the day my mom found out, at just 5 years old – was the day my life became a living hell. things turned and my life was never the same again.
i just did not understand why she was so upset. i felt so happy wearing that… but she was irate. i remember trying to come back in the days afterwards and telling her i was sorry – i didnt know what i was saying sorry for – but i knew that if i apologized that sometimes made things better. it didnt this time…. she would just scream for me to get away from her. i had never seen rage like that before. her face turned shades of red and the screaming was so over the top that it eventually just turned to mud in my ears. i do not have a lot of fond memories of my mom before then, but there were a few… but from that point forward, there was never a loving moment again. it was not full rage, 24/7/365… but it was close to that. for weeks though, i was scared of her… i lived in fear of her coming unhinged again, and actively avoided her as much as possible – even refusing to eat unless forced to sit at the table. i just wanted to be away from her.
things had been quiet for a few weeks before i eventually was allowed outside again, and went straight to beckys house to play. we played outside one saturday afternoon for hours until her mom said we should come inside as it was getting too hot and we played in her room for a while.
becky had a lite bright that we would poke the little pegs in through pictures she would rip from her coloring books. it didnt work well, but we were entertained.
eventually becky wanted to play something else that i do not remember, but it led her to her closet where she had a myriad of costumes and boas and tiaras and wands and all sorts of other things to dress up and play. she decided she wanted to be princesses. (yes, im sure you can see where this is going)
so we threw on a ton of things and she relished getting different stuff – “oh! you can use my wand! and here, i have gloves too!” and of course, i was in heaven just enjoying all of it.
it was now almost dinner time, and beckys mom told us to run outside and play before it was time to come in for the night. she saw us having fun… saw what i was wearing, and saw no harm in it.
we were outside for about 15-20 minutes before my dad came around the corner of the street in his car… slowing as he passed by their driveway where we were playing – and in slow motion, i saw his face go from smiling, to a dead expression. he slammed the car into park in our driveway in one fluid motion got out of the car while screaming for me to get over there immediately – pointing to the ground 3″ in front of where he was standing.
i could tell from his tone i was in trouble. and once again, i didnt know why, but didnt have the capability to ask or have a discussion about it – but i did something wrong apparently. i was grabbed by the back of the neck and pulled in close so he could scream in a subdued tone without the entire neighborhood hearing. “get that shit off right now and get in the f__ing house and stay in your room until i call you”. i remember i kept saying ‘but mom said i could play at beckys!’ and it would just make him grip my neck harder.
tears flowed. again… i did not understand why playing outside with becky was a problem. for some reason, i remember the absolute horror on her face as she timidly ran over to grab her things off the ground before running back home as quick as she could. i ran inside crying, ashamed and completely confused – but absolutely terrified to ask any questions. it was as if everyone in the world was enraged by whatever i did… and i had no idea what it was that i did.
that night… i met my dads fraternity paddle again. the following morning, my mom followed that beating up with her own from a yard stick. they hurt equally as much – but in different ways. the frat paddle felt like being hit by a car at high speed. the yardstick felt like being whipped – it did not leave deep bruises… it cut the skin open.
from that point on… it was out in the open. my mom talked to a deacon at the church we went to and they suggested that we all sit and talk. so we did. and boy did i f__k up.
most of the conversation was how i should not do X Y Z.. but one part stuck with me, as it was once again a turning point. i was sitting in this “office” in the church that i had never seen before… talking to a pastor or deacon i didnt know, and clueless as my parents fumed and just stared at me. i was asked by this pastor – again… as a reminder… i am 5 years old (possibly 6) – why i kept wearing girls things. i answered that i liked to play outside with becky and that being a princess was fun and it made me happy. this – was absolutely the wrong answer. everyone in the room got instantly mad and started screaming at me, and literally screaming over each other. i just sat there and cried.
i remember that summer was the first time i was told to decide what i wanted to do. i had to pick ‘something’ to do to be active. nothing sounded great until i learned that becky was taking ballet, and i got to see her outfit, and of course i asked to take ballet, like a dummy. that was shot down instantly. (funny thing is my sister actually wound up going to that ballet school a few years later). i was told to pick between baseball or soccer. i chose baseball as i didnt know anyone who was going to play soccer. it was fun enough, and i was good at it (my hand eye coordination was extraordinarily good) – played 1st base for a while – then a few spots in the outfield. as i grew, i became the starting pitcher for several years where we won a ton of awards, state champs, etc. our games were comically easy and we usually hit the 15 run limit (they stop the game because you scored too many points – so they declare it a win) on all but a couple.
it wasnt that i disliked baseball… i just liked other things more.