My Mother

Please stop reading now if you believe all mothers are gems, can’t do anything wrong, are perfect or anything along those lines, just stop reading now please.

I hate my mother, I can’t stand the woman.  I have had enough of her abuse, her hatred of me and those I love so dearly.

This started when I was born I have been told, not only by my mother but those that were old enough to know when I was born.

My mother wished I had died at birth.  She has told me so on several occasions.  Why would I not believe her, her actions have shown the truth of this over the last 47 years.

I have no respect for the woman for so many reasons that in 1k words it will be impossible to say everything, if I can get a book deal I will certainly expand upon all this.

When you are a child you think your parents are everything.  You want to please them in every way you know how.  It is impossible to understand why a parent has no use for you. Yet this is what I faced growing up.

I was the middle child.  Born 1 year 4 months after my brother and 2 years 4 months before my sister.  So go figure there was little time for a child that really should have died and in such need of care.

No my mother had only time really for my brother as first born and my sister as the girl.  I was left to fend for myself. A tough road to follow when you learn this at such a young age.

My mother was an only child and she had some severe issues with her father, I think this left her unable to fully deal with life on life’s terms.  She was 2 people really, the public face that everybody seemed to like and the family face that was truly ugly to watch.

She made family life hell on everybody.  My poor father was a travelling salesman, so he would be gone for weeks or even months at a time.  One of the things she did that everybody hated was save up all her punishments for when my father finally came home.  So this poor guy would walk in the door from being away from his family for such a long time to a woman that belched out hatred.  You sons did this and that, you need to punish them.  And man did he ever.

It got to the point that we would flee out the backdoor when my dad arrived home, knowing the beating we faced for things not remembered.  So our poor father never even got to see a loving family when he had been away, just her screaming about what those 2 boys did.

The worst part of this was, I got punished on a regular basis for just being a boy, my brother was the leader the one that really caused the issues, I just got limped in for punishment for the most part.

Trust me, I learned to act out in terrible ways just so I could actually earn the beatings I took.  I mean why have a beating for nothing more than being born, you might as well cause some major problem, I still think to this day my logic makes sense.

When I was 13 I started to work my first actual job in a skate shop at the local rink.  I was a rink rat, and everybody knew me.  I took in the money, sold sticks and pins, took the burrs off the sharpened skates.  Basic stuff.

What this allowed me to do was be away from home a lot more.  I could purchase my own clothes, my own food. So I did.  I did this right up until I left home for good.  I no longer asked for anything from anybody in my family.  And they gave that exactly to me.  Nothing.

My mother was an English Major from Queens University.  She lorded that over everybody in the family,  My god if you did not speak properly to her or around her you got into such trouble it paid to say nothing.  Likely why I talk so much now, I can.

I am highly read, Homer, Virgil, Plutarch, I have read almost everything you could possibly consider a classic.  I love reading or did before my last accident that has left me unable to open a page without terrible headaches.  But the point is this, after reading everything on her list that she considered real books, I told her my feat.

Instead of saying well done, I am proud of you, she yells and screams in my face, ” Did you read them in Latin? If you didn’t read them in Latin you didn’t read them, period.”

To this day I still can’t open those books, I own them all.

I remember the fight my mother and father had one night about sex.  She proclaimed late one night ” I will never have sex with you again”   Of course at such a young age we had no idea what this meant.  We knew the next morning though it was something bad.  My father had destroyed our TV in a fit of rage.

Years after the fact, I learned that my wonderful mother had been having affairs with the men at her workplace.  I had caught her having very secret talks with a couple of them.  I was a young teenager at the time and at this point sure did understand what was going on.  She learned to hate me even more.

When I was older and getting married she refused to even meet my new family, they were brown.  Not white.  I will never have anything to do with THOSE people.  In fact when my son was born, she refused to allow him into her home, he was not white enough.  People I AM white, my son is my spitting image.  But his blood is half from India.  HE is perfect, and has never met a single person in my family, ever.

Oh, I have so much more,  when I was molested by a teacher in middle school, it was my fault.  Everything was my fault, always was, always will be.

I think the only thing I ever learned well from her, and I use to this day extremely well with my son Aidan is this.

I do NOTHING like her, I do everything the exact opposite.  I have found that my son is stellar in every way possible.

She is not dead yet, I wish she were to be honest.  Just to have some hope the pain she has caused me and my loved ones may finally have a chance to heal properly.

Next up on the 1k hit list will be my brother the bully.

I want to add after the fact, I am coated in sweat just thinking about all this again, that is the real cruelty in all this, I still have a lot of issues with her.


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