by Julie Hartnett

Created on: July 19, 2008

Your Mom's Retarded

My mother was a crazy person. Certifiable. She was actually diagnosed as manic-depressive schizophrenic shortly after the birth of my sister. Every family has their own personal drama: the crazy Uncle who did time for that incident that no one really wants to talk about in mixed company. Or the Lesbian Aunt who now lives with her lover in a Trailer Park somewhere in Arizona. Sure it's embarrassing and can be humiliating but grown-ups usually have a bit of tact. Not always of course but they should know better.

My sister, ten years my senior was horrified when I came along and ruined her world. She and her friends would torture me when I was a kid. They would tickle me until I cried or peed, usually both unless I was lucky enough that my dad would come and break it up. As I roller skated down the broken sidewalk, she and her friend would take my arms shouting, "Skate faster, skate faster!" The skinless bloody knees were all the proof I needed to tell my dad what she'd done. I can't recall her ever getting in trouble for it though. Sure, we're great friends now but as a kid, she was my sworn enemy. I just wanted her to like me. What I didn't realise then but am painfully aware of now, she actually did take care of me. The resentment of a pre-teen has a funny way of rearing its ugly head.
Karen, my mother was really good at one thing: playing the piano. It was the only time I can remember her being at peace. Most of the time she was crying or screaming at people who weren't there but she continued long elaborate conversations with them none the less. I would have loved to have a mom like my friend Sara's mom. She was the greatest mom in the whole wide world. She brought cupcakes to school for the whole class. She braided Sara's hair every day for school. When I had a sleepover at Sara's house, her mom always made waffles for breakfast in the morning and her family always sat at the dinner table together. They didn't eat on TV trays and watch Family Ties and Cheers. Nothing came out of a can at Sara's house.
In second grade, I asked Sara if she wanted to come over and play after school. She said she wasn't allowed to anymore. I was devastated. I assumed this meant I couldn't come to her house either. No more waffles, no more Wonder Mom! And then she said it, "It's because your mom's retarded." Just like that. She didn't sugar coat, she just laid it all out on the table, like a bad business deal when your lawyer gets involved. "I told my Mom she

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