Thursday, September 21, 2006
|
link | posted by daisydot at 8:22 AM
2 Comments:
2 Comments:
-
Maddie had this to say:
Hey sweetie.
Just checking in : )- September 21, 2006 1:20 PM
-
daisydot had this to say:
Hi my love. Can you tell I am new at this blogging thing?
- September 22, 2006 3:34 PM
| 429 Castle Street Geneva New York 1968 This is where I grew up and the year I was born. We lived inbetween 2 very large houses with wealthy people living all around us. Our house was a small, grey sandpaper looking house that had a cement slap front porch. My brother and I had to stay away from the house because if we should rub up against it, it would literaly take off the first layer of our skin. I lived here with my older brother Mark and my parents, John and Jackie. My father went to work and my mother stayed home with us kids, it's not that she didn't want to work; but that she was not allowed. She also was not allowed to drive, so ever where we went; we walked. Me the youngest on my mothers hip and my brother trailing behind. My father would go to work everyday and after to The K Of C (The Knights Of Columbus) where he would drink until the place closed or they thought he had enough and threw him out. Most days were like this, so when he didn't come home right after work my mother knew where he was and made sure us kids were in our beds, so that we did not have to witness the nightly beatings she received. My brothers room was right across the hall from mine and everytime he came home in a rage I would either hide in the back of my closet and pray that I could not hear my precious mother crying out, or run to my brothers room where he layed crying himself. The days when he did come home for dinner we would have to sit in silence at the table and eat our pasta with butter or hotdog, while he ate steak and potatoes. Every pay day he would give my mother $20 to buy the weeks groceries, and the rest went to drinking. We often would pick dandilions out of the backyard and when they got low from the park behind us and make soup with them. We never had money for toys or new clothes so my mother would make our clothes and when they needed cleaning would wash them in the bath tub. Once a year my Grandmother would take us to the shoe store and buy us each a pair of shoes, they also didnt have much money; but did the best they could for their daughter and us kids. When we were old enough to go to school the kids on the bus would pick on our clothes and say nasty things like "Where is your drunk father" or "Look at the two of you, your so poor and pathetic; you don't belong on this street!" There was this one girl Tracy whose parents were very wealthy and she did most of the picking, she lived a few houses from ours. I never told her then how she hurt me and my brother, because I don't think she would of cared, but almost 26 years later I was in a club with my new boyfriend and I saw her crying in the corner with her friends and when I walked by she said "I hope your happy!" I had no idea why she would say something like that or for that matter talk to a poor girl like myself. I went back over to my boyfriend and he said I really don't feel comfortable my ex-wife is here and I said "Really, who is that?" and when he said Tracy I thought I would faint. I told him that things would be ok, to ignore her and let's have fun; I also told him a little about how she treated me when I was little and he agreed to stay. We had a blast, we danced and laughed and she probiley felt at that time the way my brother and I felt, hurt! At the end of the night I actually felt bad for her, but not that much...lol The memories at that house were nothing but nightmares and I really have not relieved them, until now. I can only handle small pieces here and there so the story will continue, just a little later. Be safe, Daisy |