Chapter 4 and Husband #4

My brother often calls me and asks me to tell him how it was, our youth. Like he can’t trust his memories. Could it really have happened like that? I see that it has warped his sense of what is right, what is proper, in relationships and raising children. I often point out to him that just because that’s what happened to us, it doesn’t make it right. Regular beatings are not a part of childhood, little brother.

I really can’t remember much time going by before the mechanic moved in, lock stock and barrel. He was a compilation of all three previous husbands, tall, heavy, mean. He brought with him heavy debt and a daughter my age that lived with him because her mother could not control her. We shared a room and fought like real siblings. On the weekends we got to hang with his other daughter and son, both younger, just to up the fighting to new levels. I was always in charge and wrong. Anything went wrong and I got my ass whipped. I learned to drag others into the foray and sometimes we all got our ass whipped.

Fifth grade I tryout for cheerleader and make alternate. Mom doesn’t even congratulate me. A week later I’m told that I’m in, someone has quit. I run home cheering all the way and show my mom the papers. She probably said she was sorry but I don’t remember anything but the crushing disappointment when she said she couldn’t afford the uniform. “But I made it”, I keep saying.

Soon they realize that we need more room or maybe mom was trying to make the mechanic love her with the promise of his own garage. I honestly don’t know. We move just as I finish elementary school. We move to the middle of Amish country. I still have a hard time making friends. The kids have been together in a tight knit community for generations. They seem suspicious of my offer of friendship. My brother has it worse, much worse. He is a chubby loud mouth and he gets his ass kicked repeatedly. On the school bus, I pretend not to know him and the bullies wack him with books and stamp his face with a rubber stamp that says “bullshit”.

Mom finally marries husband number 4. They dress semi-formally and leave us home and are married at a chapel with just two witnesses. It was all rather quiet. This would be her longest marriage yet, 10 years to the end. He doesn’t touch me but he becomes famous for his verbal and physical abuse. My brother becomes known as fatboy and I’m Miss Piggy. We have a wooden paddle with holes drilled in it.

There was fun mixed into the pain of living. We had snowmobiles and mini bikes, a race car, a motorhome, a ski boat, horses. It all took work and upkeep but it was fun. I don’t believe I ever had a friend spend the night at my house. I can’t remember anyone. I could never predict how he would act in front of other people. He will actually paddle us in front of our friends or call us names or tell horrible stories about us.

It’s about this time I sit in my room and make the list:

“Things I will never do to my children”.
I will never allow them to be abused sexually, physically, or mentally
I will never crush their spirit
I will not call them degrading names nor will I let others do so
I will never let them think I don’t love them