childhood, Uncategorized

How could she 

So here’s the question of my mid-life emotional crisis. HOW COULD SHE???

I look at my children who are now teenagers. Gangly, pimply, know everything and nothing. Pushing me away and then needing me. Hugging me then turning away from too much contact with “mom”. How they need me and manage to admit it once in a while. The fragile grip they have on adulthood. The guidance needed to help them become confident individuals that are happy and give back to society.

So how could she let me go at 13? How could she deny me at 14 to return? I sat waiting, praying, mentally in anguish begging ‘please let them say yes’. I wanted to come home.  So I sat waiting for the staff meeting to end. Waiting to find out what their vote would be. Would I be allowed to live at home again with my mother or would I be sent away?

What I didn’t know at 13 was that if you left you couldn’t just come back even if your parents were there. I left because I was angry at the lack of understanding over my grief. I left because I was overwhelmed with loss and fear. I left because I never knew if mom would do as she said. Would I come home to an empty house? I never knew if she would be locked in the house in the bedroom in the closet with daddy’s bloody clothes. Or if she would be gone with the little ones. The rifles and ammunition gone as well. Maybe it would be their bloody clothes I would have to add to dads. She kept saying it would be easier to do that. The fear was staggering at that age. She had already proved to me once that she would take the younger ones and abandon me.

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So I left. I said goodbye, got on my bicycle and peddled away. Six months later I wanted to return. I missed my siblings and mother. Mother seemed to be doing better now. It was then that I learned you can’t just move back with mom. That the commune has to vote and decide if I should be allowed home. Who fucking knew that at 13? I should have known. Even though no other child had left like I did I should have known. No other child dare ask the questions that I did. Dared to stand up when I thought things didn’t make sense or seemed odd. I didn’t realize what I pain in the ass I was to those idealists.

So some select commune leaders held a meeting to decide my fate. I sat on pins and needles. My stomach in my throat. If I chewed my nails they would have been bloody stubs that night. The unanimous decision was NO.

I was shocked. I had had a friend on my side in that meeting. I had thought she would sway their hearts and minds. I was born and raised in this lifestyle. They made me! My dad had devoted his life to this lifestyle. He had helped build the world they wanted to hide in. Yet they said NO. I was even more shocked that mom accepted their decision. What kind of mother is that? This is Christianity at it’s finest moments. The golden jewel for their crowns.

I would like to think those adults as they grew old regretted turning me away. Realize how cruel to deny a child her mother. Send her to the streets. They made me for fuck’s sake. I was born into that. It wasn’t my fault my father taught me to not be a sheep. To think for myself, to ask questions, be inquisitive. He taught me to be an individual not afraid to stand on my own. To question and learn, to try and understand.

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I know deep down those people prayed for me. Felt they did the right thing. Maybe they never gave that decision another thought. Over the years they grasped on all the fabricated juicy gossip they could. Adding to it and spreading it further. Trying to condone to themselves what they had done. I hope there is a heaven.  And I hope to hell that at those pearly gates they are reminded of the young me. The child that needed love and understanding, not the boot.

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childhood, Uncategorized

Dreaming of snow

When I was little I loved snow. I loved everything about it. Falling backwards to make an angel. The careful gentle reverse crab move trying to get up without leaving a mark. Lying back and watching the beautiful flakes swirl around me landing on my nose my eyelashes my tongue.

When the snow was wet enough getting on my knees and rolling my snowball into a giant chair or snowman base. Jumping off our roof into the big pile left from clearing the roof and road. Till I knocked the wind out of myself. Then I stopped jumping off the roof. One time we even dug an igloo into the giant pile of snow from clearing all the roads.
But best of all was the sledding. I could sled almost sled all the way to the bottom of the mountain we lived on. Dad would wax the bobsled runners and we’d be off. It was always a discussion which way was best for speed and control. To lay down or sit up. I liked sitting so I could see better as the snow didn’t blow into my face blinding me. The set back was that steering with my feet was difficult. Part of the trouble may have been I was six or younger and dressed as the abominable snowman in all my snow gear.

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Once I got to the first corner where our road began to slope downhill I would give a little run and flop down on my belly. The trick was to go fast enough that I wouldn’t slow to a stop when the road flattened out. But not so fast that I would slide off the road into the ditch. There were steep twists and turns followed by a couple long straight stretches that flattened out before declining again into sharp corners. The speed needed to make it thru most of the flat was terrifying on the corners. I usually had to walk two spots no matter how bravely I sped around corners and downhill.

One time dad and I went together and tried to make it the whole way. Mom was working at the bottom with some of the ladies. If I had to guess I’d say they were carting sheep wool for quilting. Best childhood quilt – love that one. Anyway she was not impressed to find me with him crying and bleeding with my face a terrible ice rash from wiping out on suicide corner. That last corner at the end before the nice long lazy stretch was a killer. No matter what transportation being used. We wiped out badly and I lost a good bit of facial skin that day. I don’t recall using the bobsled again after that. Not sure if they disappeared or just that we moved the next year to the hottest valley in BC.