Little Roof Jumpers

Chapter Eight - My Dad My Keeper

My dad my keeper

My mother changed into a skirt or dress before my father came home and always had a glass of iced tea ready for him. He in turn always kissed her as she unloaded our day's bad behavior. Mostly mine.

Dad was the purchasing manager for an international company that made gears for large farm equipment and other large machines. Dad seemed happy when he came in the back door and greeted mom with a kiss. Somewhere between his greeting mom and her telling of the day she had with my brother's and I, it all fell apart.

Our house was a white cape cod with green shutters on the corner of Queen and Eleventh Street. We had an old garage made for a Model T with a cinder floor that we used for bicycles, lawn mower and storage. Dad parked his car on the side of our house and came in the back door that opened to a very small kitchen. Our kitchen was the size of a bathroom and it had three doorways.

My brothers and I chased each other through the kitchen door ways opening the refrigerator door as far as it would go until it slammed up against the stove and block the one sibling from reaching the other. This behavior drove my mom nuts! When the door to the fridge slammed against the stove everything in the refrigerator rattled and banged. Mom would yell, "Stop your going to tear the house down." Which made us laugh!

Our mother wanted us to behave, but she didn't know how to get us to take her seriously. We deserved punishment. But the corporal punishment that dad dished out only made an already dysfunctional situation worse. Dad often said to mom, "Let me get through the back door before you tell me what happened with the kids today." One night when dad came home I heard him ask mom why she saved punishing us for him. Dad then told mom she needed to take care of punishing us instead of making him the bad guy. I agreed, not out loud!

I didn't understand why mom told dad every little thing I did wrong. She knew I was going to get in big trouble. Admittedly I usually did something but it wasn't as bad as what it escalated into. And what about my brothers, Mark and Wayne they weren't angels, Geez, I definitely rubbed my family the wrong way. Mostly I didn't know when to keep my mouth shut.

I think mom was tired of us fighting and chasing each other around the house. When dad came in the back door from work she spilled our bad behavior on him before he had a chance to say hello to us. Mom got mad at me often when Mark and I were fighting because, when he and I called each other names, it hurt her feelings. And if Mark and I were in a non physical fight, I usually got the best of him verbally. Mom and dad both felt sorry for Mark because his grades were horrible and he didn't go out much with friends. My grades were good and I had many friends that I went to the movies, skating, swimming, ballgames and parties.

There was just something about me that made my folks want to hit me or make me feel trapped because they knew I wanted to go someplace and they held the power to let me have fun or make me stay home knowing all my friends were having fun without me. Most of the time when I was told, "No" it wasn't because we had something else to do, or I had done anything wrong, my parents wanted to make me squirm, especially if I or one of my friends had been snotty to Mark. My folks couldn't stand the smart remarks I through out at Mark but he could make fun of me and they would join in. It seemed like they delighted in what they called, "getting my goat." I am sure my fits were hilarious to watch, the more my folks and Mark laughed the more I stomped my feet and cried. It was just all so strange.

Mark was off limits and I soon learned to ignore him when our parents were around. Sometimes, I just couldn't help it. I often flipped out about something Mark said under his breath for only me to hear, and that's when dad lowered the boom and took away my outing, Mark giggled in delight and I wanted to punch him right in the face.

Mark and I had good times too. We played cards, monopoly, battleship and other games together. We fought about many things and as long as I didn't hurt Marks feelings my parents didn't get upset with me. They tried their best to find things to praise Mark for like drawing. Mark liked to design homes and they always included enough room for all of us. He had the idea we should all live together forever. I really did feel sorry for him, Mark needed confidence outside of our home.

By the time I was ten or eleven I was starting to understand how unpredictable my parents were. A, "Yes" on Monday to go skating Friday night didn't really mean, "Yes." Making plans in advance to go with my friends on the weekend just made it that much more upsetting Friday night when dad changed his mind and I was told, "No."

I was confused and angry, but mostly I was an emotional wreck growing up. Not when I was at school or out with my friends, just at home. My family's treatment of me was frustrating, I just wanted my dad to love me and be happy with me when I brought home a good report card, instead of teasing and tormenting me for Mark's benefit.

If my other friend's parents treated them in the same fashion I wouldn't have felt mistreated but my friends parents were nice to them. None of my friend's parents boxed their ears or slapped them in the face or hit them with a belt. Nor did any of my friends get grounded for two weeks. I was unhappy more than happy as a child. My heart was broken often when I came downstairs on a Friday night dressed in something I thought pretty, only to have my dad say, "where do you think you are going?"

"Remember dad, you said I could go skating tonight. Oh ho, ho, I didn't say you could go anywhere. Dad! Yes, you did! I asked you on Wednesday! March back upstairs you are not going!" I immediately started crying and pleading, "please, please let me go, I will do extra chores, just let me go, I cried! I said, No!" By this time I was so upset I was jumping up and down begging and screaming. Dad jumped up and slapped me hard in the face. "I hate you!"

The phone rang and my dad answered in his deep voice that he felt made him sound like he was the king. "Annie can't come to the phone, she is in for the night! "Click!" Hearing the tone my dad used to speak to my friends made me even more upset and embarrassed. When dad got off the phone I said, "I hate you! None of my friend's fathers treat them like this. Get upstairs, now!"