For the better part of a decade, upon realization that my recollection of childhood was extremely poor, I've wondered if there was something wrong with me; wrong with my mind. How much does a typical person recall from their childhood?
I suppose that is why I've been particularly drawn to the song Take a Picture by Filter. And I suppose that is why I take so many pictures; I'm afraid I'll forget. I'm compelled to document life.
Could you take my picture?
'Cause I won't remember.
'Cause I won't remember.
Not only does having children bring on the unsolicited visit from what can be conjured from one's past, but so does reading a memoir. especially a memoir like The Liars' Club.
From here I could fork off to one of a million different tangents. Oh which path will I choose?
How about spanking?
Okay. Well, this is one of the matters that has been floating around in my head of late, mostly because of the Mary Karr's memoir. You see, when I read about her account of spankings and other corporal punishments of the like she endured through childhood, be they with open palm or switch, they were markedly different from my experience with physical penalties growing up. Hers (Karr's) were administered with a relative degree of control as a means of correcting a behavior. They were done with calculation in a deliberate, even somewhat organized, manner.
In my home, they were never on my butt, and they were far from regulated. A spanking was anything but a spanking.
First off, my father never resorted to corporal punishment, seeing as he could hurt you far more effectively with his words. He is still the only person to this day who has and can make me want to kill myself just by using his words. God, that sounds just awful to write out here, but it's the truth.
My mom was the one who got physical. But her resorting to physicality was not so much an action taken to correct and control my behavior so much than it was a loss of control of her behavior. I remember many an instance of kicking, hitting, swatting, hair-pulling, pushing and dragging.
Sometimes I look at my own daughter who has tried my patience on occasion and wonder, how could she not know better? Or, maybe more appropriately, do better?
I remember mom telling me she was sorry after the fact on more than one occasion. Telling me that she had trouble not being that way because growing up she had been a little sister and that was how she was used to reacting. I now look back on that explanation and think, well, didn't you grow up? you weren't a little kid getting back at your big brother then; you were a mother irresponsibly taking your frustrations out on your child in that present moment - who was significantly smaller than you.
When I started babysitting at age 11 I noticed on more than one occasion the readiness with which I rose my hand to reprimand a child. I resisted with all that was in me and didn't take as many babysitting jobs. Most unfortunately I didn't practice the same restraint and self control when it came to my brother.
Mom got better as I got older. After my brother was born (I was 9 at the time) she had improved a lot. Not entirely, but she was better.
One time when I was either a tween or young teen, and we were in some sort of altercation, her standing before me on fire with fury and me sitting on my bed facing her with anger and trepidation, she had gone to kick me with all her might, and I lifted my legs up to avoid the certain painful collision. Well, she bashed her foot into the base board of the bed and had a bump the size of a jumbo egg for the better part of the month. That is one memory I haven't forgotten. I think because in a way it turned out to be an unintentional revenge and it resulted in physical attestation on her part of what she had tried to do to me.
Mom found Jesus in 1997 and was baptized, and I don't remember any physical incidents after that point in time. Granted I wasn't much of a threat seeing as I could barely get out of bed that time in my life. If anything my apathy was a peaceful poison.
I think I need to stay away from memoirs for a while.
2 comments:
Hugs.
It's a difficult pattern to eliminate. At least it was, for me, especially during the time of my life when I had gone from safety and security to a state of nervous anxiety about merely surviving.
Your kids are fortunate to have a thoughtful mother who strives to learn from the past, even if she can't remember all of the past to her satisfaction.
Your honest writing is very moving. I had parents very much like yours in this sense. My father could hurt me with his word, I felt great shame when he spoke to me and still do.
You are a very good mom to be looking inward at this time. Happy Mother's day.
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