Transplant

I knew when I saw the skinny elderly lady open her trunk and unload my bother's high chair something strange was going on. This was apparently our new home. My mother had gone to the state to see if she could get help. She couldn’t afford to take care of us. She asked them if they could place us in a home until she could find a job. They told her it would be no problem. My mom soon learned that she couldn’t have us back until she was either married or had a job that could support us and she only had one year to do it.

The house was a newer home in Yakima, Washington, about a half hour from the city I was born. I had never seen a home so big. The owners were a fairly young couple with two children of their own, a boy and a girl.

One fourth of July I was sitting in a lawn chair watching the fireworks. It was daylight so they were just lighting sparklers and those ground flowers that I think are now illegal, at least in some states. I had decided I would get a little closer for a better view. That darn ground flower headed right towards me and whenever I would move it seemed to go that direction. I ran for my chair and it went under it. I was so terrified. I had a hard time watching fireworks after that. I would make sure I was far away.

Another memory I have living there is when I went to get some cereal. My brother was there in his high chair eating Cheerios. The father was in there and I had asked him a question. He told me that I needed to call him dad. I didn’t want to call him dad and it made him pretty angry.

One day they loaded us kids up to get some new shoes. We all got the same shoes. They were brown and I guess what the call velour today. Soft to the touch. They had a weird sole to them. They were about ¼ inch rolls all down the bottom. I’m sure they had a name. In fact we all got a free backpack with the shoes so I’m sure it had the name on them. I would keep my stuffed Ernie doll in it. Pretty much the only toy I had at the time. I’m not sure where I got it.

One day I apparently left Ernie in the livingroom. I went to the restroom and I hear the father yelling…. “Sharon, did you leave this in the living room?” Remembering a backpack I saw on the floor previously, I replied “No, it’s -------“ [daughter’s name]. We both had the same backpack and I knew it wasn’t mine. He came storming into the bathroom while I was still on the toilet and threw my Ernie into the trash. Of course I started crying. That was my only toy. After I left the rest room. He took me into the bedroom, grabbed me by my shirt and held me up to the wall and started slapping me on the face for lying. He just kept slapping and yelling at me.

Another time the father was in my room laying on the bed and he grabbed me and started throwing me into the air. On the way down, he would tickle me and of course the impact of the landing made it more of a digging his fingers into my side instead of a tickle. It hurt so bad and I was crying so hard that no sound was coming out. I couldn’t breathe. He finally stopped after I somehow managed to get some are and just wailed. He yelled at me and told me to stop being such a baby and left the room with me laying there crying. To this day, I'm not ticklish.

One day the couple’s children decided they would go to a neighbors to play with their kids. They just said come on let’s go. Not knowing if they had got permission, I went to ask the father. “Can we go over to the neighbors” He said “no we can’t but they can. If you want to go then you ask if you can go. I asked if I could go and he said “No!”

One thing I do remember though is how they had Lincoln Logs, Tinker Toys, and Legos. I loved those things. I would play with them for hours in their basement which seemed like a really huge room to me. It was carpeted and there was a sliding glass door to the outside.

I don’t remember much about the mother. I remember her painting her nails in a chair once, just like I saw my mother do. She painted my nails for me. She seemed like a nice lady, but for some reason didn’t seem to do much with her children. I don’t have any memories of her and her children.

A lot of mornings I would wake up and my eyes hadn’t quite focused. I would see the light coming in the window up above me. I would see the curtains my mom had above the window through the sleep in my eyes. I thought I was finally home. I would blink again, I still saw the curtains… blink some more, the real curtains finally came into focus. Those were not my mother’s curtains. Then I would cry.

On Christmas the elderly skinny lady came and gave me a doll. I had another toy of my own. I would carry her everywhere. For some reason I remember a rag doll that was fairly large. It had yarn hair and a flowery dress. Kind of like Hollie Hobbie. I think my mom bought it for me. It could have belonged to the daughter, I’m not sure. I don’t remember ever removing it from the bed.

The next time the old lady came back, she loaded my brother and I in the car. I asked her “are we going home.” She said “I have a new home for you.” My heart sank, but I was curious about the adventure that lay ahead for us.

I had told my mother of the abuse in this foster home but she did not believe me. She told me that their son had something wrong with him and that he was going to lose his leg. That is why we were moved to a new home. She said he must have just seemed angry. I told her exactly what happened and she still didn’t believe it.

[to be continued...] @};-

Dew Drops on a Rose Petal

They say that a chicken pox lesion looks like a "dew drop on a rose petal." Well I don't really remember seeing any rose petals, but I do remember the chicken pox. My aunt, who is one year my senior, had a friend with the chicken pox that came over to play. Hmmmm... why on earth would someone with chicken pox come over to play. So that I WOULD GET IT of course. Ugh!

I remember my aunt, her friend, and myself playing in this camper trailor my grandmother had. Fun?... I guess... but the truth of the event would show up a few days later. All I can remember is itching, itching, and more itching. I went out in the livingroom of my granmother's house (it was once a porch, but she had walls added to make it a livingroom) to watch cartoons. My grandmother yelled at me, "don't be walking around, you will spread your germs all over the house." Yeah, thanks grandma, now you are worried about spreading it around.

Needless to say, I lived, but I have quite a few scars to show for it. She made sure to yell at me for moving around, but she didn't really make sure I didn't scratch. I have a scar on my forehead, my nose, my ankle, and on the back of my leg just above my knee. I used to be so self-conscious of them I wanted to cry, but now I sometimes forget I even have them.

That's pretty much all I remember of living at my grandmother's house. My mother says that's because she didn't leave us there that long. She knew what my grandmother was like and wanted to get us out of there. So badly, that she went to the state and told them that she needed a place for us to stay until she can get settled down and take care us.

My aunt had a lot of toys in her room. She painted my nails a bright pink with peelable nail polish. You could pull it off in one piece. My mom came to pick me up that day or shortly after. I remember picking at the polish as we drove. I remember riding with my mother a lot of places, it always felt so calm. It's strange that I felt that way since most of the time she was taking me somewhere that would change my life.

[to be continued...] @};-

Black Spot

We moved around so fast during this time of my life that I don't know what happened when. My mom had moved to this trailor park in a nearby town. My only memory of it is when one time my brother and I wandered off and got lost. My brother had to go to the bathroom so bad but I couldn't remember the way home. We wandered down a road that looked familiar but we ran into a fence...dead end. There was a trailor there that kind of looked like ours but I knew there wasn't a fence near ours, and there was a dog house along the fence. Out of despiration I finally told my brother to go inside the doghouse and go to the bathroom that way no one would see him (poor dog). I had no idea how to get home so I knocked on the door of the trailor. An older lady, at least she seemed older to me answered the door. She had her hair in big rollers. I asked her if she knew the way to our house. She shook her head no. I remember asking her if that was her doghouse and she said no. I can't remember if I told her why I wanted to know... Uhh, excuse me lady but my brother had to potty in your doghouse. Anyway we somehow got home. I don't remember how we got there.

I remember my mom telling me she had to chain my brother to a tree in the yard because he would run as fast as he could for the canal if she didn't. There was a canal that ran just behind our yard. Back in those days my mom hung the laundry on the clothes line for them to dry so that's the solution she came up with while she was doing it.

My mom soon realized she couldn't take care of us. You know she was in despiration because she sent us to her mother's...

[To be continued ...] @};-

A Rose is born

But ne'er the rose without the thorn. - Robert Herrick, The Rose

I don't know what happened to my mother's boyfriend, but seven months later she had a new boyfriend. He was tall, blonde, blue eyes, and a firefighter. His best friend was short, brown eyes, brown hair, and a dimple in his chin. He and his best friend had a lot in common... they even both loved my mother. My mom had slept with this firefighter's best friend and I am the result. My mother made my middle name Rose after her grandmother (hence the theme of my blog).

My father took my mother and me home from the hospital. He still wouldn't hear the truth, he wasn't ready for a family. My mother said he even babysat me with a girlfriend once. How could you not recognize your own daughter - especially with my brown hair, brown eyes and the tell all dimple on my chin that only he had?

My mother told the firefighter the truth and they decided to stay together. I remember seeing pictures of flowers on top of the television from the firefighter's family that were sent to my mother. I was looking at my birth certificate when I was older and saw that the firefighter was listed as my father. I asked my mom why and she said "to make him feel better." It was just the one that the parents fill out with the footprints. My legal birth certificate has my real father's name on it.

I have a lot of memories of the tall, shy, blonde man. I loved him like he was my own father. I remember sitting in bed with he and my mom. I was excited about Easter. He told me to go to the kitchen. There was an Easter basket there on the table.

I remember the house we lived in a little and some of the things that I had. I remember a punching clown that you blow up and you would punch it and it would come back upright. I had a wooden swing that my mother attached to the doorway and put me in it while she was cleaning or cooking. My mom raised rabbits. Two of them came in the house frequently and I would play on the floor with them. I had a dog that would let me climb on it. My mom took a lot of pictures where I was sitting on the couch with my box of Crayons with my newest JCPenny Christmas Catalog. I loved to shop even then.

My mother likes to tell the story about one day I decided to run away with my dogs while we lived in this house. I remember it differently. The dogs got out of the gate. This old man was across the street yelling at me "you better get your dogs in that yard." So I was chasing after them trying to get them in the yard.

A year and a half later my brother was born to them. He didn't look much like me. He was blonde with blue eyes.

One day, my mom had to go next door to the grocery store for some milk. She told me to keep an eye on my brother. He was in the bassinet asleep. He woke up and was crying. So I tried to bring him to my mother. But he was too heavy. I was trying to push him to the door in the bassinet. It was still too heavy. It's a good thing because there were steep stairs outside the door. I eventually just ran next door and told my mother he was crying.

My mom loved to take pictures. I remember seeing one of me with my brother and I looked like I was crying and screaming. I asked my mom why I was crying and she said I didn't want to hold my brother. In another picture, my brother was in his cookie monster outfit and I was in my big bird outfit. We were standing in front of the couch.

One forth of July, my brother and I were waving sparklers near the back porch. My brother somehow got burnt by his. I think someone was helping him but he grabbed the hot part before they could stop him.

I remember being over at my brother's aunt and uncles. I think they were just dating then. They both were really nice and I remember his aunt being so beautiful. I remember his aunt changing my brother's diaper and I just remember being in disbelief that he had green poo... the things that stay in my memory. I was always a little mama so I'm sure I was concerned he might be sick.

But even though life seemed good for me, it apparently wasn't for my mother. The firefighter began to drink more and more. My mother got arrested and put in jail over-night because he made her use food stamps that were no longer good.

My mom runs again...

[To be continued ...] @};-

Flower Power

I always loved running... it was something you could do by yourself, and under your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted, fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs. ~Jesse Owens

My grandmother was born and raised in New York. At the age of 19 she was in Newark, New Jersey where my mother was born. My mom never knew her father... her maiden name was the name of a boyfriend my grandmother had at the time my mother was born. My grandmother would have four children in New Jersey by the time my mother was five years old - all had different fathers. Two of her children were given up for adoption, both girls, her second and fourth born. The youngest was given up at birth. When my mom was 5 was when my grandmother decided pack herself up and move my mom and her brother to California.

My mom has memories of her sister. She would question my grandmother when she saw her in photographs. She would simply say "that was your best friend." I know that friends seem to look like one another, but if one wasn't shorter than the other, they could be identical twins. Eventually my grandmother told her the truth and my mom asked her why she kept her and her brother. She said that she chose to keep the oldest and the youngest. My great-grandmother said that the baby girl was the youngest.

I asked my grandmother about my mom's father once and she said that he had chased her to California, robbing banks along the way for gas money so he could continue following her. She claims that he was shot during one of the robberies by the FBI. But this is the man my mother was named after. Why was he still around after my grandmother had children by three other men? My great-grandmother said this man was not my mom's father. I joke to those close to me that my grandmother must have been a hooker and that this man was her pimp.

My great-grandmother said she used to take care of the three oldest children quite often and so she grew attached to them. She was very upset when my grandmother took them and moved away.

So off to Hollywood, California they went. My grandmother claims to have been a hand model and my mother saw her proofs when she was growing up. So she knows that it is true. I'm not sure what she was doing there, but perhaps she went to Hollywood to be a model.

Shortly after, she packed up her kids again and moved to Eastern Washington where she met a man and married for the first time. He had a boy and a girl of his own and they had a son together. My grandmother showed me photographs of them and both their children. In one, my grandmother is sitting in a white Cadillac convertible. She said she paid for it with the money she made being a model. She told me that she owned quite a bit of land at that time and pointed out the land in the background that was then a corn field. The marriage didn't last and he left. My mom said he was a good man and she told me about him with fondness. She said he was the one that taught her to ride horses.

My grandmother said that my mother could break any horse and that she was a good rider. She won many ribbons and trophies in 4H and Rodeos barrel racing. I asked my mom if she ever got bucked off. She said she did once and she hit her head on a fence post.

My grandmother then met and married another gentleman and they had my grandmother's last child, a girl. She was born one year before me. Her father was the one who taught my mother to drive. She told me about a time when she went off the road into a ditch and got whiplash. My mom said he was a good guy too. I think she said he drank a lot though. He had lost his arm in some kind of accident. Farm equipment I think.

Shortly after my grandmother's last child was born, my mom ran away from home. She had wanted to run away a long time before but she knew her mother would have her arrested.

It wasn't being arrested that my mother was afraid of ... my grandmother was very abusive. My mom told me stories of my grandmother holding knives to her throat and hitting my uncles over the head with steel buckets. She was also mentally abusive. My mom remembers sitting at some sort of program and my grandmother was bored. She made my mom go up on stage and sing for everyone... my mom crying in embarrassment the whole time. My mother seemed like she was reminiscing when she watched the movie "Mommy Dearest." I know that my grandmother used her children for chores and my mother being the oldest got the brunt of it. My grandmother has had a variety of professions over the years, never exactly having what one would consider a real job. For a long time she bred dogs and had a kennel on her property. My mom used to hate getting on the school bus because the kids would all call her "dog face." I think my grandmother did very little as far as caring for the dogs. Her kids did most of it... feeding, cleaning out the cages etc.

So the day my mother turned 18, she ran away from home with her boyfriend, I think Idaho or Montana, I can't remember which. She was 6 months shy from graduating from high school. My grandmother says that my mother decided to be a hippie. She claimed to have caught her and her boyfriend smoking marijuana. I asked my mom about this and she says that it wasn't true. She either forgot about this incident or it wasn't true because my mom never lied when I asked her about something directly that I know of. She never tried to cover up the truth if I found it out.

[to be continued...] @};-