The Bloggings of a Tigress: What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen.

I was born August 28, 1968. My mother got pregnant (or "preggers" as my father had hoped that she wasn't in one of his letters that my Grammy found and gave to me) at the age of 13 with me, and had me when she was 14. That was a fact that was never kept from me. From as long as I can remember, I've always known how old my mom was when she had me. Little did I know what that really meant. The ramifications of the situation was beyond my understanding, until I got older.

As I got older, the knowledge of my mom's age weighed on me as I grew into my teenage years. Even in the late 60's it was still not a good thing for a young girl that age to have a baby, let alone out of wedlock. That I was a 'bastard' child never bothered me. What bothered me was that I didn't want to follow in my mom's footsteps. It was when I was around 12-13 years old that I vowed that I was not going to have sex until I was 18. To me sex was not something to take lightly, that it came with serious consequences and that it could wait until I was an adult. Not that I wouldn't have liked to 'save myself' for the guy that I was going to eventually marry, I guess I just always knew that if I did that I'd have ended up an old spinster waiting for that to happen. So, instead I just told myself that I could wait until I was 18. At 18 I'd be legally considered an adult and that that was an adult decision. Plain and simple. Let me tall ya, it wasn't too hard to wait. By the time I was a teenager, all the guys I went to junior high and high school with were all afraid of me. I don't know why... I guess it could have been that time in the 6th grade when I punched my friends brother in the face, breaking his nose, when he was making fun of my 'boobies' bouncing as I was playing Chinese jump rope before school. I think I was in class for all of five minutes that morning before I was called into the principals office. I was sent home from school that day. My mom just laughed and said, "That's my girl!" when she asked why I was sent home.

I don't remember too much of my mom growing up. She was still in high school (and having another baby during that time, but that is another story for another time). I have memories of her that are bits and pieces, here and there. I do remember going to one of her classes with her when she was at Pacific High, her graphics class. (That graphics class was still in the same room and taught by the same teacher by the time that I ended up at Pacific!) She even took me to one of her high school dances. And yes, I can even say that I went to my mom's high school graduation. Between going to the school with my mom and then for my uncle John's football games and graduation, I knew that high school like the back of my hand by the time I ended up there. A lot of the freshmen would have a hard time finding their classes. Part of the main building at pacific was a round building, 2 stories. Kids would walk around that hall quite a few times before finally realizing they'd been passing their room a few times.

Being raised by my Grammy was not an easy task for her. I never knew my grandfather, he died when my mom was 6. So here was my Grammy, a widow with 3 children (her first son was already out of the house and in the Navy I think), my uncle Sandy, my mom, and my uncle John. It was my uncle John that was a handful for my Grammy. Especially when my uncle Sandy ended up in the Army and headed to Viet Nam right after boot camp, so he was not around to keep him in line.

I was pretty much a little wild child. I did what ever I pleased and I was always outside roaming the neighborhood. I was known all around the neighborhood so there were always eyes keeping a watch over me. One memory that stands out is one where my Grammy and I were sitting on the front porch, it was a hot day so I was basically naked with only my little undies on. She had just given me some pennies and she went inside to take a nap. Well, I followed her in the house and ended up locking her in the room. There had been one of those latch locks on the door and I had somehow managed to reach it and lock it. Now my Grammy and I always walked into town almost on a daily basis, so I knew the way like the back of my hand. Being all of maybe 3, 3 1/2 at the most because I remember my uncle Sandy was still here. Having those pennies I felt like I had all the money in the world. And seeing as it was hot day, an ice cream sounded good. So I took off downtown to get me some ice cream. I was noticed walking down our block and was asked where I was going. It was not too far off from when my mom would have gotten out of school, I had said that I was going to meet my mom. I can still remember that day as if it was yesterday. I walked up town to the ice cream parlor on the corner of E. 14th and Juana. I was turned away though because I just didn't have enough money. I remember asking a few people out on the side walk if they could give me some money so I could get an ice cream. Well, there was a Goodyear across the street from the ice cream parlor, they guys that worked there had seen me and seen that I was not with anyone. They brought me over to the shop and I sat and watched cartoons on the TV that they had there. I'm not sure who they notified, I don't remember any policemen coming to talk to me. I do remember both my uncles coming to get me. I also remember the spanking that I got from my mom once I got home too!
That was one of the few times I remember my mom being at home. Mostly I just remember my uncle John & my Grammy after uncle Sandy took off for the Army. I guess after my mom graduated she met some guy and moved in with him. She had asked a friend to come and pick up her stuff but my Grammy had told her to tell my mom that if she wanted her stuff she could come and get it herself and get her daughter too. It was from then that my memories of my mother really started. I think I was 4 by that time. But there are a lot of memories that I chose to forget and still can not remember to this day. I blocked a lot of those memories out, they were not all good memoeries during that time. The guy that my mom was living with, eventually marrying, up until I was about 7 years old, was not a very nice guy. I later found out when I was about 13 that he really didn't want children and had wanted to move to Nevada or something, but wanted my mom to leave me with my Grammy. My mom doesn't know that I know this, I read something that I shouldn't have of hers.

I suffered from a lot of abuse from this man. He loved to spank me, it was always bare assed and with a belt. I was forever getting into trouble for things that kids typically get in trouble for. For a time, it was just the spankings. Then one night it was a spanking along with mental abuse that I didn't realize it was until I was in my 20's. I had did something again that I probably shouldn't of and he was punishing me for it. He made me lay across his lap, ass bared, belt in hand. Only when he stopped, he said "Go sit in the corner. We are going to do that again until you stop crying." I didn't cry the second time. I don't remember any more spankings after that. I might have just blocked them out.

It was from that point on I learned how to turn my emotions off. I wasn't the child that I used to be either. I still got into trouble, but I had noticed that the spankings stopped and I was just told to sit in the corner, by the time I was 5-6 years of age. Iit got to where he would send me to my room and I was to stay there until he said I could come out. I remember going to school, coming home and going straight ot my room for days on end. A lot of the times I didn't know when I was allowed out, I was too afraid to ask him by this time.

My mom worked nights a lot when we lived with him so I was with just him a lot of the time. He'd have his friends over and he used to get high with his buddies and drink beer. I used to see him get his stash box and start to roll a joint, and he would always tell me to watch TV. (still I have that stash box, I keep my Runes in it.) And every time I see a Coors it reminds me of those days. By the time that we left the one apartment we lived in he had made a chain from the pull tabs (yeah, remember when cans had the pull tabs on them!) that went all the way around my uncles flag that we had hanging up on the wall. (My uncle had come back from Viet Nam by then, but died shortly after being home. He drowned out in the San Leander marina. I have the newspaper articles from it that I found on microfilm at the library.) And out on the balcony the closet out there was filled from top to bottom with empty Coors cans.

I was left alone a lot by the time I was 6-7 years old. I remember my mom calling me from work and teaching me over the phone how to cook a hamburger. I had to grow up a little too fast then. I learned how to fend for myself. But I was taught how to shut off my emotions, to cry was a weakness. He plainly taught me that lesson. I never learned to fully trust any may after that. I always kept a lot of my feelings from men, yet as I got older I also made damned sure that there was no way I was going to let a man tell me what I can or can not do. I had very strong opinions. I still do!

When I was 27-28, I did finally re-visit that part of my life that I had so conveniently shoved away to the farthest recess of my mind. I figured that if I forgot about it I wouldn't have to deal with it. Well, I had just gotten out of the relationship with the clingy boyfriend and I knew that I was just as much to blame as he was for the relationship not working. Towards the end of our relationship we were getting into a lot of heated fights. He would want to talk thing out and I didn't. I just wanted to be left alone, one thing he never did learn to do. At times I would get violent with him, he never hit me but I sure did lay my hands on him. It's a good thing the cops were never called! I know I would have been in anger management classes in a flash, and jail wouldn't have been fun at all.

It was after that relationship that I learned a lot about myself and the abuse that my step-father had done to me, and that I was still letting him have control over me. It was hard to face all those ghosts again. But I did it, and it felt like a big weight was lifted off of me. I've learned to open up quite a bit, but there is still a part of me that hides a lot of who I really am to people. I know I have a trust issue. I have to feel like I can trust people, men especially. Anything that comes out of a mans mouth I believe to all be bullshit. It takes a lot for me to actually believe what guys tell me. I've learned how to read all the bullshit and weed out what is the truth. But my first instinct is always first and foremost to doubt them and not believe them. Which is a good thing, to a certain degree.

It wasn't until my most recent boyfriend that I took a chance that I felt like I could believe him and trust him. I lowered a lot of walls when I was with him. I do believe he was genuine with his feelings for me. Even after all that I have been through in life, I am a hopeless romantic. But I don't live my life through all those hopeless romantic notions. I do believe that there is 'the one', your one true soul mate. I believe that I had found my soul mate, he just wasn't ready for me.

So, life continues to go on. I've got my ghosts, been stamped, inked, and imprinted with many things that will always be eternally seen. I just hope I can find another who will take the time to see the real me that is hiding amongst all of the eternal rubble. My shell is my armor, but it is not a shell that isn't impenetrable.