Happy days

I remember happy days, or better yet my photographic memory replays old home movies and I can vividly recall the old picture albums. These things all long gone the only thing left is the memory. When my father became ill and with the whole family on drugs, the financial responsibilities were neglected and the home would go back to the bank. With the loss of the family home everything would go with it. There may be some left in a abandoned storage locker somewhere but for the most part all that is left is what my mind can recall.

Christmas at Gom’s, Easter with Gom. Holidays at Nanny’s house visiting the relatives. My grandmother Gom, had a huge screened in porch. It was at least 25×25 with the tallest ceilings I ever saw as a kid. I used to love playing out there and have a lot of happy memories of the way it was when Gom was alive. In the winter my dad would enclose the whole porch with plastic and there was a kerosene heater used when the weather was very cold. Holidays were always warm and cozy when my grandmothers were alive. Those are the only times I can say I felt like I had a family. Other than holidays, my memory of the family is the downfall after both grandmothers had died. Constant fighting among the family, my mothers drinking and the relationships with her sisters being poisoned, and then the ultimate shun… back to the happy times; There we were, like the Brady bunch, The matriarch of each side holding down there family. It’s odd how it happens to so many families. The elder generations fade away and the next loose touch. For myself this would only be amplified by my mothers actions and my fathers approach to those actions. I was helpless to there influence. Stuck to be there kid and suffer the consequences of such offense.

It was not always this way. I recall shopping trips with my aunts, moms sisters. I recall going to see home alone as a family. My aunts all had big families. There was a big station wagon and a big van. We would pile in and go on adventures. I don’t recall how the relationship was between my mother and her sisters. As a innocent child it all appeared normal to me and I was sheltered from it if something was out of the ordinary between them. I always go back to Easter, 1994 or 1995. I was about age 4 or 5 in the home movie. I remember finding it half taped over by my brother trying to record a television program and not having any blank tapes. In the home video we were just awakened for Easter morning. I had gotten a power wheels from the Easter bunny and boy was I happy. Smiling from ear to ear. I can still hear my moms voice ” what did you get Cobbie” she would repeat several times while smiling and laughing. In the video that was apparently filmed by dad, we started on the back porch with Gommy doing her best to dodge a wild Cobbie loose behind the wheel. I would take her around the porch for a few laps and then outside, my dad chasing and filming. Mom in tow steering and helping, trying her best to keep that jeep on course. That is by far the best mom I remember. The memories I have left of my mom are damaged now by the trauma of my childhood.

I often wonder what happened that triggered my mothers dive off the deep end? What it was that would cause her such pain and agony that she would lash out at the world? I do remember happy times with my mom, or better yet I recall time spent with my mom that started out with good intentions on her part and somehow every time would be ruined. My mom just could not keep it together. No matter where we went or what she did, the drink needed to be involved. She would get drunk and I would have to get us home, either drive later on or call someone in the beginning. I recall a play date with mom, she had taken me to some place in Delaware that was a learning center. A hands on place that had interactive work stations to learn and grow. One of the stations was a large doll house. Fully equipped with furniture and linens. The kitchen had a refrigerator that opened and had small items inside. The stove had small pots and pans. In the cupboards there were little cups and dishes. The doll house was fully stocked and mom seen there was little silverware. I don’t know why but mom just had to have it. She would go through this process often while intoxicated. She had been drinking that day and her fingers had become sticky. My mother would get caught stealing, the employees of the place noticed the items missing after we moved to the next station and waited for us to try and leave. They would question me first, thinking I was the one who took the items. My mom would own up to it and give back a handful of tiny silverware she had put down her pants. They would give her the ultimatum of calling the police or calling my father. Mom would pick dad and my father would have to come get us. Of course it was never spoken of and we pretended it never happened. The normal way of things within my family as I would grow and learn.

Many memories I have of my my mom and with my mom take a similar course. Things so innocent and simple she would corrupt by being herself. I have my mothers resume from 1985 and her references and schooling are impressive. Her stories and others stories of the work she did with troubled youth is quite impressive and yet she had the ability to destroy both of her sons with her wickedness. It still puzzles me how my father and mother, both highly educated and Intelligent could allow for there children to fall so short of the marks they themselves strived for.

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We do recover…