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 was talking to people who weren't there and she said it was because your mom had a mental problem. And then she told my dad and he said I couldn't come over anymore."
I was still allowed waffles and overnighters. Sara was allowed to come over, but not as often as she used to. But one fine hot afternoon, I was changing into my swimsuit while Sara asked her mom to put the sprinkler's on. The door to her bedroom opened and Sara's dad stood in the doorway...naked. He very casually asked where Sara was and then stood there with his arms folded across his chest. I hid as best I could beside the bed, my eight year old not developed body was precious to me. I said she was outside and he said, "Thanks." That was it. My mom's retarded and your dad just asked where you were, middle of the afternoon without clothes on? Who's retarded now?
I never told Sara or anyone about that day. I know what I saw and I knew if I'd told my dad what happened, I would never have eaten Sara's mom's waffles again. Really, I wanted to hang out with the Walton's. Years later, I would discover from Sara's own admission, there was quite a bit of funny business going on in her childhood. We never spoke about it again. I quickly changed the subject and told her, "Your Mom makes the best Goddamned waffles I've ever had in my life."
As for my mother, she passed on when I was high school. I would like to say it was a sad time, but life goes on. I would like to think she's at peace. Playing piano duet's with Liberace and flirting with Yul Brenner. I have a little bit of musical talent and that's all her. I also have her good looks, same frizzy hair but she was pretty. I had always wondered why my parents would have another child when my mother clearly was not able to cope with the one she already had. I went to the Guru of the family, my all knowing Grandmother. I stated, "Gram, I know I was an accident." To which she replied, "Oh no, your mother knew exactly what she was doing."