The Day I Smashed The Window! Continuing…..

At my Grandmother's funeral.
.

The blood from my wrist was running down my arm but father didn’t seem to notice.  His face was red and he was yelling so loud; I had never seen him like this before.  But I was so scared,  all I could think about was getting away from his grip.  So when I finally broke free, I ran for the stairs.  I made it upstairs to the bedroom with father in hot pursuit.

I didn’t know if mother was home or not.  I tried to get under the blanket on the bed thinking it would protect me.  I had taken my coat off on the way up the stairs.  He yanked the blanket off me and I only had a cotton dress and thin panties on, my legs were bare.  I saw him trying to get his belt off and I knew I was in for it!

He started hitting me on the butt and the legs with his belt and I started crying and yelling how I did not mean to break the window.  But he wasn’t listening; he was too enraged.  This continued for a while and I don’t know who was louder me begging for mercy or him cursing me.  All of a sudden mother appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.  She started yelling at father.

“Stop, you are going to kill her!  She shouted!

“Do you know what she did?”  He yelled back!

“I don’t care, you need to stop; she is bleeding!”  Mother yelled as she grabbed his arm to stop him from hitting me again.

Father pulled his arm away from her but she jumped in front of him and pushed him back away from me.  Mother was no lightweight and she was putting all her force against him to push him away and he staggered back.  Father was not that big of a man but he was strong.  He was always exercising and lifting weights.  He seemed to lose his rage as he fell back against the wall.

Mother then sat me up and looked at where the blood was coming from on my wrist.  She gasped and told him to go and get our neighbor, Mrs. D.  He seemed in a stupor, so she yelled at him again to go as they needed to get the blood stopped and Mrs. D. was our source in any emergency.  She always knew what to do and she always had bandages and tape and whatever else was needed in an emergency.

Mrs. D. had three boys in school, who were constantly getting into trouble,  so she had to be ready for any emergency.  We depended on her to be there for us and she never let us down.  It seemed that I was the one in our family who was usually in trouble and I counted on her to help me on many occasions.

So it was no surprise when she came and assessed the situation, cleaned up my wound after taking a piece of glass out of my wrist  and bandaged it.  I was feeling much better after that.  No one thought of calling the doctor, because we could not afford one usually. So I have a few scars to show for the scrapes I was in as a child.

Father managed to get his coat on and leave the house not wanting to hang around in case anyone wanted to question him.  We found out later he had gone to his mother’s house, where he was always made to feel better about himself no matter what.

Although, I must say from that time on, he never hit me again.  That wasn’t necessarily true of my mother, even though she saved me more times than I can count as I did get into trouble a lot it seems.

The pane of glass in the front door was fixed with a piece or cardboard from a box we had and stayed that way for quite a while.  Father remained away for a long time but then that was what he did.  Oh, I still have a scar on that wrist to remind me of that day.

The End

 

THE DAY I SMASHED THE WINDOW!

Marion and Kay

THE DAY I SMASHED THE WINDOW

It was a bright snowy day as I trudged home from school that cold winter afternoon.  My older sister, who was usually with me as we walked to and from school, most if not all school days, was missing.  Today she had to stay later to practice for the upcoming play that she was starring in.   She was playing the part of Gabriel, the angel who announces to Mary that she was to be the Mother of God.  She had some singing in latin, which required not only a knowledge of latin but it helped if you had a pleasant singing voice.  We of course were attending Catholic school, so our plays mostly had a religious theme.  Of course two years of latin was required also in high school.  And the mass was in Latin at that time.  She qualified on all points, plus she was very pretty with long blond hair.  She made the perfect angel.

I approached the house which my mother called, “the shack,” ever since we had moved here from the nice house we had previously.  And it was a shack! The roof leaked, the wind whistled through the cracks in the house and the toilet was practically outside.  There was a lean to attached to the house and a roof and door that closed, so it wasn’t too bad.   It was cold though and the toilet seat would freeze over in winter.  I was starting to get chills from the wind which had picked up and my feet were soaked.   As I approached the house I was looking forward to sitting by the stove and warming myself.

I did not remember whether father was going to be home today or not.  He was supposed to be out looking for a job, which meant that mother would be home and I was happy about that.  I did not want to hear them quarreling again and mother usually had a snack for us after school, cookies and cocoa or tea always warmed me and made me feel good.

Mostly, I went around to the kitchen door and took my boots, if I had any, off and shook any snow off before coming into the house.  But I was so cold and miserable I decided to go in through the front door.  I tried the door and it didn’t budge, so I tried it again.  No luck.  Then I decided to knock because I knew someone was home, I could hear the radio.  I banged on the glass in the window.  There were six separate panes of glass in the top of the door, the bottom half was wood. No one was coming to the door.

I did have a temper and after knocking several times I was getting angry in addition to being cold and having wet feet, so I banged harder than I should have.  Just then, on the third bang, the glass shattered!  Some of the glass chips cut into my wrist and I started to bleed.  Now I could hear footsteps coming to the door and also yelling and cursing!  My wrist was bleeding pretty good at this point from the broken glass shards and I could feel myself being pulled inside!

“What the hell?”  Father was screaming as he dragged me inside.  The sound of his raised voice and his grip on my arms was starting to hurt.  The blood was getting all over my coat as I managed to get away from him.  I quickly ran upstairs and sat on the bed.  But he followed me upstairs and I knew I was in for it.

 

To Be Continued.

 

A CHRISTMAS STORY/MY AUNT WYNNE

The Christmas Kitty
The Christmas Kitty

 

My Aunt Wynne was a real dilly! There are other words that spring to mind but they are better left unsaid. My mother and Wynne were sisters and she would come to visit quite frequently. We kids ranged in ages from twelve down to five. There were four of us in all.  We all liked Wynne mostly because she was a lot of fun and she always had a joke or story to tell us. A lot of which was something we should not be hearing, like swear words or sometimes titillating subjects, usually when my Mother was not around.

My Mother would chastise Wynne sometimes but it never bothered her and she would keep doing it and we would keep listening to her. Wynne didn’t listen very well especially when someone told her she could not do something. She was a flapper in the days when it was popular to be one. One time, she tried to teach us the Charleston but we never seemed to catch on. Occasionally, she would bring her current boyfriend and they usually brought goodies then, like ice cream or candy. That’s one of the reasons we liked her so much.

Wynne had a new boyfriend and she brought him to our house one time.  He was a big, boisterous, Polish gentleman.  His favorite food was potato pancakes which he would proceed to make whenever he came.  They were one of the most delicious things I had ever tasted.  Even today, I can make them without a recipe almost as good as he did.

He really made an impression on us kids and we looked forward to his visits.  But alas, Wynne dropped him after going out for quite a while, much to our chagrin.

One Christmas which was particularly hard for us as Father had left us to go and stay with his Mother, leaving us in the lurch with no food or means to buy any. This seemed to be happening on a fairly regular basis. Since he had lost his job as a teacher and didn’t plan on looking for another job, we were pretty destitute.  I suppose the responsibility was too great for him, supporting his family. So Mother was our only means of support and she had to take care of us kids.

Aunt Wynne, knowing that Mother was not going to be able to get us much or anything for Christmas, thought she was helping by telling us this story. It was only a few days before Christmas and like all kids we were expecting at least one present each.

So Wynne gathered us all around and began:

“You know kids, something bad has happened to Santa this year.  The Police spotted him speeding in his car and they arrested him. So he is cooling his heels in jail right now and probably will be there through Christmas.

So sorry to say but Santa will not be able to deliver your presents this year.”

Tears started rolling down our faces, except twelve-year-old Anna, as she didn’t believe anymore. I was ten and beginning to waver but I still thought there may be a chance, so I was as devastated as the younger kids.

Just then mother came into the room and caught Wynne in the act and said to us, “Aunt Wynne was just kidding, Santa is not really in jail and you will still be getting a few presents although not many.”

We went to bed happy then and Aunt Wynne was banished from our house for a time. But over the years Aunt Wynne continued with her shenanigans and stories and while we never quite believed her anymore, it didn’t keep her from trying.

Growing Up continues…….

Mother and girls
Mother and girls

 

GROWING UP continues……..

Father or Paddy as I thought of him, because that’s what my mother called him, when she was in a good mood, was devouring his burger and fries, although  he was not drinking the stale coffee I served him.  I had to laugh to myself over that, because he thought he was an expert on coffee.  He had to have the best brand and it had to be ground just so and brewed so many minutes.  I wondered  how he liked the lukewarm coffee I served him that had been sitting there for a few hours?  I thought he wouldn’t be coming here anymore, which was of course my purpose in being so obnoxious to him.  That and I was really angry at him for leaving us again with out so much as a goodby.

He had quit the job he had as a night-watchman at a plant not far from where we lived.  He went home to his mother to live then.  He could never stay at a job very long after he lost his position as a school teacher.  That was all politics he told us.  He felt that any manual labor was beneath him, after he went to college to become a teacher.  The only other jobs to be had in the area were in the coal mines and he swore he would never work in the mines.

I was angry and at the same time I was relieved that he was gone, because he was making mother miserable and they were always arguing.  Also my sister and I had a lot more freedom when he wasn’t there.  Not that we got into trouble but we did like to be able to go wherever and whenever we wanted and mother was pretty easygoing now that we were older.

We were Catholic school girls for crying out loud and we had so many guilt trips laid on us, mostly by the priests and nuns, that we wouldn’t know how to be “wild,” which was the phrase of the day for young people, even if we wanted to.  Our idea of a good time was to go to the library, the movies or to a school dance.  At this time we really hadn’t started dating, so we just got together with our friends at school or at the school dances and go for a coke afterwards.  Those times we were  with our friends from school, whose company we enjoyed.

As I was waiting on people, I saw that Paddy was trying to get my attention but I pretended not to notice and kept my back turned.  A few minutes later  Trudy went over to see if he wanted anything else and they spoke for a few minutes before he got up and headed for the door.  I happened to be waiting on several people at the soda fountain so my attention was diverted and I did not see him leave.

I don’t know what he expected of me, he is the one who left us so many times that I couldn’t remember.  And the last time was the last time!  Mother had it with him and she swore she would never take him back.  Don’t know what he thought I could do about the situation, if anything.  Sure, I sat with him and his buddies while they played poker and told stories about the war and drank beer.  Sometimes I was allowed to have a sip of their beer.  Most of them were too old to be in the war anyway but it didn’t stop them from telling the stories.  The only reason Paddy was drafted at forty-two was because he had deserted his family!  Then he didn’t want his allotment sent to us until he had to, because the Army took that decision out of his hands.  So we really owed him nothing, except maybe our contempt.

If it were up to him we would be still living in the shack with the rain coming through the holes in the roof.  Why Mother had taken him back at all, I didn’t know, he was never a help to us.  I suppose he thought now that my sister and I were getting older, we would be working and bringing in money to the family and he wouldn’t have to work much, if at all.

After he left, Trudy came over and said, “He left this for you,” as she handed me two dollars.

I took the money and put it in my uniform pocket and noticing the look on her face, I said, “What’s with you?”

“How could you treat your Father like that?”  she said.

“Don’t question me unless you know what you are talking about!”   I snapped back.

She let it drop then and we went back to our respective duties.

I did not know it then but that was to be the last time I saw my father.  I was fourteen.

 The End (of this part)

 

THE CONTINUING SAGA OF GROWING UP.

mother and girlsThis story is from my archives.  It is a continuing story, memoir or autobiography of my life as I remember it.  I am repeating a section of it here today, because I can’t think of anything for today’s assignment, even though I have wracked by brain to think of something close to what we are supposed to do. 

So, hope you enjoy it and I will do the next in the series of, “Growing Up” just to close this particular section.  And I will also do tomorrow’s assignment on time or at least try to.

GROWING UP

I was fourteen years old when my father left for the last time, at least we hoped it was the last time. Life resumed its normal rhythm and we managed to get through that Summer in much the same way that we were used to. Although my sister, who was sixteen now, had quit school in tenth grade to work full-time. She then changed her mind after working in a factory for a while and decided to go back to school and graduate.
My mother was glad even though there would be less money coming in now; she thought it was more important to graduate. I was a freshman now and considered myself quite grown up and should be able to do whatever I wanted. My mother, easygoing as she was most times, had other ideas about that. I was not a problem in my teens like some other of my peers and since I was responsible and helped out at home, my mother trusted me.

I was still working at the coke and jukebox place for the rest of that Summer and paying for my expenses at school, so I was pretty independent. One day as I was working with the one other waitress who was also on duty, guess who walks into the place with a big smile on his face? My father! I hadn’t seen him since the big blow up between himself and my mother a few months ago, when he stormed out with my mother’s encouragement. That was over my sister having her sixteenth birthday party in our basement, which he was adamantly against. We hadn’t heard from him since that time and he had never even said goodby when he left and here he was waltzing in here to see me. Not sure what he was after but I was having none of it.

He sat down at the counter and I anxiously tried to get Trudy, the other waitress, to wait on him but she said she was too busy. So I, against my better judgement, walked over to where he was sitting. He was sitting at the counter in spite of several empty booths and without even saying hello, I asked what he wanted. He had a funny smile on his face as though he knew I wanted to slap him, now that I was big enough. He was only about five feet six, with a slight build although he had a lot more muscle tone than I did. He was always exercising and lifting weights and I am sure even though I was five feet five at the time, not much shorter than he, I was in no shape to be challenging him. My mouth was another story.

He said he would have a hamburger and french fries. “Oh crap” I thought, “he wants me to cook for him. Damn!” I really was angry at him and now I had to cook something and serve him. I went into the kitchen and started banging around and making a lot of noise. First of course I had to pour him a cup of coffee, which had been sitting there for hours and I knew how he liked it freshly made or he wouldn’t drink it. So I got some satisfaction from that. He didn’t say anything about it though. He just sat there with that sickening smile. I continued banging around in the kitchen and finally I came out and slammed the plate down in front of him. I walked away and went over to Trudy and she was looking at me with a, “What’s the matter with you,” look on her face. I couldn’t explain who he was to her, not while he was still sitting there.

 

BELIEVE IN YOURSELF!

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

_Eleanor Roosevelt

I looked up to Eleanor Roosevelt because she was the wife of Franklin Roosevelt and he was my hero from the time I was a child.  He had been in office for four terms which was unheard of at the time.

This saying by Roosevelt reminds me of when I was growing up and constantly being compared to my father by my mother, whenever I did something she disapproved of.  Which was pretty often as I recall.

My father had left us so many times I could not keep track.  He lost his job as a teacher and refused to work in any other capacity after that.  So as a result we were poor as church mice and my mother had to take up the reins of the bread winner and get a job.  Not easy when you have four kids to take care of.

So father was not in any of our good graces as you might expect.  And when my mother would say to me, “You are just like your father,” I knew I was being insulted and was constantly struggling for a response.  This is what I came up with and for a kid of seven years old, I thought it was pretty good.

“Well, at least he is good looking!” I would shout back at mother.  I think that took her by surprise and she had to laugh, saying,”You got me there.”  We would then have a standoff until the next time.

I never accepted that fact that I was in some way inferior because of the constant reminder of being like my father.  I decided that I was just as good if not better than everybody else.

Eleanor Roosevelt’s quote has always resonated with me.  She was a strong woman and good example especially for women and girls.

 

Where I lived at Twelve Years Old

I am submitting this story from my archives as I am in somewhat of a slump right now and can’t seem to get going on writing anything new.  So hope you like this “blast from my past.”

 

WHEN I WAS TWELVE……….
we had moved out of the shack we had been living in for a good part of my childhood.  The roof leaked, we had no hot water except what we heated on our coal stove and our toilet was outside in what we called a porch.  It was freezing in the winter when we went to the toilet and in the summer there were mosquitoes to annoy us.

So moving to the ‘new’ house, which was actually a duplex, we were beside ourselves with the joy of having a roof that didn’t leak and an inside toilet.  We still did not have a proper bathroom but just to have an indoor, enclosed toilet was enough for us.  We still didn’t have hot water unless we heated it on the coal stove but we were happy at least for a while..

I lived with my three sisters and my mother as my father had deserted us years ago, while we were living in the shack.  I had one older sister and two younger sisters.  My Mother worked as a cook for a doctor and sometimes she had to stay overnight, as she also did some of the cleaning for the doctor’s family.  She had to take two buses to get to the doctor’s house and of course two to get home.

My older sister was fourteen and had gotten a part-time job after school and this helped with paying the bills.  I was babysitting for a few of my Mother’s friends and that helped with buying my own clothes and various things I needed for school.  WWII was going on and rationing was the order of the day.  Sugar and butter were things I missed most and they, of course, were rationed.  That stopped us from making cookies and candy, that we loved so much.

We lived in a small town in Pennsylvania where everyone knew everyone else.  It was good and bad.  Good because everyone knew what everyone else was doing and bad because everyone knew what everyone else was doing.

We went to Catholic school and were taught by nuns and got a very good education.  The church was near the school and we went to mass every Sunday and holy days of obligation.  Also, we went to mass on certain months that were holy for some reason and we had to go every day before school.

In those days everything was in Latin, the mass, the singing, the whole bit.  We had to take two semesters of Latin and two semesters of another language or four semesters of Latin.  You had to have at four years of Latin to be a nurse, which was what I was thinking I might do. But then I decided to take two semesters of French because I was so sick of the Latin by then.  There went my nursing career, which I have since regretted.  But when you are young you make a lot of mistakes.

My Mother was a good cook, so on the days she was home we had some delicious meals and on other times, I usually tried my hand at cooking.  Sometimes the meals I cooked turned out pretty good, because I had learned a lot from Mother.  Other times when I tried something new, the meal turned out not so good and there was a lot of complaining from the sisters.  But I carried on and since I was the only one willing and old enough to cook on the coal stove, the complaining was held to a minimum, especially if they wanted to eat.

So we lived in that house until I was nineteen and my older sister was going to be married.  At least we were moving up in the world by then as we moved to the nearest big city.  We were upgrading at each move, especially since both my older sister and I had graduated from high school and were both working full-time. But the small town where we grew up and graduated from high school, still holds some fond memories of school days and friends, some of whom I still keep in contact.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where I lived at Twelve Years Old

We are supposed to write about where we lived when we were twelve.  And we are also supposed to include the town, city, country we lived in..  In addition, we should include whether it was an apartment, a house or mobile home or something different..  Another thing to add is where you went to school and who lived with you at the time.

The twist being the length of the sentences.  They should be both short and long and also medium.  Sentences of all the same length would make the story boring.  And of course we don’t want that do we?

When I was twelve we had moved out of the shack we had been living in for a good part of my childhood.  The roof leaked, we had no hot water except what we heated on our coal stove and our toilet was outside in what we called a porch.  It was freezing in the winter when we went to the toilet and in the summer there were mosquitoes to annoy us.

So moving to the ‘new’ house, which was actually a duplex, we were beside ourselves with the joy of having a roof that didn’t leak and an inside toilet.  We still did not have a proper bathroom but just to have an indoor, enclosed toilet was enough for us.  We still didn’t have hot water unless we heated it on the coal stove but we were happy.

I lived with my three sisters and my mother as my father had deserted us quite a while ago, while we were living in the shack.  I had one older sister and two younger sisters.  My Mother worked as a cook for a doctor and sometimes she had to stay overnight, as she also did some of the cleaning for the doctor’s family.  She had to take two buses to get to the doctor’s house and of course two to get home.

My older sister was fourteen and had gotten a part-time job after school and this helped with paying the bills.  I was babysitting for a few of my Mother’s friends and that helped with buying my own clothes and various things I needed for school.

We lived in a small town in Pennsylvania where everyone knew everyone else.  It was good and bad.  Good because everyone knew what everyone else was doing and bad because everyone knew what everyone else was doing.

We went to Catholic school and were taught by nuns and got a very good education.  The church was near the school and we went to mass every Sunday and holy days of obligation.  Also, we went to mass on certain months that were holy for some reason and we had to go every day before school that particular month. In those days everything was in Latin, the mass, the singing, the whole bit.  We had to take two semesters of Latin and two semesters of another language or four semesters of Latin.  You had to have at least two years of Latin to be a nurse, which was what I was thinking I might do. But I decided to take two semesters of French because I was so sick of the Latin by then.

My Mother was a good cook, so on the days she was home we had some delicious meals and on other times, I usually tried my hand at cooking.  Sometimes the meals I cooked turned out pretty good, because I had learned a lot from Mother.  Other times when I tried something new, the meal turned out not so good and there was a lot of complaining from the sisters.  But I carried on and since I was the only one willing and old enough to cook on the coal stove, the complaining was held to a minimum, especially if they wanted to eat.

So we lived in that house until I was nineteen and then we moved to the nearest big city.  We were upgrading at each move, especially since both my older sister and I had graduated from high school and were both working full-time. But the small town where we grew up and graduated from high school, still holds some fond memories of school days and friends, some of whom I still keep in contact.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Growing Up continues…….

mameFather or Paddy as I thought of him, because that’s what my Mother called him, when she was in a good mood, was devouring his burger and fries, although  he was not drinking the stale coffee I served him.  I had to laugh to myself over that because he thought he was an expert on coffee.  He had to have the best brand and it had to be ground just so and brewed so many minutes.  I wondered  how he liked the lukewarm coffee I served him that had been sitting there for a few hours?  I thought he wouldn’t be coming here anymore, which was of course my purpose in being so obnoxious to him.  That and I was really angry at him for leaving us again with out so much as a goodby.

I was angry and at the same time I was relieved that he was gone, because he was making Mother miserable and they were always arguing.  Also Anna and I had a lot more freedom when he wasn’t there.  Not that we got into trouble but we did like to be able to go wherever and whenever we wanted.

We were Catholic school girls for crying out loud and we had so many guilt trips laid on us, mostly by the priests and nuns, that we wouldn’t know how to be “wild,” which was the phrase of the day for young people, even if we wanted to.  Our idea of a good time was to go to the library, the movies or to a school dance.  At this time we really hadn’t started dating, so we just got together with our friends at school or at the school dances and those times we were in with our friends whose company we enjoyed.

As I was waiting on people, I saw that Paddy was trying to get my attention but I pretended not to notice and kept my back turned.  A few minutes later  Trudy went over to see if he wanted anything else and they spoke for a few minutes before he got up and headed for the door.  I happened to be waiting on several people at the soda fountain so my attention was diverted and I did not see him leave.

I don’t know what he expected of me, he is the one who left us so many times that I couldn’t remember.  And the last time was the last time!  Mother had it with him and she swore she would never take him back.  Don’t know what he thought I could do about the situation, if anything.  Sure I sat with him and his buddies while they played poker and told stories about the war.  Most of them were too old to be in the war anyway but it didn’t stop them from telling the stories.  The only reason he was drafted at forty- two was because he had deserted his family!  Then he didn’t want his allotment sent to us until he had to, because the Army took that decision out of his hands.

If it were up to him we would be still living in the shack with the rain coming through the holes in the roof.  Why Mother had taken him back at all, I didn’t know, he was never a help to us.  I suppose he thought now that Anna and I were getting older, we would be working and bringing in money to the family and he wouldn’t have to work much, if at all.

After he left, Trudy came over and said, “He left this for you,” as she handed me two dollars.

I took the money and put it in my uniform pocket and noticing the look on her face said, “What’s with you?”

“How could you treat your Father like that?”  she said.

“Don’t question me unless you know what you are talking about!”   I snapped back.

She let it drop then and we went back to our respective duties.

I did not know it then but that was the last time I saw my Father.  I was fourteen.

 The End

 

Growing Up continues…

Scan 2

I was fourteen years old when Father left for the last time, at least we hoped it was the last time. Life resumed its normal rhythm and we managed to get through that Summer in much the same way that we were used to. Although, Anna who was sixteen now and had quit school in tenth grade to work full-time, decided to go back to school and graduate. My Mother was glad even though there would be less money coming in now; she thought it was more important to graduate. I was a freshman now and considered myself quite grown up and should be able to do whatever I wanted to do. My Mother, as easygoing as she was, had other ideas about that. I was not a problem in my teens like some other of my peers who were and since I was responsible and helped out at home, my Mother trusted me.

I was still working at the coke and jukebox place for the rest of that Summer and paying for my expenses at school, so I was pretty independent. One day as I was working with the one other waitress who was also on duty, guess who walks into the place with a big smile on his face? My Father! I hadn’t seen him since the big blow up between himself and my Mother a few months ago, when he stormed out with my Mother’s encouragement. That was over Anna having her sixteenth birthday party in our basement, which he was adamantly against. We hadn’t heard from him since that time and he had never even said goodby when he left and here he was waltzing in here to see me, I supposed. Not sure what he was after but I was having none of it.

He sat down at the counter and I anxiously tried to get Trudy, the other waitress, to wait on him but she said she was too busy. So I got the honor. I went to the counter and without even saying hello, I asked what he wanted. He had a funny smile on his face as though he knew I wanted to slap him, now that I was big enough. He was only about five feet, six, with a slight build although he had a lot more muscle tone than I did. He was always exercising and lifting weights and I am sure even though I was five feet, five at the time, not much shorter than he, I was in no shape to be challenging him.

He said he would have a hamburger and french fries. “Oh crap” I thought, “he wants me to cook for him.” I really was angry at him and now I had to cook something and serve him. I went into the kitchen and started banging around and making a lot of noise. First of course I had to pour him a cup of coffee, which was stale and I knew how he liked it freshly made or he wouldn’t drink it. So I got some satisfaction from that. He didn’t say anything about it. He just sat there with that sickening smile. I continued banging around in the kitchen and finally I came out and slammed the plate down in front of him. I walked away and went over to Trudy and she was looking at me with a, “What’s the matter with you,” look on her face. I couldn’t explain who he was to her, not while he was still sitting there.

To be continued next Wednesday.