Excerpt ~ Sleeping Under The Bandstand

March 13, 2015

Grandma Crimens

 

   

       I had accused my parents of adopting me for years and of course they always denied it. Psychiatrists say this isn't too unusual for young children to do, especially in insecure children but I doubt if my parents had ever heard that. Anyway, one day when I was about twelve my mother and I were in my bedroom and she was angry at me for something, I don't even remember what. At the time I thought it unjust and again accused her of having adopted me . She was also angry and yelled, "yes we did and I regret it to this day".

       All I felt at the time was relief that she had finally admitted it. In fact, I felt triumphant to be correct all those years. Outside of feeling triumphant, I don't recall any other emotion then. Actually, I must have been fourteen as I had been trying without success, to have her get my birth certificate so I could get a permit to work during the summers. You had to have one or no one would hire you for whatever part time job you wanted. She then went down to get it and they did have one on me. She wrote to Salina and they sent her a letter, which I still have, confirming my birth, the doctor, and my original name.

       It was some time before I could get a real document. I think I was rather fascinated to have an unusual background. I immediately told Tony and he explained to me the reason why my father did the things he did. For some reason I accepted that explanation and seemed to understand. I don't ever remember my telling anyone else and the only reason I think of it now is because I felt it a stigma.

       Grandma's true feelings about my adoption must have been disturbing to her when I really discovered the truth, as she had always used it as a threat to me or a form of punishment. She, when angry with me would always say, "what do you expect from someone who was adopted. This always angered me and when I would press her for details she would say, "forget it, I don't want to talk to you anymore”.

       The final blow came when I was fourteen, and one day while angry, she threw me on the bed and yelled, "I'm not talking to anyone like you who is adopted anyway”. This made me so angry that I said, "I will ask my dad as he will tell me the truth." Of course my dad, working in a town about thirty miles away, didn't come home except once a week, and sometimes every other week, or once a month, depending upon his mood and the fact he had a girlfriend in the other town.

       I usually had an in with him though, so could ask questions and he would be truthful with me. Most of the time. He would use his charm and charisma and be the loving father, but then the night would come when he would be the grabbing, lecherous child abuser. But during those times you just closed your eyes, pretended to be someplace else and became invisible.

       The next morning everything would be the same. The wallpaper never changed, you were in your bed, alone and the "loving father" would be in the kitchen making breakfast and you smiled and talked about mundane things, the sun still slanted through the kitchen door window and he would pick up his clothes and drive back to his world in the other town. But, if you had a problem it could be solved at the breakfast table before the brief parting, and before dear mother would be down for her morning tea and toast.

       I had accused my parents of adopting me for years and of course they always denied it. Psychiatrists say this isn't too unusual for young children to do, especially in insecure children but I doubt if my parents had ever heard that. Anyway, one day when I was about twelve my mother and I were in my bedroom and she was angry at me for something, I don't even remember what. At the time I thought it unjust and again accused her of having adopted me . She was also angry and yelled, "yes we did and I regret it to this day".

       All I felt at the time was relief that she had finally admitted it. In fact, I felt triumphant to be correct all those years. Outside of feeling triumphant, I don't recall any other emotion then. Actually, I must have been fourteen as I had been trying without success, to have her get my birth certificate so I could get a permit to work during the summers. You had to have one or no one would hire you for whatever part time job you wanted. She then went down to get it and they did have one on me. She wrote to Salina and they sent her a letter, which I still have, confirming my birth, the doctor, and my original name.

       It was some time before I could get a real document. I think I was rather fascinated to have an unusual background. I immediately told Tony and he explained to me the reason why my father did the things he did. For some reason I accepted that explanation and seemed to understand. I don't ever remember my telling anyone else and the only reason I think of it now is because I felt it a stigma.

       Grandma's true feelings about my adoption must have been disturbing to her when I really discovered the truth, as she had always used it as a threat to me or a form of punishment. She, when angry with me would always say, "what do you expect from someone who was adopted. This always angered me and when I would press her for details she would say, "forget it, I don't want to talk to you anymore”.

       The final blow came when I was fourteen, and one day while angry, she threw me on the bed and yelled, "I'm not talking to anyone like you who is adopted anyway”. This made me so angry that I said, "I will ask my dad as he will tell me the truth." Of course my dad, working in a town about thirty miles away, didn't come home except once a week, and sometimes every other week, or once a month, depending upon his mood and the fact he had a girlfriend in the other town.

       I usually had an in with him though, so could ask questions and he would be truthful with me. Most of the time. He would use his charm and charisma and be the loving father, but then the night would come when he would be the grabbing, lecherous child abuser. But during those times you just closed your eyes, pretended to be someplace else and became invisible.

       The next morning everything would be the same. The wallpaper never changed, you were in your bed, alone and the "loving father" would be in the kitchen making breakfast and you smiled and talked about mundane things, the sun still slanted through the kitchen door window and he would pick up his clothes and drive back to his world in the other town. But, if you had a problem it could be solved at the breakfast table before the brief parting, and before dear mother would be down for her morning tea and toast.

 

 

 

 

 

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