My Friend, Dean

We moved to a new house in January of my third grade year.  It was a brand new house on a brand new street.  I made new friends in the neighborhood and school was okay.  My teacher was pregnant and spent most of the day sitting at the back of the classroom with her head on the desk.  We got to play on the good playground for one recess but had to play on the blacktop parking lot for the other recess.

I met Dean in the neighborhood, he was a few years older than me.  He taught me how to jump my bike and land level with both tires on the dirt course kids made out of the piles of dirt around the poured basements on the street.  I got pretty good.  He even let me ride his dirt bike, the motorized kind.  I knew I was hot stuff and special because he didn't let anyone else ride his motor bike. He also taught me karate moves and how to defend myself and fight. (Yes, I know it doesn't sound like girl stuff, but I liked the guy's kind of fun.  Barbies and board games get old real quick.)  His garage door was always open(if his parents weren't home) and that was the neighborhood source for all things illegal.  He never let any of the other guys there give me the hard stuff they were offering.  I could hang out there and smoke, but he wouldn't let me try anything with needles.  Sometimes he would shoo me out of the basement side of the garage(raised ranch style house) and it wasn't until my teacher at school molested and raped me all through the school year that I realized what all was going on in the basement side of his garage.  He was a good guy and I was safe with him.  Some days he told me I needed to leave, usually this was when his friends wanted me to go in the basement and hang out with them.  Later I realized what he was keeping me safe from.  I wish I knew his last name and could find him and say thank you.  He was kinda like an onery, getting in trouble older brother. He was my friend, Dean.

Themed Blogging Days

Thinking about ways of being more intentional with this blog and I'm going to try themed blogging days.  Something like:
Marvelous Monday, Mad Monday or Morbid Monday or maybe just to be a little more "normal" I'll do Monday Munchies.
Truthful Tuesday, Tuesday Triggers, Troubled Tuesday, or Torturous Tuesdays: a walk down memory lane
Wednesday Wonders, Wordless Wednesday(I like pictures and occasionally I take a good one)
Theology Thursday (I could probably write on this, pose questions, post about the crappy "answers" I've received over the years)
Fearful Friday or Fabulous Friday (That's really polar opposites, maybe I'll just skip Fridays)
Searching Saturdays (open ended theme that can work for a lot of things, even normal living life stuff)

Second Grade

I read Robin Hood so much that by the time I was eight years old I could act out all my favorite parts. For some reason I had difficulty getting any friends to play the part of Little John or of Robin Hood to act out their first meeting and battle of staves. The creek was there and so was a nice log laying across it. No one wanted to end up in the creek or to be hit with a stick, even if we choreographed it(Ididn't know the word for it but that's what I was doing) The coolest thing was that the neighborhood we lived in was called Sherwood Forest. My mom was the sheriff of Nottingham, but she didn't know it. My dad was King Richard, but he didn't know that either.



In school my teacher thought my dad had been stationed overseas in England because of the way I talked. Nope, I'd just read too much of Howard Pyle's Robin Hood and also George McDonald's Back of the North Wind. Accents and speech patterns stick to me from books I read and really get into.



This was the same house(actually duplex) where I lived out the part in A Little Girl's Story where my mom said she was leaving me. We only lived there a few months. I learned how to look up things in the encyclopedia. For some reason my mom decided that I should look up 3 -6 words/topics in the encyclopedia or dictionary every day. I kicked and fussed over it but I actually liked it. As long as I was looking things up I wasn't getting yelled at. I still like to read encyclopedias and dictionaries. It's one of the good things I remember about my mom during my growing up years.

Kindergarten through First Grade

School- Kindergarten

I learned to read in kindergarten. We had little paper books from Abeka. All the good readers made it to the purple book. The reading group I was in never made it to the purple book. At the end of the year I asked and then begged my kindergarten teacher to just let me look at the purple book. I knew I could read it, if she'd just let me.


I hated reading group. I would rarely know where we were when it was my time to read in the circle. It wasn't because I couldn't read, it was because I couldn't multi-task. I couldn't read ahead in the story, and keep track of where little Susie was as she laboriously sounded out her section of the story. Inevitiably it would be my turn and it would seem that I couldn't even read well enough to follow along.


The teacher moved me from reading group to reading group the whole year. I didn't read well out loud. I tried to tell my teacher I could read in my head really good but the words wouldn't come out fast enough out loud. She didn't believe me, and she never would let me even hold the purple book in my hands because I didn't earn it by reading all the other books that came before it. I still resent that. I don't know if it's the purple book or the fact that she didn't believe me that I could really read. I spent the summer between kindergarten and 1st grade practicing reading out loud so I wouldn't miss any of the books the next year in 1st grade.


I remember other things about school too, but at this point it may be too identifying.

School-- First Grade
My first grade teacher liked me. She was still around when I graduated from high school and gave me a present.

I don't know why she liked me. I spent a lot of time with my nose in a circle on the board or standing in the corner. I was always getting fussed at for going to the creek during recess. I'd edge my way over there and when she wasn't watching I was down the hill and tucked out of sight from the playground above. I never got in real trouble for disobeying, just fussed at. Maybe it was something she wanted to do to.

I got all A's in first grade. I read a lot, too. I loved The Bobbsey Twins. I bought them for my own kids and they don't like them! I'm still holding out hope that my youngest will like them. If not, I guess I'll try again with my future grandkids.

Home
We lived in the same house from the time I was 2 until I was 7. I was about 4 or 5 and I wanted my mom to like me so I was the little helper. I didn't like emptying or filling the dishwasher, but I did want her approval. She thought I liked to help with the dishwasher. I would have done anything for her to smile at me and love me. So I would help with the dishwasher and earn a smile from my mom. I don't know why I knew at that age that she didn't love me.


My favorite drink was Tang. I don't even know if they make it anymore. I used to climb up on the counter to get a glass and the jar of Tang out of the cupboard and make it nice and strong. I liked putting extra scoops of mix in the water and stirring it.


Soup. My dad usually let me pick the soup we were going to eat. My favorite was cheese soup. I always picked it if we had it, or rather if my dad let me know that was one of the choices. He still won't eat soup to this day. He says it reminds him of being poor.


The neighbors next door on the right had a sandbox, but no kids that I knew of. They also had a HUGE dog that I wasn't afraid of. I would constantly climb over the fence to play in the sandbox. The dog would stand over me as I played. My mom would always come to the fence and in a fake calm voice would tell me to slowly get up and come to the fence. I still don't know why she was so scared of that dog. The neighbors had a good sandbox that nobody used except me when I could sneak over.

I learned to ride a bike by balancing using the edge of the curb. My dad held the back of my bicycle and ran with me and lied every other time I'd ask if he was still holding on. What is it with parents that they have to lie to their children when they are teaching them how to ride a bike? We didn't lie to our kids when we taught them to ride a bike. Our friends all did. (Am I being judgemental here, or just making an observation?)
A teenager who rode a ten speed with no hands tried to teach me how to ride with no hands. A couple of wrecks later I decided that I was going to work on getting good with one hand first. I wanted to impress him with my new-found bike riding skills. He went on to teach me how to jump curbs. Back then a curb was a CURB. Concrete must have been cheap because the curbs were like castle walls. If you hit a curb wrong then you ended up bending your bike rim. People who drove cars got flat tires when they hit a curb. When I was 16 the worse thing I could do was hit a curb. That's the only thing I really got in trouble for; staying out to 3am wasn't that big of a deal if it wasn't a school night. (Was I ever asked what I was doing?)
Back on topic...







Once I've covered these items then that will pretty much wrap up 1st grade. Stay tuned for future updates on this post. :)
kids across the street, boys peeing letters on side of house, learning, chris batman, nick, laurie, choir

The Pre-School Years-home

I have a lot of scattered memories up through kindergarten.

• The upstairs carpet was red shag and we had black leather couches and lamps with red glass bases on tables next to the sofas.
• I had a parakeet that shed feathers a lot. I picked them up before my mom vacuumed and put them in an old green light bulb.
• I used to "fish" off the sofa in the living room with a toy fishing rod and fish.
• I was scared of the vacuum.
• My mom used to rock me in the rocking chair and sing "Rock a bye baby" with sound effects and rocking chair wrecks. She didn't rock me after my sister was born. I remember I was seven and she wanted to rock me and I told her I was too big. She still wanted to and I let her. That was the last time I remember feeling loved by my mom. A year later she got mad at me and said she was leaving me. I never trusted her again.
• I had a spiderman with parachute that I would drop down over the railing to the basement.
• My dad taught me how to make jet airplanes instead of the boxy ones all the other kids made.
• It snowed one year and the snow in our yard was up to my waist. I followed my dad around the yard walking in the way he cleared for me. I tried to make my own trail, but couldn't. My dad had to come pick me up and put me back on his path.----That sounds like how God deals with me today.

I'm going to keep adding to this section as I remember stuff and have time.

Why I'm Not Sweet

I don't usually yell, but I get intense. I can't be sweet. I'm only sweet when I'm am extremely angry or scared. ie "Yes, Mommy Dearest" with Joan Crawford.

My sister and I were at my aunts house for Thanksgiving or Christmas one year and all the family was there. "Mommy Dearest" was on TV. I'd seen it before and knew what I thought, but didn't dare say anything. My sister was about 8 or 9 and she was my mom's darling. Well, everyone was in the living room talking and kinda watching the movie. After a while my sister turns around to my mom and says, "Mommy, she's just like you." My mom was so ticked, my aunt tried to get details and everyone else was aghast that the cute one would say such a thing. Great peace-maker and keeper of the status quo that I was, it was up to me to save the situation and deny the likeness when questioned about it. I said it was the hair that reminded her of mom, not how she acted. What a lie I told.

I started a story when I was five and kept it going until I was twelve years old. In my story I imagined myself in a Robin Hood kind of role and rescuing all who needed help. Somehow I just knew even when they said they didn't need me, that they really did. I think I had telepathy for the scared ones, but when I was younger I didn't know the word. In my stories they always thanked me for saving them and for not listening when they said they didn't need me. I wished I had my own Robin Hood type character to rescue me. Like the characters in my story I was too afraid to answer truthfully that I needed help. I would say one thing with my mouth while screaming in my mind what I was too afraid to whisper out loud. Where was my rescuer? Why couldn't he hear me? The noise in my head was deafening.

Pre-School Years-school

This is what I remember from up to age five. I'll add to this along the way if I remember any more.

School: We had nap time every afternoon. This was back before kids had cushy mats to sleep on. We just unrolled our towel and laid it on the hard floor and were expected to sleep. I always hurried (but never ran of course) to get my towel and claim the best spot. I liked to "sleep" near the inoperable coin-operated ride on horse. It was huge and sat on a brown metal base, which if you laid there the teacher couldn't see if your eyes were open or not. It was a great asset during nap time if you didn't want to nap.

We always had a healthy snack sometime during the day. I know I used to know what time, but I've forgotten now. I learned how to tell time somewhat in pre-school, because I always wanted to know when/what time the next thing was. Anyway, one time our snack was a canned plum. It looked nasty and I wanted nothing to do with it. My teached said I had to eat it because I said I wanted one. That wasn't exactly true. That plum was misrepresented. The teacher asked for us to raise our hands if we wanted a plum. Of course I raised my hand. I loved plums. We had a plum tree in our front yard and those plums were great. She did not ask "Who wants a really ugly plum out of a can?" So when that plum was plopped in my bowl I said I didn't want it. I'd never seen a canned plum before and this one looked rotten to me. After a long time, I don't know how long, but everyone else was playing and I was still at the table looking at this plum, I ate it. It actually tasted good, so I asked for another. I guess because I was such a stinker they wouldn't give me another one. There were more because I saw the teacher eating them.

We had coloring time, but for some reason we were only allowed one crayon. One day I picked yellow because it looked so bright. The problem was that it wouldn't show up on my white paper. I asked for a different crayon and was told no. So I proceeded to color really hard so it would show. Well coloring time came to an end and we were told to put down our crayons. I didn't and I think actually "backtalked" and said I wasn't done yet. So I got a switching with the pointer stick. I still think it was stupid for us to only be allowed to pick one color to use. No wonder most of the pictures my mom has in my baby book only have one color. --sarcasm alert--- "Oh, you like blue? How nice. You can color the sky, trees and grass that color."

My life: The Short Version

Should I start at the beginning? I'd like to skip the first 33 years of my life, but it's part of the journey. I'd like to have skipped it the first time around.

I was born in 1972 (that sounds like a long time ago).
In order to protect the innocent and the guilty I don't think I'll use names of people and places.

• I went to the baptist church my father grew up in from the time I was born until sometime in first grade.
• My parents put me in christian school for preschool at age four. My younger sister started at age two.
• We changed churches when I was in first grade to attend and later become members of the baptist church that had the school we went to.
• I remember several things about school and church--some good and some very bad
• I worked hard from about age 5 until I was 10 to get my mom to like me---it didn't work
• I remember my dad putting my sister and I in the car in our pj's with blankets (I was probably 7 or 8) and him driving to where my mom worked and just weeping in the parking lot. He thought I was asleep in the back seat, but I was watching. I saw my mom coming out of a darkened furniture store that we had sat in front of for a long time. She was supposed to be doing inventory. You don't do inventory in a dark store. She had said "everyone" was working late. Apparently it was just her and some guy.
• 4th grade--I remember my dad picking us up from school and sitting in the car and watching for some guy to leave our house. My sister wanted to know what we were doing. She just didn't get it. My dad didn't think I did either.
• In 5th grade I gave up trying to please my mom. Nothing I said was right. If I opened my mouth I got in trouble. I couldn't carry on a conversation with her, no matter how hard I tried.
• 6th grade was the worst year of my life. My teacher molested and raped me repeatedly. I began smoking the last day of school of 6th grade. Suicide attempts were many in the years to come.
• 7th grade- I was scared to death of my male teachers. No shit. One of my teachers asked my dad why I seemed to be scared of him. He didn't know and no one asked me or at least I don't remember being asked.
• 8th grade-- I ran away from home for a few days. Some guy tried to follow me one night. I hid in the middle of some very prickly bushes to get away. Scared me too bad for me to travel far. I ended up calling my youth pastor late one night and he and his wife came and met me and we talked for about 3 hours. (Actually he had just been replaced but he's the one I knew and trusted at the time) I was still very suicidal. When I ran away I was choosing to run rather than hang myself from the train bridge. I was afraid of dying but hated living. My mom was totally out of control and scared me real bad.
• 9th grade-- My mom and sister and I moved out of state; my dad was to come later. By this time I learned icy control and "the stare". I could emanate hatred and a coldness that none could withstand. I used it to control the beatings my mom gave to my sister. If my sister had been a pain to me; then I'd let my mom beat her to a point before I'd stop her. I was still deathly afraid of my mother and would sleep with a baseball bat under my bed and a knife under my pillow in case she tried to kill me during the night. To piss her off I would answer her ever so sweetly "Yes, Mommy Dearest". I wanted her to come after me so I could kill her in self defense. I told my dad that she left us all night and had nighties in the trunk of the car. (This was true) She also made us sit out in the middle of the yard with no shade in the hot afternoons (temps were over 100) while she talked to her lawyers. I would call my dad collect from a payphone at the grocery store and beg him to get me. I finally told him that if he didn't come get me that I would take the car and drive through the mountains to get home. (I was actually planning on going the long way through Texas) He came and got me. I guess the thought of a 14 year old driving through the mountains did the trick! My parents divorced that year and my dad remarried the next. This is also the year I saw my old 6th grade teacher again. He was coaching a rival schools girls basketball team and was at our school for a 3 day tournament. Day 1 I saw him. He seemed a bit nervous to see me at first. Day 2 and 3 I laid in wait for him with my knife ready to kill him as soon as he was alone. The best chance I had was when he was with his wife and son. I wouldn't kill him in front of his son. There was God's grace in preventing me from acting on my plan.
• 10th grade-- Life sucked. Friends needed help and I hurt so bad. I had a friend whose dad did things. To this day I don't think she told me everything.
• 11th grade-- I tried so hard to be a good Christian.
• 12th grade---ditto
• College life-- I was such a mess. I was angry, depressed, suicidal, and working so hard to keep God happy with me. I had a teacher who reminded me of my 6th grade teacher in how he looked and some quirks of movement. I could barely remember to go to class. I never remembered quizzes and tests. Pop tests are sure rough on the gpa. My freshman year was a fog. The only thing that "cheered" me up was the thrill in going to off campus parties with the trouble crowd. (I was at a conservative Christian college where unchaparoned, male and female together, spiked punch, smoking and a make out room were very much instant grounds for dismissal) Can you believe I talked my way out of it in the deans office?
• I was 19 I think when I saw my 6th grade teacher again. A friend that knew I hated him called and told me there was a rumor he was moving back to town and back to our school. I showed back up at church during the summer I was home. He saw me and wanted to talk privately in some other room. (Yeah right, I'm not 11 and 12 any more. I didn't stay stupid) He apologized if he had done anything. He said he had confessed it to his wife and she forgave him. (Even in the middle of the foyer at church with people walking around I was still afraid) He grabbed my upper arm and left fingertip bruises on it. Nice apology huh? We did talk for a little while. I told him if he ever touched my sister or anyone else I knew that I would make him wish he was dead. He followed me out to the parking lot. I put a car between myself and him and told him to back off and that my sister was waiting for me and if I didn't show she knew who to blame. I also told him that there were others who knew. He backpeddled and stopped being overtly threatening. He said he just wanted me to go with him somewhere where we could talk and get things right. (I'd bet anything he would've killed me if I'd gone with him. He would have had his fun first. I saw how he looked at me)
• My cult years-- Some would say it's harsh to call something that calls itself baptist a cult. You wouldn't if you experienced what we did. My dad always told me not to drink the kool-aid. I should have listened. I got started in that church my sophomore year of college and didn't get out of it until years later.
• Sophomore year at college-- I had settled down away from the wild crowd. They weren't to be trusted because someone was always going to "confess" something or other and got others kicked out while all they got was probation. You never knew when someone was going to develop a conscience. I was doing all kinds of good works to please God.
• Junior/Senior year-- The anger erupted again. I scared my roommates. They backed off, but I ended up in mandatory counseling for the rest of the semester and the next year. I got real good at giving all kinds of info about crappy stuff in my life, yet avoiding the real problems.  I went through one counselor, she sent me to someone who could help me more, that one wanted to send me on to the dean of students for counseling the next semester because I wouldn't admit to her that my dad had done stuff to me.  He hadn't, it was my teacher.  She just needed to ask the right question and I would have said everything.  She gave me a list of books to read that was all on the topic of sexual abuse and mostly incest.  I couldn't talk to the dean again, I was scared of him. It seemed like he could see right through me. So I stayed out the 2nd semester and got married in the summer and when I came back to school for my senior year I wasn't a dorm student anymore so no one came after me. I did look up the lady who counseled me last to tell her I was fine. I wasn't though. We were married for our senior year(Soooo stupid!!)
• After college-- We stayed in the cult church for a few more years. Traded it in for a more balanced Baptist church for about 5 years.  That one was still like the cult one, just nicer on the surface for a longer period of time.  Moved on to a Bible church for 3 1/2 years. Tried a Presbyterian church for a while, then on to a couple different Sovereign Grace churches and then another PCA church, a Southern Baptist church, then a Covenant Presbyterian Church(CPC) and now we're in a Communion of Reformed Evangelical Church(CREC).  The last two have been the best places for us.  Where we are now(May 2013) is a place of hope for me. (That's a whole 'nother blog post and then some)

I'll have to elaborate a lot more on our church moves because it's amazing how God worked and moved us and brought us and me specifically to himself.