True story
She Couldn’t Deal With the Five of Us
Determined to live her life on her terms meant keeping her kids at a distance
Growing up, we assumed our mother was like any other, as we had no one to compare her to. We accepted the unhappy life we lived without knowing we were being mistreated.
She was beautiful, self-centered, loved her free time, and made the five of us kids stay outside or in our two bedrooms, only allowing us to come out when called, so as not to disturb her on non-school days.
When my father moved us out to the country against her wishes, even though she would be living near her sister again, she was miserably unhappy and made sure we all knew it every day.
She retreated into a shell, rarely leaving the house, finding enjoyment only in her magazines and soap operas.
No carpooling
My mother claimed she never learned to drive and had no desire to apply for a license. For us kids, it meant never being invited to join carpools and having to depend on walking everywhere.
The carpooling mothers would pass us on the road as we walked home on 95-degree days, during heavy rains, and were bombarded with snow flurries, never stopping for us.
We knew she could drive if she wanted to. One time, when my father’s car was left a block away, for some reason which I can’t remember, she walked out to get it, drove it home, then said, “Don’t tell your father how it got here.”
She didn’t want to be bothered driving us around, which also meant missing out on many school activities, parties, and dances.
Additionally, it was drilled into our heads that if we missed the school bus, we were to walk there. One time, when it happened to me, it took me over four hours to walk the distance that took around 35 minutes by bus. I was so exhausted by the time I arrived that I fell asleep at my desk.
Summer vacation
As we lived almost two miles away from the state park and beach, on weekdays during the summer we spent our time there. Being the oldest of five children, I was in charge of keeping the kids safe as we walked the entire distance in the hot sun, with me and Lenora dragging a then 4-year-old sister between us.
Once there, it was up to me to keep track of them. I was not allowed to become distracted by talking to my friends or hanging out with them.
Each morning, before we set out, my mother would give us a gallon of watered-down powdered orange drink, half a peanut butter sandwich each, and sometimes a plastic bag with Cheetos to share.
It never occurred to any of us to carry the gallon jug with only the mix in it and fill it with water upon arriving at the park.
However, it didn’t seem to faze my mother about how long the walk was for us in the hot sun each day — she could only see her freedom in sight, knowing we’d be leaving and out of her hair soon.
Change of plans
For the first few summers, there was no charge to enter the state park. It wasn’t until after the road and bridge were rebuilt that they changed their policy and started charging 25 cents a day for anyone over 10.
That meant it would cost my mother 75 cents for Tricia, Lenora, and me to enter the park — entirely too much as she was saving money for my brother to attend college.
We did feel the pinch of my mother’s squirreling away money more than my brother did, but we never resented him for it.
He always seemed to need new pants or shoes, too, more than the rest of us. She kept him well-dressed and fed and thought nothing of short-changing us girls on food, paid activities, and clothes.
So, there was no way she was going to shell out extra money for us to swim, even if it was in her best interests.
This new fee presented my mother with a predicament.
If she chose not to pay the 75 cents a day, it would mean the five of us kids would have to stay home with her all summer. If she chose to pay it, there would be less money going into my brother’s college fund.
A scheme to beat all schemes
Lenora, who was two years younger than me, was not a strong swimmer, but Tricia, five years younger than me and a strong swimmer like myself, was.
My mother decided that Tricia and I would swim across the lake from the docks, bypassing the front gate, and skip the extra fees. Then Lenora could walk the two little ones into the park and only have to pay 25 cents for herself.
Tricia and I would walk further up the road, walk to the end of a side road, jump off someone’s dock, and hope we didn’t get caught or drown swimming across to the roped-off beach area.
We were only 15 and 10 at this time and rightfully scared, and we told our mom so after the first day. It was a long swim, the water was deep, and boats were pulling in and out of docks.
Her answer was that if we didn’t do it, we would sit outside all day in the backyard in the hot sun with nothing to do, so we might as well go to the beach and have fun.
It was never fun for me. I had to keep an eye on everyone and rarely had time to take a swim.
Tricia would take off and head out to the ropes, swimming the entire length of the beach to a point where I couldn’t see her.
My brother’s delicate stomach acted up the minute he hit the water, and he would need to use the bathroom at the top of the hill.
And Lenora, though I didn’t have to watch her, wouldn’t help me with the kids, reminding me that I was not her boss.
The longest walk
I still wonder how we were able to drag my youngest sister almost two miles each day in the summer.
My mother never seemed to care, regardless of our crying, struggling, and begging. At any point, she could have gotten her license and driven us but chose not to.
She was so determined to keep us out of her hair that even on weekends, it was her practice to send us outside for the entire day, locking the door behind us.
Half way through the day, she’d hand out some food and a watered-down drink, only letting us inside when all five of us had to go to the bathroom at the same time to keep us from going in and out intermittently.
My father set up two hammocks in the backyard for us to share, rather than letting us sit on the ground. We’d be out there every weekend in the summer, right up until the first few snowfalls, as we snuggled together on the hammocks with blankets around us.
We survived, and as ornery as my mother was, we did love and respect her. We just don’t have as many good memories of her as the bad ones, but we try to remember the good times when we get together.
She managed to live to the ripe old age of almost 99, alone, on the outs with most of the family. As she aged, she became harder to deal with. We’ve resigned ourselves to knowing she did her best.
In our years of raising our own kids and now grandchildren, we never let them feel unloved, neglected, or worthless — reminding them every day of how special they are to us, encouraging them to succeed, and never holding them back from opportunities we ourselves were deprived of.
Here are a couple of stories I’ve read recently which you may enjoy.