My memories were wonderful of our little house, I had friends on the block and loved to play in the backyard. The church was next door and I could go see my mom at any time. I loved "helping" her in the office. One time I was in her office and her window was open. I was a very curious little girl, so I went out the window. It seemed harmless so I went for a walk when her back was turned. But she was on the second floor of the church the ledge of the church was four feet wide and ran the length of the church building. My mom knew that if she called me I would run the other way, and right off the roof to my death or at least severe injury. Fortunately she had a Hershey's chocolate bar in her desk, my favorite. Instead of calling me she got the chocolate out, and started talking about how good it would taste, but how she wished she had someone to share it with. Now she had my attention! I slowly walked back to the window and climbed back into the office. She was more than willing to share the chocolate with me now that I was safe and sound inside her office.
As I said before my mother loved nice things. Since our rental house was barely 900 sq ft she had a difficult time living in such a small space. Granny would point out the water damage, and the problems with the living space on a regular basis. Together they came up with a plan to buy a house. So after less than two years in our little home we were on the move again.
The new house was bigger, and backed-up to an alley. We had a big backyard that split into two. The coolest part was we each had our own room! We had a washer/dryer inside the house which meant I would learn to do the laundry. It was a big house and we were very excited, it was a new adventure. Since I wasn't in school yet, my mom registered me in a pre-school that was across the street from the church. My brother who was "way" older at the age of 8 was a latch key kid. The alley behind the house led to our school so it was nice and close. My mom made friends with the crossing guard and she kept an extra key to the house in case he lost his.
I started kindergarten at the school the following year, and my mom hired one of the teens to watch us for awhile. I don't know if the teen couldn't do it for long, or my mom couldn't afford to pay her, but it wasn't long before my brother and I were on our own. My mom was very strict and we had chores that we had to complete before she got home as well as our homework. My brother took care of the trash, the outside and his bedroom. I did the laundry, dusting and vacuuming as well as basic cooking. Yes your math is right I was only six and my brother was nine, but we were able to manage the household well together, but we did get into trouble.
When the crossing guard went home for the day, I felt it was my duty to take over for her. Now mind you I didn't have a bright colored vest or a big stop sign, but I did have a loud mouth and a fear of nothing! I would stand in the middle of the busy street and hold up my hand and scream stop at the top of my voice, and the cars would oblige. I had a Sunday School teacher who was one of the older teens and I remember he stopped by one day and saw my new "job" in action. He immediately pulled over and asked me to go inside and stop what I was doing because it wasn't safe. Being the respectful young lady I was I told him that he was not my boss and I didn't have to listen to him! After several attempts to get me to stop, he left and went directly to the church and let my mother know what I was doing. When I saw her car come home early from work, I ran inside but that didn't stop her from tanning my hide! My brother, being a boy, played with matches. He was not as good at lying as I was and didn't clean up the evidence, I remember crying each time the belt hit him.
Fortunately for all of us my brother and I didn't kill ourselves or each other while my mother was at work. The only major event happened on a weekend when she was home during the summer. My brother and I were playing in our pool, it was a blow-up pool in our backyard. I decided that it needed more water, and my brother disagreed. Figuring he was following me to stop me from turning the water back on I ran to the spicket. The sidewalk was lined with brick and as I was running I slipped in the water and hit my head on the corner of brick. My brother said that he could see all the way to my brain, and was running in circles around me screaming "she's gonna die!" But I didn't die that day. After my mom calmed my brother down and called my Granny she took me to the doctor for my first stitches 18 in all. The worse part was not the stitches. While they were examining me they found a pearl in my ear. Apparently as a baby I had stuck a pearl in my ear and because it was foreign my body attacked it and it was deeply imbedded in my ear. They used a vacuum thing to pull it out, and my brother had to step outside the doctor's office and could still hear my screaming. I still remember that pain, and will never put another thing in my ear for as long as I live!
My mother continued to work with the teens at our church. We had bible study at our house every week, and there was always a teenager over the house for dinner. They also loved to play tricks on us. They tee-peed our house on a regular basis. They would find a for sale sign, and put our house up for sale. My all time favorite was when we woke up one Saturday to an "out-house" on our front lawn. They had found a refrigerator box and cut a door in it with a little moon cutout. Inside the box was a small hibachi (bbq grill) and a doll sitting on it with her pants pulled down and a surprised look on her face. Since baseball games happened at the school next door traffic was high on Saturday's. We sat at the window and watched people's reactions as they would sneak up to the box open it up and walk away laughing!
There were many good memories in this house, but it was not a safe place to live. We were robbed, probably by neighborhood kids, on a regular basis. They would steal everything small including my brother's BB guns and my piggy bank. We knew when we came home and the dog was in the house that we had been robbed again. The police would come and take a report, but they never found them or our stuff. It's weird that I was never scared, it was just something I expected to happen, and I was amazed when it didn't happen to everyone.
By this time in our lives our uncles had moved away, and Sunday dinners were reduced to eating out with Granny paying. Granny loved Knott's Berry Farm Chicken Dinner restaurant, and so every week we would go there and eat really good food. Then we would walk the park, which consisted of stores, candlemakers, a couple of gun shows and a really big train. It was free back then so it was a nice Sunday afternoon, but I missed the big family.
Bills of course began to pile up again, and being a church secretary was not a high paying job. My mom got behind on the house payment and Granny couldn't help her out. I was in the middle of second grade and it was time to sell the house, or maybe it was foreclosed on, I'm not sure. What I did know was that we had to move again, and I was sad to leave, but excited for our next new adventure...
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Our Second House
Since I was young I have few memories of those early days. I only know the stories that have been told to me from a variety of people. Like I said my parents battle turned into a full fledge war and it was all about money. My mother did not want to be divorced, so she dragged her feet. She also loved my father very much and was willing to forgive him for his variety of infidelities if he only asked for forgiveness. She had even found another woman that he had married while they were separated, but was still willing to forgive him after he had the marriage annulled. Over time she realized that the situation was hopeless and she divorced him, but she never remarried or even dated another man.
My mom had never held a real job and only wanted to be a stay at home mom. She felt that my dad should pay for everything, and she should have full custody. In retaliation my father paid for nothing. Dead-beat dads were not hunted down like they are today, and little happened to my father when he refused to pay for anything. My mother being stubborn did not try to find a way to pay for things herself, instead she just kept trying to get him to pay. My mother had been raised in a home where they were comfortable. She was used to having nice things, and expected them. This became a problem when there was no income coming into the home to pay for the nice things.
So the bill collectors came, first they came to take our furniture. My parents had also installed carpet over their wood floors to help keep the house warm for their children. Unfortunately no one paid for the carpet and so the bill collectors came into our home and shredded the carpet. My mom spent the evening picking up nails so my brother and I wouldn't cut ourselves and make things worse. Finally was the house. I laugh to think that their house payment was $125 a month and no one could pay it, because they thought the other person should.
Our church came to the rescue. They gave my mom a job as the church secretary and allowed us to rent a house on their property for one-fourth of her salary. The pastor who carried me home from the adoption agency, became my mom's boss and allowed my mom to watch over her kids and earn a living at the same time. The bill collectors did not stop and money was always tight. My dad did not contribute, and so food was something that was not plentiful. My mother learned a new way of life by being poor for the first time, and had to live without, but budgeting was not her strong point and it was a difficult journey for all of us.
I was three years old when my parents divorced. My memories begin with me sitting on the front lawn of our family home on the day of the move. I don't remember the inside of the house, but remember the church youth, moving our stuff, and our new home on the church property. My father became part of my past, I had no memory of him. This is how I protected myself, I simply forgot. My mind protected me from all the hurt and I began a new life in the tiny little house. My father disappeared from our lives or so I thought. My parents kept in contact on a weekly basis, but I never saw or talk to my dad. I knew he had a new wife, his third, although I thought there were many more by the way people talked about him.
So we began a life as three, my mom, my brother and me. Although there was one more person who was always around, and that was my maternal grandmother, I called her Granny. I was the youngest of her five grandchildren, and the only girl. She had three step-granddaughters, that she loved, but I was special to her and I knew it from a very young age.
Even though we were very poor, our family was very close, and I only have happy memories from those first few years on our own. Every Sunday we would go to my Granny's house for Sunday dinner. My mom's brother, and half-brother and their families would all come. The oldest of my male cousins, was my favorite. He would carry me around on his shoulders, and I felt 10 feet tall. Those were happy memories. In reality we could barely afford to eat during the week, and our clothes were raggedy. My mom was proud, and welfare was a sin in her mind, so we made do with what we had and we learned to live on very little. But I loved my family, I wanted to be just like my big brother, and our weekly gatherings were full of love and family.......if only it would last......but nothing does.....
My mom had never held a real job and only wanted to be a stay at home mom. She felt that my dad should pay for everything, and she should have full custody. In retaliation my father paid for nothing. Dead-beat dads were not hunted down like they are today, and little happened to my father when he refused to pay for anything. My mother being stubborn did not try to find a way to pay for things herself, instead she just kept trying to get him to pay. My mother had been raised in a home where they were comfortable. She was used to having nice things, and expected them. This became a problem when there was no income coming into the home to pay for the nice things.
So the bill collectors came, first they came to take our furniture. My parents had also installed carpet over their wood floors to help keep the house warm for their children. Unfortunately no one paid for the carpet and so the bill collectors came into our home and shredded the carpet. My mom spent the evening picking up nails so my brother and I wouldn't cut ourselves and make things worse. Finally was the house. I laugh to think that their house payment was $125 a month and no one could pay it, because they thought the other person should.
Our church came to the rescue. They gave my mom a job as the church secretary and allowed us to rent a house on their property for one-fourth of her salary. The pastor who carried me home from the adoption agency, became my mom's boss and allowed my mom to watch over her kids and earn a living at the same time. The bill collectors did not stop and money was always tight. My dad did not contribute, and so food was something that was not plentiful. My mother learned a new way of life by being poor for the first time, and had to live without, but budgeting was not her strong point and it was a difficult journey for all of us.
I was three years old when my parents divorced. My memories begin with me sitting on the front lawn of our family home on the day of the move. I don't remember the inside of the house, but remember the church youth, moving our stuff, and our new home on the church property. My father became part of my past, I had no memory of him. This is how I protected myself, I simply forgot. My mind protected me from all the hurt and I began a new life in the tiny little house. My father disappeared from our lives or so I thought. My parents kept in contact on a weekly basis, but I never saw or talk to my dad. I knew he had a new wife, his third, although I thought there were many more by the way people talked about him.
So we began a life as three, my mom, my brother and me. Although there was one more person who was always around, and that was my maternal grandmother, I called her Granny. I was the youngest of her five grandchildren, and the only girl. She had three step-granddaughters, that she loved, but I was special to her and I knew it from a very young age.
Even though we were very poor, our family was very close, and I only have happy memories from those first few years on our own. Every Sunday we would go to my Granny's house for Sunday dinner. My mom's brother, and half-brother and their families would all come. The oldest of my male cousins, was my favorite. He would carry me around on his shoulders, and I felt 10 feet tall. Those were happy memories. In reality we could barely afford to eat during the week, and our clothes were raggedy. My mom was proud, and welfare was a sin in her mind, so we made do with what we had and we learned to live on very little. But I loved my family, I wanted to be just like my big brother, and our weekly gatherings were full of love and family.......if only it would last......but nothing does.....
Torn Apart
Our perfect little family had a lot of problems. When my father found out he was sterile he felt this was his ticket to freedom. Working with teens at the church he spent a lot of time talking and "counseling" young girls. He spent many hours with them and although there was never any proof of wrong doing it was highly inappropriate. He also began to have several affairs with a variety of women.
Now I don't want to give the wrong idea that my father was the only problem. As with most couples it takes two to make a dysfunctional relationship. My parents were both fighters. My aunts would tell me that they both wore long sleeves a lot because they both had scratches and bruises on their arms and legs from the fights they would get into. I remember that my mom had a lump on her head that she got from being thrown into the fireplace. Their relationship from the beginning was volatile, they were constantly fighting and physically fighting.
When my mom found a hotel key in my dad's pocket that was the final straw. They had a big fight and my dad left the house. The biggest problem....my adoption was not final. They had their final court appearance in just three days, and my mother feared that he would not show, and I would be returned to the adoption agency. She woke up the morning of the court hearing, and ironed everyone's clothes in preparation for the hearing. She pressed his pants and prayed that he would come home in time for the hearing.
My father came through the door in plenty of time for the hearing. He kissed my mom and acted like nothing had happened. Of course at the sound of his voice I went crazy until he came to pick me up and hold me. I truly loved my daddy. Our little family made our way to the court house to finalize my adoption. We met my social worker on the steps to the courthouse. She gave a resounding recommendation that I be placed with the loving family. After the proceedings we took a picture of our family that was now complete along with my social worker.
The celebration was one of joy. My maternal grandmother, and paternal grandparents were both there to celebrate the permanent addition to the family which was now complete. It was a wonderful day in 1966 and the last day our family was whole.
The next morning my mother asked my father to leave. He accused her of keeping him around just to get me, and she agreed. The day after my adoption was final my family broke apart. The turmoil that occurred within our home, became an event for the world to see. For the next two years the household battle became a full-fledged war and the biggest casualties were my brother and I. The two focused on their issues with each other and had no concern of what their actions would do to their children that they worked so hard to adopt and care for.
Now I don't want to give the wrong idea that my father was the only problem. As with most couples it takes two to make a dysfunctional relationship. My parents were both fighters. My aunts would tell me that they both wore long sleeves a lot because they both had scratches and bruises on their arms and legs from the fights they would get into. I remember that my mom had a lump on her head that she got from being thrown into the fireplace. Their relationship from the beginning was volatile, they were constantly fighting and physically fighting.
When my mom found a hotel key in my dad's pocket that was the final straw. They had a big fight and my dad left the house. The biggest problem....my adoption was not final. They had their final court appearance in just three days, and my mother feared that he would not show, and I would be returned to the adoption agency. She woke up the morning of the court hearing, and ironed everyone's clothes in preparation for the hearing. She pressed his pants and prayed that he would come home in time for the hearing.
My father came through the door in plenty of time for the hearing. He kissed my mom and acted like nothing had happened. Of course at the sound of his voice I went crazy until he came to pick me up and hold me. I truly loved my daddy. Our little family made our way to the court house to finalize my adoption. We met my social worker on the steps to the courthouse. She gave a resounding recommendation that I be placed with the loving family. After the proceedings we took a picture of our family that was now complete along with my social worker.
The celebration was one of joy. My maternal grandmother, and paternal grandparents were both there to celebrate the permanent addition to the family which was now complete. It was a wonderful day in 1966 and the last day our family was whole.
The next morning my mother asked my father to leave. He accused her of keeping him around just to get me, and she agreed. The day after my adoption was final my family broke apart. The turmoil that occurred within our home, became an event for the world to see. For the next two years the household battle became a full-fledged war and the biggest casualties were my brother and I. The two focused on their issues with each other and had no concern of what their actions would do to their children that they worked so hard to adopt and care for.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
The Adoption-Beginning
So many times I have told a variety of stories about my life and people have told me to write a book. As someone who spends every moment doing something, and the difficulty of managing my ADHD enough to finish a project a book sounds overwhelming to me. So I have chosen to write a blog. Each day I will share a story. Except for my name, all other names are changed, so that hopefully no gets too upset with me. I will also try to refrain from telling other people's stories and remain true to my own.
Saying this I must start with the story of my parents. Since they have both passed and cannot share their story, I feel that this will give a good background to my story.
My parents met in Jr. High. I don't know many people who met in Jr. High and stayed married for their entire lives and my parents were no exception to this rule. My father's parents were both alcoholics and he was a sickly child who didn't get much attention. My mother's parents were raised on farms with a strong work ethic. My maternal grandfather worked as an engineer and was gone a lot, he died of a heart attack at the young age of 56. My maternal grandmother was a secretary, and a strong woman who was in charge of the home. As you can tell I know more about my mom's side of the family than my dad's.
My parents decided to get married quickly while my father was on leave. The wedding was thrown together quickly and they soon went off to Germany. My mother didn't last long overseas, due to homesickness. After my father was discharged they planned to have a family, but soon found out that my father was sterile because of having mumps as a child. They chose to adopt and applied at a Christian adoption agency wanted both a boy and a girl.
My brother was adopted first at three months and the rest of that story belongs to him. When he was two my parents let the agency know they wanted a girl. That little girl was born on New Year's day while they were in Pasadena on the parade route with 40 junior highers from their church. It was just three weeks later that they received a phone call that they could pick up their baby girl. They belonged to a church, and the pastor went to the agency, and held the baby in the backseat of the car on the way home. I was told many times over the years that I peed on the unsuspecting pastor. He became a very important man in my life.
Back in those days it took a full year for an adoption to become final. The adoption agency could drop by anytime to check on the family and make sure the baby was thriving. I was told that I had a close relationship with my father, and that every time he came home, I would jump up and down and shake my crib or playpen until he would pick me up. I was daddy's little girl. So that my brother would not be jealous he was told that I was his baby and he became very protective of me.
We seemed like the perfect little family, and we had everything that my mother had ever dreamed of.....
Saying this I must start with the story of my parents. Since they have both passed and cannot share their story, I feel that this will give a good background to my story.
My parents met in Jr. High. I don't know many people who met in Jr. High and stayed married for their entire lives and my parents were no exception to this rule. My father's parents were both alcoholics and he was a sickly child who didn't get much attention. My mother's parents were raised on farms with a strong work ethic. My maternal grandfather worked as an engineer and was gone a lot, he died of a heart attack at the young age of 56. My maternal grandmother was a secretary, and a strong woman who was in charge of the home. As you can tell I know more about my mom's side of the family than my dad's.
My parents decided to get married quickly while my father was on leave. The wedding was thrown together quickly and they soon went off to Germany. My mother didn't last long overseas, due to homesickness. After my father was discharged they planned to have a family, but soon found out that my father was sterile because of having mumps as a child. They chose to adopt and applied at a Christian adoption agency wanted both a boy and a girl.
My brother was adopted first at three months and the rest of that story belongs to him. When he was two my parents let the agency know they wanted a girl. That little girl was born on New Year's day while they were in Pasadena on the parade route with 40 junior highers from their church. It was just three weeks later that they received a phone call that they could pick up their baby girl. They belonged to a church, and the pastor went to the agency, and held the baby in the backseat of the car on the way home. I was told many times over the years that I peed on the unsuspecting pastor. He became a very important man in my life.
Back in those days it took a full year for an adoption to become final. The adoption agency could drop by anytime to check on the family and make sure the baby was thriving. I was told that I had a close relationship with my father, and that every time he came home, I would jump up and down and shake my crib or playpen until he would pick me up. I was daddy's little girl. So that my brother would not be jealous he was told that I was his baby and he became very protective of me.
We seemed like the perfect little family, and we had everything that my mother had ever dreamed of.....
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