The first 5 years

 I can remember when I was still in the crib. I remember the way the room lite up from the sun. It must have been spring or summer, which would have put me between 5-8 months old. There was a soft pink glow in the room. I know it was my parents room.  I remember my mom sitting on her side of the bed which was across the room and feeling like she didn't see me. I know I was crying and wanting to be close to her.  My dad suddenly picks me up and sits down in a dark green chair in the room right by the crib. I felt loved.

My dad started talking very loud but not yelling and my mom started screaming at him. Soon she walked out of the room slamming the door behind her.  My dad got up put me back in the crib and left as well. 

I was crying and for the first time in my life I felt fear.  That was the first of many fights I would witness between my parents.

My next memory was being in my mom's arms again in my parents room.  She was looking at me and told me she wished she hadn't had me. Even now it's hard for me to believe that I can remember her saying that and how unloved I felt from her. 

There was a time I was in the baby swing outside by myself crying. My brother "R" who was the second child kept checking on me.  He would try to stop my crying and told me that mommy was taking a nap and would come get me when she woke up. My oldest brother "B" was born in early spring of 1965, my brother "R" was born late spring of 1966, I was born late December 1969 and my younger brother "D" was born early fall 1971. If it were less than 1 "B" and "R" were to small to get me out of the swing. She slept and left an infant in the swing out in the summer heat? Who does that? 

For the next year I remember them fighting. My dad most often put us all in my brothers shared bedroom, told them not to come out until he came to get us and closed the door. I could hear the screaming and shattering of glass. Items hitting the bedroom door. A slamming door! Suddenly all I could hear was myself crying and my brothers trying to keep my quiet. Later one if my parents would open the door to check in us. 

I remember this so well because it happened  often. I was already walking but it was before my younger brother came along, my dad was gone. He was no longer picking me up out of the crib when it was dark and I was crying. My mom wasn't paying attention to me at night but my oldest brother "B" used to come talk to me and play with me to stop me from crying. Occasionally "R" would be the one or both of them. 

Soon I was no longer in the crib and I had a baby brother. Dad moved back in.  Everyone seemed to love "D" and I was in the shadows. The fighting began again.  My brothers had a star in a square painted on their ceiling in the middle of the room and a plane that was attached to a string or wire would buzz and fly in circles. By this point in life my brothers were a bit older and as soon as the yelling started they would grab me and "D" run into their run and shut the door. Somehow they would get us all in the top bunk and start the plane. It would take our attention away from the fighting and the buzzing sound helped drown out the screaming and crashing of glass.

One night the fighting started after we had gone to bed. My brothers didn't get a chance to get me and D to their room. I remember hearing the yelling and putting a pillow over my head to silence the screaming but I was scared and already crying. Soon my dad came in my room and was holding me telling me it was going to be okay. The bedroom doors weren't solid doors. They were slanted slats on the upper half. My dad had locked the door when he came into the room. Suddenly there was pounding on those slats and my mom screaming on the other side. She broke some of the slats, unlocked the door and came bursting in.  I was still in my dad's arms.  She continued to screaming at him then left. The car was parked in the lawn and soon you could get the car door slam. I dad ran out, put me on the grass and went to her. They argued. I remember him asking her not to go but she left anyway. My brother's were on the front porch and saw her leave a well.

My day sent us all to our rooms and cleaned up the mess. 

The summer I was 5 we all packed up in an R.V. and took a trip up to Canada. There were some great memories made from this trip but the most heart breaking was learning  that my dad didn't seem to like me as much as he did my brothers. Everyone had a bed to sleep on but me. Which was not a big deal until it rained. There was a water leak right where I my head laid. When I complained about it he told me there was no place else to put me and that he should have left me with my grandparents like they had asked. I had a rag doll named Heather that my grandparents has gotten me for Christmas. She was "Holly Hobby's" friend. She had become my protector during their fights or anytime I didn't feel safe. She was my best friend. I would put her over my face when the R.V. would leak. Mom named the R.V. "Bubblegum" because it need so many patches. I tried to tell my parents that Heather didn't like it and it was ruining her face.  Dad told me if I didn't stop complaining he was going to throw Heather out at the next stop and me to. 

One of our stops we were going to explore. I couldn't find my shoes. He gave me a spanking  because of it and told me I'd I did find my shoes before he counted to 10 he would take my mom and brother's and leave me in the hot locked R.V. "B" found my shoes in in the back where my parents slept and I wasn't allowed to go look. Dad left the R.V. angry and ignored me the rest of the day. I believe my parents had already divorced prior to this trip, but I do remember the arguments they had during this time. The common thread was this trip was not worth their time, it was not going to get them back together. The arguments would get so verbally and physically aggressive that strangers from other R.V.s/campers would take the 4 of us to their camp site or as far away from our R.V. as possible. Eventually one of them would come looking for us. 

My brothers and I often got in trouble for very minor things. We would get "spankings" with a wooden hanger or a wooden spoon. It wouldn't be a normal smack, they would leave bruises and welts. I remember it being hard to sit down for a couple of days after. But those weren't the most painful things my mom would use to "spank" us. When I was little our neighbor worked for Mattel and would bring home new toys for us to test and give feed back. It was awesome! One day she brought over this huge Barbie house. It was a test toy so it didn't look like the ones my friends got later for their birthdays or Christmas. Mine had these hard blue plastic sticks used to connect the cardboard walls. They would hold 2 cardboard walls which I guess would have made them about 2 - 2.5 feel long. That became my moms primary choice to use in "spankings" because it was more comfortable to hold and was longer so "she could still reach us if we tried to get away." It would leave welts on your rear for a very long time.  I don't remember my dad hitting me with that. Just my mom. Needless to say, I HATE Barbie! 

There were times we would have to stand in the corner by the front door for hours as a punishment while my mom slept. Occasionally my grandparents would show up and "save" us, My grandma would get so angry at my mom. Then spoil the hell out of us. She was the closest thing I had to a safe place. 

In December, 1974, my grandparents staying over and after we had gone to bed there was a lot of commotion in the house. I heard my grandma telling my grandpa that mom was throwing up blood and he needed to call for an ambulance. One of the police officers was so kind to me and kept telling me that my mom would be okay but I was so afraid she was doing to die. We couldn't see her in the hospital because back then children weren't allowed in to visit. But my dad and grandparents took us to the hospital and we got to see her waive at us from her window  The hospital was only 3 or 4 stories tall but she seemed so far up. It's a very vivid, detailed memory to this day. I was so relieved to know that she wasn't going to die. 

The last memory I have of my dad in person was around Christmas 1975. Dad wasn't living with us but he was there for Christmas and staying in the RV parked out front. He was untangling the Christmas tree lights and they got in a huge fight. He walked out. My brothers and I went out to the RV shortly after and he handed us his Christmas gift for my mom. It was hidden in an upper cabinet than my mom. It was a painted eggshell in a glass display case. "B" tried to give it to my mom but she didn't want it and made him throw it away. But instead he took it out of the case and we all checked it out to see how it was made. Soon someone crushed it. But we all had fun for several months after trying to put a pin hole on the top and bottom of an egg and blow the inside out. I don't think I ever succeeded. This was the first time I remember my mom telling me that I failed, that the only reason she got pregnant with me was to keep my dad from leaving. I was worthless and I felt it.