MONSTER MOM VISITS SCHOOL & I AM EXPELLED

2-22-21   Continue Chapter 8    MONSTER MOM VISITS SCHOOL

The age of 10 was a PIVOTAL year, when the darkness of abuse had arrived.  I’d been under the impression  Dad would come live with us – this belief ended, don’t recall how, perhaps Mom gave him his final ultimatum I heard about,

“I don’t want you any more, I hate you, we will never be together again, & when you die, I WILL PISS ON YOUR GRAVE.”

That same year, she made the pact I told you about with the rest of family, that they had to hold me down, & all agreed – I heard them.  I was in the 5th grade.  {My sin was I refused to sin against Dad.}

It was that year evil Bro was graduating grammar school & Mom & Mempho were to come to a ‘parent-teachers’ get together.  I was eager if they would speak to my teacher, a female.  I loved most of my teachers & they loved me.  I was always one of the brightest pupils, dependable, obedient, in fact, my second grade teacher made a telling remark,

“You kids, if you don’t know what to do, look at Rasa & DO WHATEVER SHE IS DOING.”

Ha ha, what was I doing?  Sitting with my hands folded on top of the desk, eagerly waiting on teacher for what to do.  My Dad told me this years later {he came to visit for the last time before his death, from Spain, to maybe say goodbye to Mom as she was dying.  She did not permit him to see her.  But he & I got a chance to talk & I found out a few things, like the abortions, when they lived together she had four – one was his, the other 3 not.  I knew of  3 afterward, that’s how I tallied 7.  BTW I wondered, how did she ever find the illegal abortionists?  There were no computers.  Did she look in the yellow pages under ‘kitchen table?’  She didn’t even speak or read good English then, it baffles me.}

And so, I asked Dad what was I like as a child, in his eyes, was I a bad person?  He said,

“No, you were the most obedient child.”

On that note I might just add in the last year of Mom’s death my bro heard her say {Mempho was there also}

“Rasa was the best one.”

And bro objected,

“Mom, you’ve got to be kidding,”

but she repeated,

“Rasa was the best one.”

But to get to my point, her visiting my school.  I usually adored my teachers & they me.  I was the designated monitor of every class after second grade {prior to that I was not yet fluent in English}.  I was also the designated blackboard decorator/designer, my job to make murals on top of the blackboard – in every class I attended.

So now my Mom comes to school for parent-teacher day.  Eagerly I approach to find out what happened.  She says the teachers praised Jimmy, that he was great.  But what about me, what did my teacher say about me?

“She said YOU ARE WEIRD,”

came from Mom.  I was devastated, wanted to cry.  Years later thinking about it she lied.  First, she never went to see my teacher.  Second, if she had, no teacher would say such a thing.  It’s not the kind of word they would use.  In those days ‘weird’ was a damaging description – like calling a man a homosexual, it evoked shudders. 

That was their word for me, I know, because Mr. Thorne came by the house.  I go to his car & he chats me up.  Then he says,

“They told me you are weird.  {Who could ‘they’ be?  Mom & her Jr partner, Mempho.}  Are you?”

I said no.  So he said, 

“OK, then come to work for me,”

And I did.  Woe was me when I was working & Mom was there.  Will never forget when she slapped me in front of the customers.  For what I can’t remember, but it was the slightest thing – at home, she preferred her fists.  To this day I am ‘strong at the broken places.’  Where she used me as a punching bag, when I started lifting weights, those spots, like my trapezius, got amazingly developed.

CLEAN ME WITH BRILLO

I was in mad love with Elvis, from the age of 10 to 12.  At 12 I smuggled a lipstick to school, put some on, & then wrote on the back of both my hands, ‘I love Elvis.’

Arriving home I got scared & tried to wash the lipstick off my lips & hands, but there were traces.  Sitting at the dinner table, I tried to keep my hands hidden which of course made them more obvious.  Mom gave me a fierce look, grabbed me by the hair to the sink, whipped out the box of brillo {steel wool pads} & proceeded to wipe my hands.  I tolerated this a few seconds, but her rage increased & she tried to scour my lips.  At this point I ran.

Usually when Mom hit me, I never ran.  I felt that if a parent hits you, it would be wrong in the eyes of God to prevent it or escape – as it said ‘Honor they Father & they Mother.’  Their word was law, the were the representatives of God.  The term abuse was not yet coined – believe it or not, I did not know I was being abused.  I did not know I had ‘human rights,’ that everyone did.  And as I look back I am disgusted that not one human being, family, teacher, anyone, ever interviewed me on what was going on at home.  

One teacher saw me with my eyes so swollen from crying I could barely open them.  She asked me about it & I told her I’d been crying all night, but she asked no further.

The guidance counsellor was no different.  My transgression became playing hooky – skipping school or classes.  Why?  I was mentally/emotionally EXHAUSTED, & I could not concentrate, I could not do my homework, I couldn’t think straight by the age of 15 – when we moved to Middletown.  I also started staying away from home, even all night.  Again, why?  Why do you think?  To stay away from THEM, to avoid the abuse.

When we were on the farm I WAS NEEDED FOR SLAVE LABOR.  They all worked, made money.  I had to first of all, be the BABY SITTER.  Then there was ironing, dish washing, house cleaning, feeding & watering what animals were left.

One time Medusa {Mom} said to me,

“I’m going to give you $40. a week allowance because you do all the work at home.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.  Then she presented the idea to evil brother & Mempho.  They screamed,

“NO, NO,  YOU MUSTN’T DO THAT!”

Of course she broached it to them so she would come off as the good guy, she got overruled.

Now when we got to Middletown, there was no farm, no animals.  The house was beautiful, a split level tract home with fancy furniture Mom splurged on with the farm money.  The house to me was like a little mansion, easy to keep clean.  I was still supposed to do the ironing & if I failed to iron my bro’s pants right, he gave me dirty looks.

Most important of all, my little half sister was 9 years old & could be left alone.  What does that add up to?  They DIDN’T NEED ME FOR SLAVE LABOR ANY MORE.  And so, what did they need me for?  To PICK ON.  They could now pull out all the stops in abusing me, insulting & ridiculing me including at dinner.  And if I walked away from the table, I was told I could not eat – so I didn’t.

They even would not allow my little sister to sit with me & speak to me.  When she tried, they’d call her.  This was the child who I taught to read, write & draw, & read the  bible to.  I helped her develop into a scholar who graduated school with an A plus average – she said she loved learning.  It was because I instilled it into her, doing ‘school’ an hour a day from the age she was 3-4 years old.  And now, she was not allowed to speak to me, & being a frightened child, she obeyed.  And that commandment stuck into adulthood – she has not spoken to me FOR FORTY ONE YEARS.

MOLDY SHOES VS SACRED OAK

We had an old barn at the farm house, it was filled with all the stuff the previous family had used & dumped, For one thing, about fifty pairs of moldy shoes.  {They also had boxes of books they copped from the library, many of which I read.}

One time someone from the family called the salvation army & asked them to pick up these shoes.  They came I shall never forget, with a huge truck you could put a whole household of stuff in!  But Medusa was there.  She did not permit them to take the shoes!

Now there was a tree on the corner of our road  {Eli Harmony Rd. a dirt road between the highway on one side & the main Freehold Rd. on the other – don’t recall the names} – this tree was large, like two feet in diameter, an Oak, & when the sun was hot bro & I stood under it waiting for the school bus.

One time the telephone company came to ask permission from Mom to cut the tree down.  She gave it INSTANTLY – I was heartbroken.  Moldy shoes vs a Sacred Oak – shoes stay, Oak goes.  This kind of begs channeling.

ME:   Mom, moldy shoes vs a great beautiful Oak Tree.  Where were your values?

MEDUSA:   I was mixed up.  Surviving WWII made me think old shoes were valuable, one could wear them in an emergency.  The Sacred Oak?  I never thought about it.  I just took it for granted.  You had a rapport with it from waiting for the school bus – I didn’t.  I was wrong, you were broken hearted.  Yes, I’m sorry for my sins.  That was so long ago, you still remember.  You live with so much pain when you recall what we did, it is a shame.  But it’s over, you will be paid for your life story & a movie made.  Think of us as contributors, haha.

ME:   Oh, so you have a sense of humor?  Wait ’till I tell all the other anecdotes, then you can really laugh, haha.

  TELL MR. WRIGHT HE’S WRONG

One time my girlfriend & I went on a yacht with a couple old fogies instead of going to school – they were her friends.  I got a qualm about our absence & exclaimed, re the chief guidance counsellor,

“Hey, Betty, what do we tell Mr. Wright?”

The fogey at the wheel cried out,

“Tell Mr. Wright he’s wrong!”

I already explained, I was overwhelmed with abuse at Middletown.  I couldn’t think straight, do my homework, & was psychologically exhausted from pain.  My solution was to try to relax, stay away from school when I could, do something else, have a good time if possible.  In fact, at age 15 I would go to bars, stay out all hours, then spend the night with this 16 yr old wealthy guy who lived in a bungalow – I’d have someone from the bars drop me off, bang on his door at 2AM until he answered.  I probably missed one day of school a week.

One of those days was dramatic.  My girl friend Betty & I decided to cut out.  I had worked secretly {Mom always got me fired when she found out.}  We called a taxi & I told Betty I had $40. in the bank, let’s get it & do something.  The taxi driver stopped & waited, then we took off.  Where we were going I don’t recall, but the driver was a nosey parker & heard our conversation & DROVE US TO THE POLICE STATION!

OMG  the embarrassment!  Police call our parents & they are of course called to school by ‘Mr. Wright’ & his accomplices.

Now my Mom goes in, dressed in her finery of green wool suit with real mink collar, high heels.  What does she tell the counsellor?  Same ole’ bullocks,

“I am a single mother struggling to take care of several children.  No man helps me.  I have done all I can.  We escaped Stalin & Hitler, now this.  This daughter of mine is incorrigible.  Not only does she play hooky but she STAYS OUT ALL NIGHT WITH MEN.  I am worn out trying to corral her & get her to live a moral, virtuous life.”

These words are approximate & her English was not that great, but she made herself out to be the victim/martyr of this delinquent child,  poor, poor innocent mother all alone fighting to pay bills.  She probably added that her husband had deserted her.  Had she told the truth she would have said,  oh, since Mom has gained a sense of humor, let me ask her, 

ME:   Mom, if you had told the truth what would you have said to the counsellor?  And you cannot lie where you are now so say it straight.

MEDUSA:   Wow.  I would have to say I was a wayward wife who got my virtuous husband pretending to kill myself.  Then I got tired of him & had affairs with many men, aborting most of the children we begot, except for the last man, when I deserted my husband for good & gave birth to his child.  I had a total of seven abortions.

This daughter I hate & want to kill her.  I am demoralizing her all I can & getting the rest of the family to help.  I hate her because she loves her Dad, so I take out all my frustrations on her.  The rest of the kids are permitted also to use her as a scapegoat.  We project everything bad unto her, then we throw her under the bus.

I also hate this girl because she’s pretty & has sex appeal & men prefer her.  I am obsessed with what she is doing & I with my new boyfriend am stalking her, tracking down where she stays at night, & having an older man call her with obscene phone calls, saying he saw a porn video of her.

ME:   Thanks Mom, couldn’t have said it better myself.  {end channeling}

Now this guidance counsellor calls me into his office & begins to berate me.  He talks about HIMSELF a lot, how he messed up in school for a while, but turned around into a hero & finished school, & look at me & then the most important burning question in his mind is, which he asks over & over again as if I had murdered someone,

“WHO ARE YOU HAVING SEX WITH?!”

The truth is, no one in school.  In fact, I am not having sex with anyone, we only make out.  My girl friend & I {her idea, not Betty, another friend} would call up the barracks of Fort Dix & Fort Monmouth & get blind dates.  They’d take us to dinner & make out.  Then there was that wealthy boy I spoke of, I can’t recall his name.  They had a house in Rumson, N.J., right on the beach, & the Dad got him a job at age 16 as a real estate researcher, & he got his own little house I visited.  Other than that, old men in bars tried to screw me but failed, that was it.

But the counsellor asks again, & again, & again, like his life depended on it.  I think of a friend in school, his name is Hunter Grant, a tall lovely gent – we are just friends.  So I say him & the teacher recoils like so,

“That’s a lie!  He would never have sex with you!  Now tell me who!”

At this point I began to cry & the brave man is bewildered.  Not a word, just I can leave.  Never asked me one single question about my life, my motives, reasons, nothing, just who did I have sex with.

And that was Mom’s obsession also – who was I having sex with.  I just wanted to get out of the house, they were torturing me.

She had a new boyfriend that she got through work.  There was an older man who delivered the milk supplies to the school {she had begun her career as a chef for the Salvation Army, then Stouffers, then High Schools, & last but not least,  Chef at the Reader’s Digest plant in Pleasantville, New York.}  At the High School she got a kickback from the milk man, he had to bring us ample supplies of all that he sold & fill our fridge regularly.  I remember him, sort of fat, I knew his voice.  Mom would make him an elaborate breakfast after he brought the goodies – the lumberjack breakfast, which means bacon, eggs, pancakes & toast with trimmings.

 

This man had a nephew & this guy became her new boy friend.  Bill was a wonderful man.  He once took me bowling, taught me how to strike & I hit six strikes in a row.  He also bought me the most beautiful expensive sweater.  He was kind & good.

But the uncle was a dirty pawn in the hands of Mom.  One day the phone rings & it’s for me.  I’m in the tiny kitchen with just a thin room divider there, it has a counter, & on the other side of the partition is the large fancy dining table.  Mom picks up the phone, calls me to it, is sitting in the dining room where it’s easy to hear.

The man – later I recognized his voice as the milk man – says,

“I saw a porno video with you & the guy John Doe {can’t recall his name} & it’s ALL OVER TOWN.”

  I am shocked, flabbergasted & embarrassed,

knowing it was impossible but how do I deal with this, what do I say?

Now understand, that in 1960 pornography was illegal & uncommon.  Anyone in it would be vilified, outcast & a pariah, really embarrassing idea.

It was a while later I realized it was Mom’s milkman & she was in the other room getting her jollies.  This deserves a channel also,

ME:   Mom what was your purpose in having the milkman call me with this story?  Did it delight you to embarrass me?

MEDUSA:   For you, it was an ESCAPE from us – to go out, have fun, do whatever, including this boy.  You were my slave, not allowed to live life, not allowed love in any form.  {Tell them about the birthday cake.}  No one was to love you, respect you, care about you or desire you in any way.  You were to be a nonentity, a nobody, discarded, vilified & hated.  That was my goal.  I would do anything I could to hurt you.

ME:   Why in particular did you contact the boy I would spend nights with?  And even have the milk man call about a porn video, crazy prank.

MEDUSA:   You were to stay home where we could abuse you, that was all.  No perks, no job where you’d have money, no dates, no love life, no nothing.  Of course, at this point, you no longer listened & went places & did things but wherever I could, however I could, I circumvented your moves.  It was all based on hate & destruction, not protection or concern.

ME:   How did you convince people you were telling the truth when all you did was lie?

MEDUSA:   Psychopaths are perpetual liars, because they do it all the time, they get good at it, experts at manipulation.  We know how to tug at emotional strings, we know how to get people to do what we want.  I hate myself when I look at what I was, I was vile & corrupt.  I hurt many people. {end channel}

They also found out, through my girlfriend who also knew him, the address of the wealthy 16 yr old I’d stay with.  Can you believe they went to his house?  He defended himself saying I pounded at the door & he had to let me in, as it was 2AM or later.  They told him not to let me in, but he opened the door to me times after that.

BIRTHDAY CAKE DENIED ME

I go visit my best girl friend who lives about 100′ from my house.  There’s a big chocolate cake on the table, her little brother is digging into it.

Freyja says to me,

“That’s your cake, Rasa, for your birthday.  I baked it, took it to your house.  Your Mom & Medusa opened the door.  I told them I had a cake for you.  Your Mom says that we don’t need the cake – we make our own.  Good bye.” 

Of course, no one baked me anything or gave me anything, not even a greeting or card.  This begs channeling,

MOM:   Why no cake for me?  Had you no decency?

MEDUSA:   How dare anyone like you enough to bake you a cake?  That would make you feel special.  You’d know you were loved.

ME:  Is this a good time to mention the layout of the house?  Maybe you will laugh or others will.

MEDUSA:   Be my guest.  {end channel}

We sell the old farmhouse, Mom gets all the money – Dad gets none although he got us the down payment.  She splurges on the fanciest furniture possible, in all except my room.

She shares a room with Mempho.  It’s red velvet, twin beds with fancy covers, thick soft red rug, red velvet couch with fringe, a boudoir with the best perfumes like Shalimar & Chanel #5, the room is about 15X20′.

My room is about 8X10 – all BURLAP, RAG THROW RUG & 2 tier bed that I share with little sister.

There’s an empty nice room in between us that I could occupy but AM NOT ALLOWED.  I am told it’s for Grandma when she comes over – which is ONCE A YEAR.

Downstairs bro has his own suite with adjoining bath.  He has his friends come over where they drink themselves silly into the night, a huge racket.

One time my female friend comes over, I invite her to stay with me in the spare room.  Mom sends Mempho to pace back & forth in front of the room as we try to relax, chanting,

“PROSTITUTES, PROSTITUTES!”

We can’t relax, chat or sleep.  Finally we’ve had enough, we both get dressed to go to her house nearly.  Mom comes out & TRIES TO PREVENT MY LEAVING! She raises her arm to strike me, & for the first time in my life, I stop her arm.  I’ve been stronger than her for years as I work at hard physical labor – carrying water on the farm – but I never prevented her from beating me.  This is a first, she is shocked.  It’s probably a moot point, but I will ask again, why could bro always have friends over, drink & make noise, but the first time I have a friend over, we are mistreated?

MEDUSA:   Because you are a nonentity, not allowed any privileges, not a member of our family, an outsider like Dad.  Things are reaching a climax.  {end channel}

THE END OF MOM & CO

A good spot to explain.  My female friend & I, when we were taken to the police by the taxi driver, thereupon both got expelled from school.  The family decided they had to release me now to go live with Dad, which was arranged.

He got a nifty apt for us for $56 a month – a big step up for him, which unfortunately was on the 6th floor, no elevator – but I loved it.

Mom pretended that Dad contributed nothing to us, but he was paying the mortgage on the house in Middletown.  Someone told me it was $160. mortgage, which seems exorbitant, but maybe I recall wrongly & it was less?

When I was on my way, on the bus, I already told this, she speaks to Dad on the phone & he tells her now that I will be with him, he will no longer contribute.  She flags down the bus & tries to make me get off, with no luck.  It is bizarre that because of me he was contributing money when I got none of it.  No money for clothes, school supplies or dentist, I was penniless, & every job she’d find out about, she got me fired.  So I did not benefit from his money.

Now I’m on my way to a new life, new adventure, I can’t wait.