And Then What? (eBook)

Elyse Scalia (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2021 | 1. Auflage
238 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-0983-7698-7 (ISBN)

Infos

A transparent and vulnerable display of the author's life. Ultimately a story of resilience and awakening. Through accepting the lessons learned and reflecting on her life experiences, the author has come to a deep level of self awareness. This self awareness has created revelations that allow for forgiveness, acceptance and ultimate healing. The authors goal in this work is to create a similar experience for each reader. Every individual has faced hardships in their lifetime, each unique to them. These trials can lead to deep seeded wounds. When we walk around as wounded individuals we develop self preservation behaviors. We must first become aware of these patterns of behavior then accept them free of guilt and shame. Next the true challenge begins. FORGIVE yourself and others. When you do the work to make the necessary changes the vicious cycle ends and true freedom begins.

Textauszug

Summer of 1983. Tommy was 14, I was 12, and Michael was seven. At some point within the two years prior to this move, our father made a big announcement to Tommy, Michael, and me.

“There is a little boy I want you all to meet, he is your brother and I love him as much as I love all of you.”

From what I recall, we met a handful of times after that announcement. Now here we were, all moving in together like one big “happy” family. Excitement grew as we were approaching our new home. If South Boston is Little Ireland, now enter Little Italy. North Boston was a predominantly Italian neighborhood with some Jewish representation, those that had not yet made their exodus to the suburbs. Where there was an Irish Center and Irish import stores in my South Boston neighborhood, now stood Italian delis, meat markets, bakeries, and produce stands. It wasn’t until later in my life that I realized what a gift it was to be able to experience the best of both of my heritages.

As we pulled up to our new pea green, yellow trim, single family home, I felt a sense of excitement over the expectation of some normalcy. The homes were not quite as close together, and all of the houses on the street were single-family homes with the exception of two duplexes on the corners. Although the sadness of leaving my grandmother and friends was crippling, I still felt excited about the house itself and the potential of a normal family life. My 12 year coveted dream of an upstairs came true. There was a finished attic. The attic became my older brother Tommy’s bedroom. I had my own room and a “new-used” bedroom set that included a double bed, two dressers, one with a mirror. This was similar to the one I had dreamt of as a child, while playing in my Aunt Dianne’s room. My walls were covered with a shiny silver, white, and yellow wallpaper that boasted large psychedelic owl figures. My brother Michael was now sharing a room painted light blue with Patrick, our “new” brother.

You have heard the cliche, out of the frying pan and into the fire: well, let me tell you, going from neglect to mistreatment certainly burns. That expectation of a semblance of normalcy was quickly extinguished.

Let’s start with the woman that was now the “mother” figure in the house. This was Patrick’s mother. There was no mistaking that he was the only child she was interested in caring for. She put locks everywhere. Literally and figuratively. There was a lock on her bedroom door. This was to ensure that certain foods or snacks that she wanted to keep for herself and her son were not eaten by my brothers and me. She locked the Nintendo gaming system in her bedroom so that my two brothers and I were unable to play. The figurative locks that she placed were more significant than the material. The locks placed on our father’s affection. The lock on our half-brother’s ability to form a relationship with us. She made it clear to Patrick that we were not good children and that he should stay away from us. Patrick was sent to private schools while we attended local public schools. Patrick was chauffeured back and forth to school while we walked and caught city buses. More days than not, we were locked out of the house, having to wait to be let in. This included the dead freezing cold of Boston winters. This led to many days of having to squat behind the garage in the backyard. There was an undeniable inequality that existed in this household, and everyone knew it.

I have to hand it to her, she succeeded in her plight of division. Patrick does not have a relationship with any of us. Quick look forward, from the time I left Boston in 1991, I only saw Patrick on two occasions. One was Christmas 1997 at my Aunt Dianne’s house. Then January 2020, our father’s 70th birthday.

My belief then, and my current belief to this day, is that she NEVER expected that she would have to take my father’s first three children in. She figured she would live in a house with my dad and their son. At worst, she would have to tolerate the three of us every other weekend, then ship us back to where we belonged. Then all of this transpired.

UNWANTED, UNCARED FOR, BURDEN.

MY BROTHERS

My older brother Tommy was always a wild, rebellious kid. I loved and feared being around my brother. He could be nice and fun, then quickly turn scary. We used to play a card game where he sat in front of me, holding up a playing card, speaking the card in his mind in an attempt to get me to guess it through telepathy. This new semblance of a family didn’t change his nature; rather, it fueled his fire. His past time activities included blasting heavy metal music, mixed with some classic rock, drinking, smoking, dropping acid, and fighting. He came running into my room on more than one occasion telling me about the demons in his room. The vividness of his descriptions depended on the extent of his trip. Tommy’s best friend lived two doors down. He was like a brother to me, with the exception of the time we kissed. Oh my God, if my brother ever knew, he would have killed us both. My brother spent his days smoking, drinking, fighting, stealing, and carrying on. He began skipping school and getting into all kinds of trouble. He was expelled from the local high school. He was placed in an alternative school for troubled teens.

Tommy had a couple favorite torture tactics he used on me. One was pinning me down, kneeling on my arms, leaning over my face while letting mucus filled spit hang from his mouth. He would get it as close to my face as he could, then slurp it back up. More times than not, the spit landed on my face.

When I was upset by something, he would follow me around repeatedly belting out his best Mick Jagger, “You can’t always get what you want.”

Despite the fact that some of my brother’s favorite pastime activities included unplugging the phone while I was talking, locking me in the basement or occasionally spinning me around by my hair, I still knew that he would always be there for me if I needed him.

As you likely recall from previous chapters, Michael was my world. In my mind he was my son, my responsibility. I always felt that of all three of my mother’s children, Mike had it the worst. By the age of six he no longer had a mother present. He was not old enough to understand why. I am sure he was too young to truly recall the previous six years of neglect. All that he knew was that his mother was gone. This alone is trauma enough for a small child. Then he was moved into a house where he shared a bedroom with the prince. There was no denying that he was the pauper. These two singular events were detrimental enough. But, TRUST ME, they pale in comparison to what his future held.

Patrick was an innocent child, he was only three years old when we all began to cohabitate. This new “family” must have been as difficult for him to comprehend as it was for all of us. I wonder if it all began for him with an excitement of not being alone, having brothers and a sister. Similar to the excitement of the potential for a family that my brothers and I felt. These expectations only led to further damage and disappointment.

1978. Me, Tommy and Michael.

Circa 1984. Patrick, Michael, me and Tommy. This is the only picture I have of the four of us together.

ACCLIMATE

Here I was, upset that I had to leave my whole world behind. Especially my grandmother. I began seventh grade completely out of place. I went from a South Boston Catholic School to a North Boston Public School. To give you a better picture, I went from a sea of white faces wearing Dickies pants, OshKosh B’Gosh overalls, patterned turtlenecks, IZOD polos, Bass leather topsiders, Tretorn sneakers, carrying Pappagallo purses and barely ever kissing a boy, to predominantly African American schoolmates, Jordache jeans, tight fitting shirts/sweaters, parachute pants, two-toned, acid-washed and pinstriped jeans, Nike footwear and regular locker room discussions of many of the girls’ sexual exploits. I recall a specific locker room chat. Three of our more outspoken classmates were “schooling” the rest of us.

“If y’all not having sex, you bet start, you don’t even know what you missin’.”

DISBELIEF.

1982. My 6th grade school portrait.

My two worlds could not have been further apart. I still spent some weekends in South Boston at my grandmother’s house, Aunt Alice’s house, or with friends. My visits were becoming different now. I began developing in sixth grade. I was more physically endowed than most girls my age. I did a good job disguising my C cups with large sweatshirts and baggy t-shirts. The innocence that remained of childhood was beginning to slip away.

My friends were my world. My closest friends were my safe place. My connection to my friends and the families I spent time with, was much stronger than my connection to most of my own family. I loved them and always felt like I belonged with them. I spent a lot of time with a particular friend’s family. They had three children, two boys and a girl. I was very close to their entire family, but I had a special bond with their dad. He was the first of all of my friends’ fathers that I didn’t fear. I always hung out with him. When we...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.7.2021
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-10: 1-0983-7698-6 / 1098376986
• ISBN-13: 978-1-0983-7698-7 / 9781098376987