The silence was deafening. Once every speck of dust was vanquished, every smudge obliterated, every cobweb abolished, every surface polished, every plank of the wooden floors swept and wiped down, and every footprint in the carpet erased and replaced with long, parallel lines, the spaces within the walls that formed our ‘home’ became as still and silent as a yet undiscovered tomb. The air was so heavy and thick with tension that it felt difficult to breathe and the ache that would develop in my stomach felt all-consuming. I never knew how long these episodes would last. In my dreams, they’d only last a few minutes or hours, but my reality was far different. In my reality, these episodes lasted days.
I think I would have fared far better if I only had to deal with the silence, but the complete lack of acknowledgement that accompanied the silence just about broke me. There was no eye contact, not even a glance. He would look past me, but never directly at me. The punishment for not completing my chores in a timely manner or not to the standards held by my stepfather was double-layered and surprisingly effective. I yearned for praise from him and yet loathed him at the same time. These feelings remain within me to this day. For some strange reason, he was incapable of giving praise. Once he would finally relent and break his silence, I cannot recall a single time he ever said, “Job well done.” All I managed to get was a whole lot of ‘if only’. It didn’t matter how hard I tried or how much I applied myself or the lengths I went to to achieve anything, it fell on deaf ears.
“If only you had studied more or studied harder,” was the usual, disappointed response whenever I brought my report card home for him to review, “instead of a B+, you could have received an A.” I didn’t think getting a B on my report card was such a terrible thing, but I eventually changed my position on that. Bs weren’t badass. Plain and simple, Bs were just bad. Still, I kept trying to please him. Well, that’s not entirely true. There’s a clear exception. When I wasn’t trying to avoid him altogether, I tried to please him. And as a minor child, avoidance was the name of the game. Avoidance was a means of survival because I always knew that despite how hard I tried to get and stay in his good graces, eventually the other shoe would drop and I would be subjected to the ever-brutal ‘silent treatment’ once again.
In the early years, having my fellow comrades alongside me (siblings/brothers #7 and #8) to ‘fight the good fight’ against ‘the dictator’ made day-to-day life much more bearable. However, just as I was growing in height and years, so too were my brothers. I was the youngest but since my brothers were 3 and 4 years older than me, their opportunity to escape the situation or access the elusive ‘exit’ came much sooner. I envied them for that. Both left shortly after graduation, and eventually enlisted in the military. Not only was it a means to leave behind a chapter of their lives they’d gladly forget, it gave them the eventual option to further their education through use of the G.I. Bill. As I saw no other options once I graduated from high school, I followed in their footsteps. Not surprisingly, after what I experienced during the 10 years I lived in the same household as (and under the rule of) my stepfather, bootcamp was a cakewalk.
Where was my mother in all of this, you ask? I don’t like to speak ill of my mom because I know she did the best she could, but she truly had her head in the sand. I think it was a survival skill she developed while married to my biological father. Had she not developed this ‘skill’, I honestly don’t think she would have survived. At the end of her first marriage, with 8 children and, for all intents and purposes, a useless husband to look after, she put herself through real estate school. She was pregnant with me when she took and passed the final exam. Two years later, once she got her stride in real estate and the confidence to leave my biological father, she filed for divorce. Following that? Six years as a single parent with no emotional or financial support from ANYONE. She then married my stepfather. And not long after, her chain-smoking, alcoholic, foul-mouthed, klepto mother moved in. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Can you blame her for having her head in the sand?
Yep, I’m still not done. I thought I could eke out a conclusion to this ‘saga’ and move onto other topics such as ‘Dearly Departed’ (a discussion about when relationships end) or ‘An Ode to my Microwave’ (a completely unnecessary but humorous take on when my ‘trusty’ microwave decided to flake out and then flat-out refused to reheat one more bag of popcorn, cup of tea, bowl of oatmeal, or plate of Chinese take out. When did microwaves become the ‘go to’ kitchen appliances anyway? Alas, I must go. I need my beauty sleep (desperately) and I have a full day ahead of me tomorrow so bed beckons. Thanks to my readers for the ‘likes’ and welcome ‘spigetter’ and Rick. It’s great to have you aboard! I am always humbled when people take the time to stop by and let me know that they appreciate what I have to share.
