Life is precious and it goes by so quickly. I remember when I was little, it seemed as if time barely moved. I couldn’t wait to be older and to be able to do whatever I wanted (oh, for the innocence of youth!) I had two older sisters, an older brother and a younger brother. While we were not a close knit group, when we were young children, we had a camaraderie that worked well for us.
I was the fourth of the five and had a gap of five years between myself and my little brother. I remember when he came home from the hospital. I was so entranced by him. I wanted to touch his hands and feet and to kiss his little cheek. I was allowed to hold him on my lap only when my mother was present. It was so thrilling and wonderful to have such a lovely little one to hold and love.
When he was six months old, we moved from Santa Monica, CA to Lancaster. At that time, Lancaster was a really small desert community that was just at its beginning. My mother was home (having been laid off from her job) and my father worked back at the shore. He stayed there during the week and would come to visit only on the weekends (and not everyone at that.)
It was a wonderful and peaceful time. You see, my father physically abused my mother. I can remember, all too clearly, him knocking her down and unconscious. I remember how frightening it was and how I wanted to hurt him for hurting her. I felt so little and helpless. I thought if I were a big girl, I could stop it.
So, the year we spent in Lancaster was calm and serene compared to our life before. My best playmate was my little brother. I was in kindergarten in the morning and would rush home after half-day to spend the rest of the time with him and my mother. We planted a garden together, had a dog and my brother and I would bang pots and pans and play peek-a-boo.
My oldest sister was a wonderful girl. She was more like a mother to me, even though she was only 7 years older. She would help me with my problems, quiet my fears and keep my middle sister from picking on me. I shared a room with the middle sister and when she wasn’t pleased with me, she would boot me out of the bed that we shared. I knew that my oldest sister would let me sleep in her room across the foot of her twin size bed.
My older brother was a good brother at that time. It would be years before he became enmeshed in the drug culture of the time. In the earlier days, he would play catch with me and would show me all the cool things he was learning how to do. I was pretty much entranced by all of it.
My middle sister was the cool one. She was always trying to be on trend, which was difficult because we didn’t have much money. After my parents split up and my father left the state rather than pay child support, we were actually fairly poor. Even so, my sister could always find a way to make almost nothing look wonderful, desirable and cool. I remember ironing her hair to get it straight and helping zip her into way too small a size of shorts. Even though she and I had our squabbles, when I was a child, I wanted to be like her.
So, our life was good that year. We moved back to Santa Monica the next year. I don’t know why, I didn’t ask questions back then, I just let life happen to me. We left behind the beautiful house and the dog and moved back into a three bedroom apartment with my parents in one room, my brothers in another and my sisters and I in the third one.
Sadly, the abuse began again in earnest. My father didn’t just shove her around, he actively hit her with fists and certainly slapped her often enough. My mother had five kids, worked a full time job and had to also be his wife. I know it had to be too much for her. Her outlet, unfortunately, was in abusing her children.
I don’t like to think about the abuse. It got worse when my parents split up and she was left with four kids. My oldest sister had just married, my older brother and middle sister were involved in the drug scene and my younger brother was only a little boy. So, a lot of the abuse fell on me.
I remember reading a book that talked about a whipping boy and I realized that I was that to my mother. She could (and did) say vile and hurtful things. She could (and did) take all of her frustrations out on me. I would not object, I would not cry, I would not beg her to stop. My middle sister told me to do so because it would make her stop. I found out later that my mother had tried the same abuse with her and it stopped when my sister threatened to hit her back.
I couldn’t do that. I remembered reading in the Bible (back when I was in Sunday School years before), that we had to honor our mother. So, no matter what, I would take it without complaint.
There were so many times, it seems countless looking back. One time in particular does stand out. It was when she repeatedly bashed the back of my skull against a porcelain clad sink until it cracked the surface of the porcelain. It so angered her that she beat me almost senseless and then cut off my hair so I would look unattractive. My older brother was there and I remember her telling him that it was important to never hit me in the face where others would see the bruises. I remember wondering why she would say that to him.
It became clear soon when I found out that she had ordained him to punish me because he was stronger and she could not hit me hard enough. Not that she stopped, she just added him in as well. That started an even worse period in my life that will be, God willing, another entry in this blog. However, it is not for now.
When I was finally old enough, at eighteen, a full year out of high school for me, I got a job as a waitress and moved out, hoping to never return again. It turned out that when my mother had cancer, I ended up moving back in with her for a year so I could pay living expenses and to keep her from returning back to live in the projects with my little brother. I could not bear for him to live in that place. Once she was on her feet again, she moved to Oregon and I moved closer to work.
I met and married my first husband and had three children. As our marriage fell apart, I found myself punishing my children when I was angry at him. I was so frightened that I would turn into the abuser my mother had been. I asked God to help me and he led me to a therapist. I was able to talk about my fears and issues, which unsurprisingly, were of both my parents more so than my ex-husband. She gave me a number to call if I felt like harming my children, told me that she didn’t believe I would and that what I had done so far was not abusive. I knew in my heart and told her that any time you spank a child because you are angry at someone else, it is abuse.
I went home with the number in my purse, told the children I needed their help. If I said, go to your room, no back talk, just do it. Mommy was mad at someone else and needed quiet time. I then prayed and asked God to help me. From that day on, I never had a problem again. My elder daughter and son told me my younger one could have used a few spankings but since I felt like I could not control myself, it could not happen.
My elder daughter now has two children of her own. She and her husband are raising them wonderfully. They are Christians and their children go to church along with them pretty much every week. Such beautiful children and such loving parents.
I’m sure my younger daughter, if she someday has children, will be a good mother as well. I’ve told them both, please be a better mother than I was. I was better than my mother but not good enough. My one regret in life is that I could have raised my children better and enjoyed life with them more.
In later years, my mother and I were able to somewhat mend our differences. It was after she also became a Christian. While we were never close, we had reconciled by the time she passed away. While she was not a good mother to me, she was a wonderful and loving grandmother to all of my children. My daughters’ memories of her are beautiful and deservedly so. I honored my mother during the bad times and I honored her during the better times. I know that one day we will meet in heaven again and love each other the way we should have done so during this life.
If you had a wonderful mother, you are really blessed. You should thank God for it every day and not just on Mother’s Day. If you, like me, had a mother who was not wonderful and in some cases much less than that, remember, if you cry out to God and with His help and guidance, you can be a better parent. You can stop whatever abusive behavior that you may have learned. You can strive to be the mother that God called us to honor. The one that your children will count as a blessing in their lives.
Proverbs 31:25-31 She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.