prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08
2002-02-09 - 9:05 p.m.
My mother grew up in Rhode Island. Kind of smack in between the right and wrong side of the train tracks. Her parents owned a fabulous restaurant, and so in the 1950's she found herself the only latch key child, in history. When everyone else's mother was tucking them into their pristine little twin bed's, my mother, scruffy and scabby kneed, was out walking her dog at all hours of the night. Because. just because. noone was home to tell her not too. My grandparents worked late, at the restaurant,so noone ever tucked my mother in. Noone ever read her a bedtime story. She never had a clean uniform to wear to school. because it was up to her to remember to send it to the dry cleaners. She did whatever she wanted and had the Pippi Longstocking kind of freedom that every tightly leashed child in suburbia dreams of. Only, my mother dreamed of a mother who smelled of cookie dough and bleach and would inspect her teeth to see if they were properly brushed.
Sometimes she was in awe of her mother, how glamorous and shiny she was, in her sparkly gowns, and furs. and she knew that her family had the fanciest car on the block. and that they were the first family on their Street to get a T.V set. but. there is always a price to pay. My mother was forever lonely. She had one brother, and he grew up, away at Military boarding school. It was just my mother and her pets. She loved animals from a very young age and was always bringing home injured wildlife to nurse, back to health. One time my grandfather went to take a bath and found a family of ducks living in the bath tub. He was none to pleased, to say the least.
and her parents fought. alot. My grandparents had the kind of intense Lucy and Desi Arnez relationship. When I envision them in this time, I think of them in only black and white. Because, all the pictures that I ever saw of them, in the 1950's are in black and white, and I know that there world had bright streaming colours, but from the great distance of 50 years, it just seems so celluloid grey. They had a tremdous love, but also a great, RED WITH PASSION, RAGE. They fought all the time. My grandfather was always complaining that it took my grandmother too long to get ready, and my grandmother, screaming in his face, her perfectly lipsticked lips, telling him to " GO TO HELL!" and my tiny mother shaking on the stairs, in her black and white family that was not a t.v. show.
One time, my grandmother chased my grandfather out of the house, in the middle of winter. He was only wearing his boxers and a t shirt. and my grandmother, had a pot of boiling water, which she was threatening my movie star handsome grandfather with. She sweetly called him back into the house, knowing full well, that the perplexed suspect neighbor was out in his driveway polishing up his caddliac and watching the domestic scene unfold. My grandfather just tried to laugh and answered " I will be inside in a minute dear" . because he knew. He knew that she was mad enough to toss the boiling water on him. That was just a normal day in my mother's life. Yet, her parents were loving and lavish, they were Italian and hot blooded. and she knew that every kid in her school envied her, for having the most beautiful, and youngest mother and the dashing charming father that all the other mother's were in love with. This was all she knew. but inside she knew it was hollow and missing something.
She wanted to have children and promised herself on her lonely midnight walks, that she would always be home for them, and so she did. When every other kid in the world, had a working mother, we never did. She was always, always at home waiting for us. She devoted her life to her children. And It is with overwhelming humbleness and gratitude that I look back upon the years of my childhood and think, oh my god. I can never repay you. I don't know why or how I got to be so lucky. to have such amazing and giving parents. and to think. when my mother was 3, she was hit by a car.
She had been at the beach with her parents and my grandfather leaned over to kiss my auburn haired Ava gardneresque grandmother, and tell her that he was going back to work, and to keep a close eye on my mother, and make sure " you hold her hand tight when you cross the street" because she was a typical rambunctious 3 yr old. My Grandmother just smiled, and said, of course she would. and then he left. and a few hours later, they packed up all the beach stuff, and mommy was walking, with her tiny hand clasped inside her mother's hand. and they were standing by the road, ready to cross, and then mommy saw something, it was a white rock off in the distance, but in her child's mind it transformed into her dog, that had gone missing a few days before, and mommy yelled out to the white rock calling her dog's name and broke free of her mother's hand. and she went running into the road. and then my grandmother had the trauma of seeing her little child tumbling in the air, and smashing down with an audible thud, onto the hood of a black car, her tiny face shattered against the windshield. and a trickle of warm blood streaming out of her ear. The horrified driver jumped out of his car, and my stunned grandmother gathered up her crumpled broken child, and somehow got into the car, and the man, drove her to the hospital. and my grandmother just stared straight ahead, past the blood stain on the cracked windshield. and did not seem to have a single coherent thought. because she was in total shock.
My mother had massive injuries, multiple fractures in her legs, and was in a full body cast for months. She remembers being itchy all the time, and having a long stick which could be inserted down the top of her thigh casts to scratch them. but the itch never really goes away. and the worst part was, laying in bed, and being propped up so she could watch the kids playing outside. There laughter echoing outside her window and rolling under her doors. And my mother who loved to run. forced to stay in bed for 3 months. But, in time, her legs healed, the scars faded, and before she knew it, she was back outside the window, running and playing and scraping her tom boy knees. She recovered beautfully. I don't think my grandmother ever did. and my grandfather never completely forgave my grandmother, because. he had made my grandmother promise to hold her hand, tightly but it was an accident. and accidents happen. and a few years after that, my mother almost drowned. she couldn't swim very well, and was playing on a floating dock, and she fell in. Her brother jumped right in, and saved her.
My mother who was once broken, and almost drowned. went on to live and love and give birth to children. My mother who was once broken, is so kind and loving and generous and good. and why is it, that I come from the loving home, with the devoted parents who were always there for me, every step of the way, and who loved me unconditionally and gave me everything I ever wished for, and that I love so deeply, can someone please tell me why it is, that I FEEL SO GOD DAMN BROKEN?
old starlight - new starbright
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