Cocktails anyone? My mother was a pusher. She loved to make Strawberry Daquiris and ply me with them, even though I was only thirteen. What kid turns down a tasty drink that is like a delicious strawberry slushy?
Mom thought it was hilarious when I drank too much and vomited over the side of the porch all night. She didn’t care if I sleep there until morning (and sometimes did). It took me several times of drinking the frothy drinks to excess until I finally learned to turn her down. You know kids do not have adequate self-control, so, since they tasted so good, I would drink three or four of the drinks before the drunken, sick feeling hit me, and I was running to the back porch.
By this time, her friend May had married another drug dealer, and we had moved to a small trailer. Luckily this trailer was at the back of the little park we lived in.
Our back porch actually touched the bank where a place had been carved out for this little trailer park. Do you know what was in that bank? GRAVES! Our back porch butted up to an old Indian burial ground. It was kind of creepy! Especially when you are watching tv one night on the other end of the trailer, alone as usual, and that back door comes flying open of its own accord!!! But, I digress…
Mom had finally kicked the cocaine habit, for the moment, and was doing pretty good. She had a job at a predominant factory in town. Mom worked seven days a week and was bringing home a great paycheck with all of that overtime.
She started dating a guy that we ended up living with for several years, and they probably would have ended up married, but for what happened next on the grapevine, but that is another story for another day.
This is an on-going story of my life and some of the childhood adversities that I faced. If you would like to start at the beginning of my tale, please read Four-year-old and Mother Survive Bludgeoning by River Rock, or go to the Childhood category and start at the bottom.
My biggest disappointment with moving out of May’s house and trying to be a happy little 8th grader was the day that I went to visit my friend Missy.
We had a four-wheeler at the time. She lived about a block away, sometimes I could cut through some woods on a back trail (when the people’s yard that I had to go through were not at home). I burnt up the road and trail going over to Missy’s. We did a lot of typical teenage girl stuff: doing flips in her yard, playing cheerleader. One thing I remember distinctly is when we decided to make a music video. Camcorders had just come out. We went down to her basement and taped ourselves singing and acting out the song “Leader of the Pack” (I sure hope she doesn’t still have that video around).
We always had such a good time together. It was a chance for me to get away from the craziness and loneliness that was happening at home, until one fateful day. I came roaring through the path on my four-wheeler ready to visit with Missy and have a great time. She was standing there waiting for me looking a little sheepish. Missy asked me where my Mom worked and what her and her boyfriend’s names were (for confirmation I’m sure). She told me that her father worked with them and knew that they did drugs.
I was no longer allowed to come over to her house and she was no longer allowed to be friends with me.
I was devastated. She was my only true friend at the time, except for May’s kids. It was so unfair, why was I again being punished for my mother’s behavior? I would end up having that feeling a lot more in the future.
As a parent myself now, I guess Missy’s parents thought that I would end up a loser, do drugs myself, and maybe get their daughter in trouble. Should a child be discriminated against due to who her parents are though?
What are your thoughts?
Please read the next phase of my story: Forgotten/