My youngest daughter is weird. She has always been weird & will always be weird. She’s never been the “norm,” & she’s never wanted to be anyone but herself. When she was middle school age she wanted to fit in somewhere, but she didn't want to change to belong. I envy her.
I've had major upheavals in my life. As a child, I was tossed from family to family. I’d like to say that it all started when my mom was run down by a drunk driver when I was 7, but that’d be a lie. My natural mother left me with people all the time. Some of them she knew well, & some she only knew through “partying.” See, my mother was an alcoholic & drug addict. I know she smoked pot a lot because she’d call it her “funny” cigarettes, & I knew she drank regularly. There was always beer, wine, & hard alcohol in our many places of residence. I didn't find out about the amphetamine (speed, cocaine, cross-tops, pink hearts, etc.) use until I was a teen & she had been dead for almost a decade. However, drug use would explain her spastic behavior. I’m not dishonoring my mother. She was human. She lacked coping skills, & she self-medicated. This erratic behavior was the cause of her fatality.
I do believe that my mother’s behavior was inherited. Her paternal grandmother was for all intents & purposes bipolar (or even undiagnosed ADHD). Although, I wouldn't say the abusive behavior was inherited, the sporadic highs & lows & distractibility were definitely there. Her IQ, like that of some of her siblings, was high. She would have been called a “genius” if anyone had taken the time to test her. She was creative & imaginative. She didn’t fit the female roles of her day. Her older sibling is also highly intelligent, but unlike my mother, my aunt had a brain for numbers & scholarly learning. Like almost all families, the second child was the exact opposite as the first.
My mom was the black sheep, which is ironic. Out of a family of six siblings (all girls), five of them had dark, straight hair with dark eyes. My mother was white from head to toe. She had white hair that turned golden blond then a dark blond by the time she died. My mother even looked like she didn't belong. It must have been hard for her to be such a free spirit in a family that strived for academic success. While her other siblings excelled in school, my mother struggled. One of her teachers even told my maternal grandmother that my mother was smart enough to get things done, but she was so intelligent that she was bored. If a subject didn’t interest her then she didn’t see the point in making an effort (I must have got that from her because I still feel that way).
My mother was an advocate. When someone told her that black people were lesser forms of life, my mother purposefully sought out black folks to be friends with. Any time my mother was told “no,” or was restricted from anything she’d do it just to prove that “yes” she could. For an example, someone told my mother that she shouldn’t let me hang out with black children, my mom packed me up that next Sunday & took me to an all black church. Man, I loved watching her cut into the KKK when we lived in Oklahoma. She was a spitfire. She also protested one of the major highways in California. I remember being so incredibly bored, but my mom made everything fun. We used that time to practice for my fashion shows. Yes, I was a toddler in a tiara before there were pseudo-reality shows. I was a pretty cute kid when I was all cleaned up & talented, too. My mother was passionate. She didn't do anything with a humdrum attitude. She went barreling like the bulls in Pamplona. She NEVER tolerated bullying, even though one sister claims she was a bully. I think that was because she didn't want to “behave,” though. She also has one sister that claims that she was the best of all the rest of their siblings, so I guess it’s a matter of perspective.
Then, there was me. I was tossed around like a hot potato. No one wanted me or they couldn’t handle me for very long. I was a messed up kid. I had been molested by people that were supposed to be my family, & eventually I was raped before the age of ten. I didn't fit in at school because I couldn't make connections. I was weird, & I cried all the time. I wasn't needed anywhere, nor was I wanted. Hell, I didn't even want to be around me. I was ridiculed by my classmates throughout elementary (K-5) & punished by my teachers. There were three teachers during that time of my life that kept me from killing myself in my young teen years. Their words & encouragement kept me alive. I want to thank Mr. Stan Riedesel, 2nd grade, Columbia Valley Gardens (CVG), Mrs. Botten, 3rd grade CVG, & Mr. Minium, 4th grade Northlake Elementary School.
My experience at Cascade Middle School was unbearable. I was kicked, pinched, shoved down the stairs, called names, & berated by my peers. I was sexually assaulted in one of my classes every time a film was played. I tried to tell Mrs. Hooker, but she told me that I was making too much out of “harmless” fun. It was a horrible school full of horrible people. I don’t mind naming names, by the by.
I fared relatively well in California for my last year in middle school & my freshman year in high school. When I first attended Paulding Middle School in Arroyo Grande, CA, I was hanging out with the popular crowd. All the girls were jealous of my affiliation with a rowdy motorcycle club, & they all wanted a ride on my stepdad’s bad ass Harley. However, in a manner that’d make my natural mother shit her pants with pride if she wasn't already sliding down the hill she’s buried in, I made enemies quickly. I got on the school bus one morning & was heading to a seat with “my crowd” when I was taken aback. One of my new “friends” called someone an elephant because she was big. I thought that it was mean. I told her to “shut the fuck up.” She told me that if I liked her so much that I could sit with her, then. So, I asked the girl if I could sit with her. She looked up at me with the biggest & bluest eyes I’d ever seen looking back at me (see, my eyes were blue like that before they turned green). Hence, my popularity transformed to infamy.
I've never been able to handle bullying. When my dad would beat our cocker spaniel, I’d cringe. When a classmate was beating his horse, I called the police. When I saw my aunt lay hands on her two-year old, I reported it to Children’s Services. I can’t handle people being mean to someone or something that can’t defend themselves. I've been beat up for defending people that I felt needed the support. I've kicked a few asses, too, if I do say so myself. I've lost friendships because I can’t handle the way they treat their animals or children. I've created drama when there needn't be drama simply because I've acted on my gut & not my head. As an adult with a level head, I know that violence is NEVER the answer, but as a kid I was a rebel with a cause.
Needless to say, I was weird. I didn’t fit. No matter how much I wanted it or tried to conform I simply didn't fit. Folks thought I was broken. I was taken to shrink after shrink, & I was able to manipulate almost all of them into thinking that I didn't need their services. I now know that I desperately need a psychologist, & I am honest with her. When I first met her I told her that if she was easily manipulated then she couldn’t be my therapist. The ability to manipulate isn't necessarily one that I’m proud of, but it has its own functionality. I will tell folks to abstain from teaching children how to lie. I had a parent that claimed he could tell if I was lying simply by looking into my eyes. I got a whipping whether I told the truth or not. He ALWAYS said I was lying. So, I got good at looking people in the eye & lying my ass off. Please believe your children, even if they’ve a history of lying & story-telling. Believe them.
My youngest daughter has followed in my footsteps. She is very much like me, my mother, & her paternal grandmother before her. She is quirky & nerdy, & I love her. She has endured similar experiences with her classmates. She has been bullied, harassed, & tormented, & still she faces the world.
