for me. She told us to follow her and she would handle it, if nothing else, they would mail my pictures to me. We went back to the photo studio and she spoke with the photo manager. By this time, Caleb was hungry and as soon as I fed him, he spit up on the green, velvet outfit I had dressed him in for the photo session. To top things off, he wanted to sleep afterwards and we still hadn’t had any pictures taken. The photo manager took the photos and I have to admit, she was good. Caleb wanted to go to sleep and she managed to cajole him into staying awake and smiling for the camera.

When the photo session was over, I was still upset and needed to vent my feelings. As we were going out, I tried to talk about how I felt. Von told me he understood how I felt, in such a way that I felt like I was being told I should just let it go. I couldn’t just let it go; I needed to vent my feelings, which he didn’t seem to understand. By the time we got a few blocks away, I was blowing up like a volcano. He kept telling me that he understood how I felt. I wanted to tell him he couldn’t possibly understand. He had never been a single mom with her first child, trying to have professional photos taken; only to learn someone had misinformed you regarding the date the pictures would be back. I got so angry with him, I screamed at him to shut up. Only after I calmed down, did I apologize for telling him to shut up.

He then told me that I had scared the counter girl at the photography studio, because of the look of anger on my face and that I had scared him, because I reminded him of his younger self. He had learned over the years to control his temper and it scared him to see it in me. I had always wondered where I got my temper, but it never occurred to me that I inherited it from my father. When I finally realized it, I thought, “Well, duh!”

By the time my visit was over, I had learned quite a bit about my father and myself. I learned that in some ways we’re too much alike to get along well. I also came to realize that he didn’t seem to understand that I am not the little girl he left behind over 30 years ago. He didn’t totally accept that I’m an adult who is capable of making her own decisions and accepting full responsibility for them.

I called Von from time to time after getting home. On one occasion I told him that I had turned down a temporary job, which would have lasted a month in favor of being free to seek permanent work. He got upset with me and told me in no uncertain terms that I should have taken the temporary job as I have a child to support. I should have realized that he wouldn’t support my decision.

A few months later, I made a decision I needed to tell him about, so I called him. If I thought he was upset last time, he was really upset this time. I told him I had decided not to celebrate Christmas anymore. He asked me why and I told him that part of it was the stress. Every year, no matter how simple I tried to keep it, I always ended up stressed out.

The other reason was something I had been thinking about for some time. I’ve known for years that the origins of Christmas are not as Christian as people think. I had basically ignored that fact in favor of celebrating the holiday as family time. When I told Von that, he really hit the roof. He acted like I was committing some kind of a crime by deciding not to celebrate Christmas.

I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 24

I was able to quit work just before Caleb turned five years old. The timing couldn’t have been better. I had to either renew my child care support through welfare or lose it. I also had two weeks left, which was the amount of notice I needed to give the daycare. I gave notice at all the temp agencies I’d been working for and at the daycare.

Being at home all day was a major adjustment. I went from having to get up, get us both ready for the day, then run out the door to take him to daycare before I caught the bus to work to getting up when we felt like it and then spending the day together. I had never understood just how hard stay - at - home - moms work till I had nothing more to do all day than take care of the house, fix meals and watch over an active little boy.

It was summer, so I could take him to a local park up the street, which helped, but we couldn’t spend every day there. I hate to admit this, but part of me was glad when school started. I honestly didn’t know how to be a mom. I remember my mother working when we were growing up. The only times I remember her spending any one on one time with us was if we ran errands with her alone. So, being home all day with a little boy was a new experience.

When Caleb went to Kindergarten, I got a bit of a surprise. He came home with a big sheet of things to do each day after school for the first month. I was surprised. I mean, when did they start assigning homework? And in Kindergarten? When I was in school, homework was work you didn’t finish in class. I figured things had changed and the homework didn’t seem too bad, so we did our best.

By the time he was in second grade I had learned that if you can homeschool, it’s actually better for your children. So, I did some checking into what it takes to homeschool in my state. As it turns out, I already qualified because of my college degree. I knew however, that I needed to learn more about how to best homeschool, so I found a program that was a lot of assigned reading, then writing your thoughts about what you read.

The program was a mix of Christian/Christ centered materials as well as books about education, what it is and isn’t, so it looked like a good fit for me. Add in to that the fact that there were no classes to attend. I could do everything when I had time, then when I was finished I could either fax everything to the woman running the program or mail it to her.

I finished most of the materials before I started homeschooling, but there were a few things I didn’t finish and at this point am not sure I will. What I did read, however was enlightening. I learned that education as we know it is an artificial construct and it extends childhood beyond what was once considered normal. I also learned that assigned homework isn’t good for our children. After spending six or seven hours a day sitting in a classroom, they need to be free to run around and play after school.

So, armed with that information, I homeschooled Caleb during his third grade year. I was unable to keep him busy enough as an only child, so he ended up hating it. He went back to public school at the start of fourth grade. Thankfully, he had a great teacher that year. When I talked to her about not sending assigned homework with him, she was fine with it.

In fifth and sixth grade, he had the same teacher for both years. When I talked to her about not sending assigned homework, she disagreed with me. I went to the principle who told me that homework was expected. I thought that was odd, so I got online and checked the school district’s website. From what I read, it looked like homework was optional, but I wasn’t sure. I e-mailed the district and they confirmed that homework was optional.

At that point, I got mad at the principal and went back to him. When I saw him I told him that I didn’t appreciate being lied to. He asked what he’d lied about. I told him about looking things up then contacting the district in regards to homework. He pulled out a notebook and showed me the policy he’d based his opinion on. It was different than the one on the website. I asked what was on the previous page. The current policy was there and since both had dates on them, I could point to the date on the current one and tell him that it being newer superseded the one he’d quoted me. That settled that. I know he talked to Caleb’s teacher as he had no more homework for the rest of his time there.

I did get a note in his report card letting me know that she hadn’t appreciated me going to the principal about homework. When I read it, I thought, “What did you expect? You refused my request. Besides, you don’t have ultimate responsibility for him. I do.”

There was one other thing his teacher from those years and I disagreed about. Caleb complained that during “Free Choice Reading Time” his teacher wanted him to read “serious” books, not comic books. I walked over and talked to her about it. She said, “What do I tell the other kids if I allow him to read comics, but not them?”

I said, “Make me the bad guy. Tell them that I came over and insisted that Caleb be allowed to read whatever he chooses during that time.”

When he moved on to middle school/junior high, I made it clear that I couldn’t go around to all six of his teachers and ask them not to assign homework. He was fine with that. The same thing applied to high school.

He’s now an adult living on his own and I’m very proud of him.