It was 1964 and my adopted mother didn't want an adopted child, let alone an adopted baby. She wanted to show she could be a good mother however, but there's a difference, "show". She had lost her own baby boy during child birth, a blue baby, was what I heard about it from my father in hushed tones when I was 16.
My father wanted a "family", as his brother had one, as well as, all of her 6 brothers and sisters combined, she being the youngest. So, 10 years after losing her son, which to her was partially my father's fault for not being there for her as he was at Sea in the Navy when she went into labor and she was, for some reason receiving a punishment from God, (she was Catholic after all), and then she found herself with an adopted baby girl.
The arrangements had been made to receive the call from the hospital as soon as I was born in fact, in Culver City, California. I was a month premature which I am sure annoyed her deep down as she hated not being ready. From the moment I was brought home she tried to show she was a good mother. She bought a baby book and started filling it out. She made notes the day I was born about my vital statistics (I don't have access to the book right now as it's in storage) and my adopted Dad's first words were penned, "she's all red and wrinkly" . A few more entries then it fizzled.
Mom, I soon realized was not an honest woman. She acted one way around certain people and another around my Dad. I couldn't tell you specifics due to my age. Though I have no direct memory of it, I seem to recal spending time outs in my crib alone in my room. I was told once I could speak, I had created an invisible friend by the name of Aunt Jenny to talk to though I don't know if I did so in front of my Mom as anything that made her look bad was bad. I do recall specifically her harsh words when it came to telling me about several things not to do. The best way to describe it as it continued throughout our relationship until her passing was a venonmou tone, she told me NEVER travel under the freeway, pointing at the cement thouroughfare because girls get raped there! I didn't need to know what raped was, I knew by the venom in her voice it was really bad so I stayed away from that sort of place for many years! When faced with a similar looking entrance to an elevator in Oregon City, Oregon in fact, I had a panicked moment and was going to be late for an appointment if I did not take that elevator. I forced myself to do it but it was actually painful as my mother's words rang in my ears.
When I was 5, mom, surprisingly enough chose to babysit for a living to stay home with me. (Somehow I don't think it was her idea. She needed to work for extra money and the job she had meant relying on her family to baby sit but that was not always convenient.) Babysitting created a whole new set of issues for me. One being my curiosity about the father of one of the other children. He was a black man with a lot of scars on his face and I asked him about them. She aplogized and shooed me away explaining it was none of my business. I was taken aside and the venom was release again. She explained that I should NEVER stare at someone and NEVER EVER light a hot water heater pilot light!!! That's what he did when there was a gas leak and it EXPLODED so he was burnt! Imagine her venomous voice and it rose as she spoke...
At 5 and her daughter, I was supposed to set an example for all of the children she babysat, no matter their ages and I believe the oldest was 7. I acted out once when I wanted to play in a box and another child tried to take it away so I bit her. Oh my, apologies around, nose against the wall, and the silent treatments began. I ddin't act out like that again.
I recall getting up in the early hours of the morning when I heard Dad get up to have my cereal with him. We didn't have to chat and I so recall doing so then I went back to bed until I had to get ready for school. We lived in Pacoima, a suburb of LA in the San Fernando Valley. I went to Sharp Avenue Elementary for K-1st and disliked school. The teacher was mean and I brought homework home which ticked off my mom. She felt at that level of education, I shouldn't have homework. She learned that more and more time was spent with the ESL students in class so for the 2nd grade I was bussed to a private school, Pinecrest.
TBC
