My Past Memories Are My … Today’s Stories


My Past Memories Are My … Today’s Stories…

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

 

The photo is of Gloria Faye Brown Bates as a little baby… this is the only baby photo I have………………….

 

 

I am taking time out to ‘talk’ to you… my readers, followers.  I have a lot of new followers on my blogs… and Bubblews.

 

I wanted to tell you about my writing.  I write the colors/stories of my life.  I write about grief.  I write about what I know best… ‘best means ‘me’.  I don’t write for anyone else, or try to write their stories.  I write about me, my life… I know it best.

 

When I write about my childhood… I don’t write about the other children who were there, how they were treated… what they went through.  That’s because ‘that’s their story’… they can write it if they want to.  I only write my own.

 

Sometimes, ‘those children’ will reach out… to remind me they were there, too.  I never forget you… and the things I saw you… suffer from; how you were treated.  Just know that… my heart cares for what you went through, also.  I can’t write your stories…

 

When I write about my childhood… most of it was bad.  Yes, it was a bad childhood… I don’t sugar-coat it.  I tell it like it was.  Not many people were kind to me… I suffered, I was made fun of as a little girl when my mother and her husband broke up… she sent me straight to Hell.

 

In Hell… I no longer was dressed like a little princess, with beautiful dresses…  my long hair was no longer brushed, taken care of; I no longer lived in a very clean house.  I no longer had good meals prepared by the lady who came to our home every day to care for me, my little brother. In Hell, it was awful… scary, dirty… there were things that jumped on one….

 

In fact, I was no longer cared about.  I became… nobody.  I became a little scapegoat for people to abuse when they were pissed off, angry at someone else.  So… were the other children who were thrown away… too.

 

Hell… was the house I was sent to …. at my Grandma Alma, George‘s.  They lived in nothing but, pure ‘hell’. Their house sat over the portal of Hell… guarding it.

 

No one ever knew any peace there.  My Grandma Alma was paralyzed… George, my step-grandfather was blind.  They never knew happiness there.  My aunt who lived there was the ‘daughter of Satan‘….

 

Their ‘middle room’ was where my Grandma Alma was ‘trapped’ in her old, upholstered rocking chair… George sat in his old cane-bottomed chair to watch tv (George couldn’t watch tv, he could listen… I would describe to him what I saw as a little girl). This room is where they ‘lived’…

 

The floor in the ‘middle room’… in my mind, became through time what I named… ‘the Arena’.  Because … this was the one place where everyone came ‘to raise hell’.  To make sure Grandma Alma, George saw, heard it all… and of course, any child that was living there.

 

The fights, gnashing of teeth, screaming, cussing…the blood… the hell they raised, was …. ungodly.  No one can imagine, unless they lived it.

 

The Arena was where everything played out that was ‘important’.  It was where anyone who wanted to settle something… was there to fight it out, have witnesses to watch… not only that, if they felt like it was a war they wanted to be in… so be it!  A lot of hell-raising went on in that Arena.  A lot of blood on that old hardwood floor.

 

All the grandchildren who weren’t wanted… were thrown down there… the mothers would take off, come back whenever they wanted.  They never knew the things ‘we children’ went through to survive there.  I’ll tell you my stories/colors… just know that I know I wasn’t the only child who suffered.  I never forget them.

 

The purpose of writing this is to let my new followers know… that when I write the ‘bad’… don’t feel sorry for me.  Don’t think I grew up tormented by all of the things that happened to me.  Don’t think you have to feel sorry for me… because I promise you that I made peace with it all… a long time ago.

 

My memories of the past… have become my stories of today… I only feel pain when I take them out to ‘feel them, examine them’ as I write about them.  When I’m through… I put them back up… just as you would put up your winter clothes in boxes until you needed them again.

 

I never think about, or hold on to the past… never.  One can’t, to have peace of mind. I don’t live in the past.

 

I will tell you this… I do grieve for my son, Tommy.  He was my only child… that pain never goes away… never.  Also… I never talk to anyone in person about my grief… it’s too personal.  I do write about it… if you are interested in reading… you can choose to come here to read… go your way quietly when you are through.

 

You don’t even have to comment on it.  This is my only outlet for my pain, grief.  I write my pain.  You can see how it feels as a mother to lose a child… I tell you just like it is.  This pain is always there…

 

I am thankful, and have been for years to have went through such ‘bad’ things as a child, young woman, an adult.  I couldn’t have survived all the ‘bad’ things I have been through if I’d had life easy as a child, younger person.  I know ‘why’ now.  I’ve only become stronger through each experience.  That doesn’t mean ‘that I don’t hurt’… it means… I will … survive.  Somehow, everything will be alright.

 

Just know that I don’t write to gain sympathy… I’ve never felt sorry for myself.  I never will.  I know life is full of twists, turns.  You wouldn’t believe the paths I’ve walked in life.  Some were very scary paths, indeed. I’m thankful to have gotten off from them before ‘going too far’.  I write my memories as stories for ‘today’… I don’t live … in the past.

 

As a child, the things I lived… I never knew everyone didn’t live like that.  I thought it was the way life was supposed to be.  I never knew what it was like to feel safe, protected, sheltered, loved.  I learned to never take anything for granted… even love.

 

I learned hate of the purest form… I have battled ‘hate’ all my life… I am a good person… probably one of the best people you’ll ever meet.  I’m just not perfect at all… not at all.  As much as I wish to be perfect, I’m not. I’m big enough to apologize when I am in the wrong… my heart hurts if I’ve done you wrong.  I care about ‘everything’.  I say prayers for the animals laying on the road… where cars have killed them.  My heart ‘feels’ everything.  I can’t bear the meanness, how cruel people are to other people, animals.

 

I just wanted to let my new readers/followers know these things… and to remind the ones that don’t know… when I write my ‘bad’ memories… I don’t do it to gain sympathy.  My past memories have become… my stories… today.  I write what I know… best.

 

I know grief, pain… best.  It doesn’t mean I walk around crying, wringing my hands like a tormented soul.  I don’t at all.  I write it like it really was… really is.  I see that it touches people in different ways… like when I read others’ writing… things affect me, also.  I understand ‘that’s what they write about’…. just as ‘that’s what I write about’.

 

Don’t ever feel sorry for me… I have never felt sorry for me.  I would be uncomfortable knowing you did.  I do appreciate your caring words when you express them, though.  Don’t feel you have to comment unless you feel you want to…. I don’t ask anything of anyone.

 

I have to write… I’ll write until the day I take my last breath.  I have to ‘leave a part of me here’ when I die… Tommy isn’t here, now.  He would have ‘been that part of me I would have left here’… that I knew would be here when I died.  He’s gone…….  Not only that… this will be the only way… that my grandchildren will ever know me.  My words are ‘the part of me that will always be here’….

 

I have no immediate family left now.  I have to write to ‘pass on memories of my son, Tommy… myself. There’s no one else to do it for either of us, now.  Any family I have is distant… there aren’t any bonds left… maybe a kind of sad love for the other, knowing it can’t be.

 

I don’t have grandchildren who will grow up knowing me…. there’s been too much deceit, dishonesty … all because of insurance money not going to whom it should have.  One lie has to cover another one… and lies such as those… make it impossible for me to know my grandchildren.  I’m not involved in it… but, I will pay the price… I will forever be Granny Gee … ‘in name only’.

 

I have a message written just for them when they become older.  I will place this message here in the future just for them… for now, it’s on my computer.  This is to let them know their Granny Gee has always loved them… she never had anything to do with all the money their father left for four people…. each of them, me, and one of the mothers.

 

One of the mothers had sole control over dividing it………. it should have been divided equally… all of it, plus his 401K.  It wasn’t…. I’m afraid it hasn’t been handled right at all.  That message will be put on my blog for them to see one day… I know a lot now, that I didn’t know before.

 

Dishonesty, deceit… lies told to cover up more lies….  it’s so sad.  My grandchildren will know I never had contol of their money, never handled their money.  I was given ‘my’ part of it… it wasn’t divided as it should have been… I never said anything.

 

A lot of money was spent on a drunk who had never ‘had brand-name things’… he got brand-name shoes, clothes off ‘Tommy’s insurance money’….. he abused one of my grandchildren while he lived a while on his daddy’s money.  I know what Tommy would have done… if he could have.

 

I write this now… and will put the message on in the near future.  I won’t go to my grave having my grandchildren think that I had any part in them… not getting their daddy’s money meant for them.  I was told that one mother thinks that I had control over it, by the other mother… to hide what she did.  No… I never had control… ever. I never saw any money …only what she decided to give me.

 

Just a few weeks before Tommy died… he did as I asked him to… I told him he was married and to put his wife’s name on the policy.  He updated the policy, put her name there… it was the worst decision I ever made.  I worry that the money won’t be there when they should have it.  I’m so sorry I ever told him to change the policy.  It’s strange… just a few weeks before he died…. it would have been done exactly the way he wanted if he hadn’t updated it… done ‘as I asked’.

 

This will be the only way my grandchildren will ever know… too many years, lies… now.  I have to leave the truth here… where it’ll live ‘forever’.  I won’t ever get to see them in this life.

 

The purpose of this post is to let people know … that when I write my memories of the past… everything is alright.  Don’t feel sad for me… years have gone by… the pain of those memories is left in the past when I’m through with them… where they belong.

 

Only when I ‘take them out to write about them, to ‘feel them’… is there pain’… when I finish with them… I ‘put them back up… the pain, also’.  I don’t sit, dwell on the past.

 

The pain I ‘can’t put up’ is the grief over my son.  This pain is completely different… it’s the worse pain ever in my life.  Do you see ‘why’ I don’t regret all the ‘bad’ that has happened to me?

 

I might not could survive this kind of pain… if I hadn’t been so strong.  I probably wouldn’t have… if it hadn’t been for Skip.  I don’t think I’d be here…. ‘now’ if Skip hadn’t been ‘there’.  I was ‘dead’, just as ‘dead as my son’… I wasn’t aware of life… then.  Skip is my ‘everything’… and our Pups.  They are my world… all I have left.

 

I hope anytime you want to communicate with me, you’ll feel free.  Don’t worry, I’m not a ‘tormented, depressed soul’ who will pull you down.  I’m the opposite… I love to smile, even if I’m crying.  :)))

 

Remember… when I write… the pain ‘is in the moment’… I don’t dwell on it after I write a memory.  It goes away.  When I grieve for Tommy… it’s a different ballgame.  I still know everything will be alright…

 

My past memories are my … today’s stories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe It’s The Hell I Saw Raised…


Maybe It’s The Hell I Saw Raised…

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

My beautiful mother as a young woman… it was always said she was the most beautiful woman around.  She always looked like Elizabeth Taylor.  I always wanted to grow up to be as beautiful as her……………………….

 

 

 

We’ve been sitting here watching Medea movies… and I’m going to have to tell you… I have laughed so much.

 

Do you know my favorite parts?  It’s when someone tells Madea she can’t make them do something… or is awful to her.  I love it, when out of the blue… she ‘shows them a thing or two’!

 

For instance, she put her foster daughter on the school bus, told the kids on the bus that they‘d better leave her alone.  One defiant boy said, ‘what you going to do about it, old lady’?  She whipped up on his head in a split second.  She gave him what he needed.  I loved it!

 

I love to see a bully get some of their medicine back.  I believe in an eye for an eye… if you hurt somebody… then, you need to feel it back.  What do you think?  Would people ‘dish it out’…if they knew what they dished out… was most definitely coming back to them?

 

Maybe it’s the hell I saw raised as a child, when people were treated unfairly because they weren’t strong enough to fight for themselves.  Maybe it’s that I don’t like bullies, don’t like people who try to be the boss… because they know how to intimidate, they are stronger.

 

Whatever it is… I ‘pure love it’ when a bully ‘gets it’.  I love it when mean people who mistreat others… ‘get it’.   I can’t bear for people or animals to be mistreated, harmed.  It hurts my heart… I can’t stand to know they’ve been hurt, maimed… killed.

 

But… when a person is the one who does wrong to injure others… and they are caught up… where they get what they deserve… I feel happy inside.  Isn’t that awful?  I ‘pure love’ it.  I am wanting to put my ‘two cents’ in… I’d love to give them ‘what for’… also.  I want them to … hurt.  I want to see it… hear it.

 

How awful is that?  I learned this as a little girl as I watched the hell-raising… the fights.  Flesh pounding flesh, screams, thumps, bangs of someone’s head hitting furniture, the floor.  Bodies falling all over the place.  Sometimes, I would see teeth laying on the floor… bloody teeth.  I couldn’t breathe for the fear that coursed through my little body… especially…

 

Blood… oh my God, I would see blood running out of wounds… blood on the floor.  I wanted the weaker one to beat the person who did that to them… back.  Beat them good.  Sometimes, this little girl would run to help… what can a little child do?

 

I’d get slapped down… because sometimes, that was my mama who ‘was beaten down to the floor’ to lay in blood.  I wanted to … kill somebody for hurting my mama.  I hated them.

 

Getting back to the Medea movies… and seeing her just ‘jerk up somebody’ when they deserved it… you can see why I loved it.  Sometimes, we need people who can be ‘mean enough’ to protect others… who will act, ask questions later.  Who will ‘put the fear of God’ in someone who dares to hurt another person, animal.

 

Oh… this is another example of ‘acting’… when bad things happen in a home such as I lived in as a child… no one knew.  Why, even a child has to learn how to go ‘out in public’… pretend nothing’s wrong… all the while the other kids make their child’s life ‘pure hell’.

 

Some little girls never forget that. Some little girls just smiled sweetly when people would say…. ‘you have the nicest family’!  This little girl would say softly, ‘thank-you’.

 

 

You Are Most Perfect For… Me


You Are Most Perfect For… Me

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

 

Best Friends, Husband, Soul Mate… my hero, Skip.  A younger Granny Gee and Skip…

 

 

 

I’m always, always glad to see you.  You are the only person I can be with… around… all the time.  I’ve never been bored by you, tired… of you.  Who are you?

 

A person who is kind; the second kindest man I’ve ever known.  I knew the most kindest as a little girl.  His name was George Harris.  He was the only grandfather I ever knew in my life.  He was my step-grandfather.  His love was like his smile… it reached his eyes… his sightless eyes.

 

George was blind, yet… he could ‘see’.  He ‘could see a person’, sense if they were good, honest.  He ‘could see’ to do everything… because he wanted to do everything.  George never sat around ‘feeling sorry for himself’… George had a life.  Each day he got up, carried out his responsibilities.

 

George was my Grandma Alma’s husband, best friend, and soul mate.  He loved her dearly; she loved him back the same way.  Of course… they had some very ‘loud’ fusses… they’d tell each off in a heartbeat.

 

Anyone close by… would sit, listen… and possibly put a hand over their mouth in surprise at what would come out of their mouths!  Of course… it could be quite comical.  Why… I ‘learned my best words… my little sayings… from them’!  I know… some things to say!  How could I not know?  Everyone for a mile away… could hear them.  :)))

 

I loved them with my very heart.  They only had each other… ‘it was them against the world’.  They were together almost every minute of their married life.  They could fuss each other out… love each other so much… in the next minute.  Don’t let anyone come in there to start something with the other… because the other would instantly  begin to protect….

 

Grandma Alma could swing a mean glass of water on someone.  She’d do it in a minute.  She was paralyzed, couldn’t walk.  She could use one hand, one leg.  Her mind was as sharp as any knife in a drawer.

 

She was very intelligent.  Always… she tried to teach ‘us kids’ things… sometimes, we would sit on the floor cross-legged to listen to her talk, tell stories.

 

My Grandma Alma was a wonderful person… I only regret I couldn’t have appreciated her… while being an adult.  I think she’d been proud at how I turned out to be … after all I’ve experienced in my life.  I think she’d been so proud that I learned from all the ‘bad’ in my life.

 

I feel sad when I think of her, George.  Life is sad.  Think about it for a moment… as children, we love people who meant so much to us, yet… we didn’t know all we could have done to make a positive difference in their life.

 

When we grow up… we grow up remembering what ‘they told us we would remember’.  Such as, when ‘I’m dead and gone, you are going to wish you had listened to me;  you are going to miss me; you are going to wish you’d treated me better’.

 

As children, we can’t understand that people aren’t going to be there, always… for us.  As a child, I didn’t know death was more than what my first memory was.  My memory of death was one shrouded in mystery… the man across the road died.

 

I vaguely remember as that little girl, my mother and her sisters talking quietly… saying they were going across the street.  Mr ‘so and so’ had died… oh no, children can’t go.

 

I watched them slip quietly across the street as I stood there… darkness, the sun quit shining… whatever dying was… one had to whisper quietly about it… and children couldn’t know about it.

 

That was my first impression of death… quietness, darkness… the sun quits shining.  Fear……..

 

Grandma Alma… George.  I think about them often.  ‘Now’… I could appreciate you both, so much more than when I was a child.  I know I caused you both to yell a lot at me, as well as the others.

 

I was a mean little girl… I just know I was.  I ‘was taught by the best’……. with other children, I fought to hold my ground.  With adults… I was afraid of them… when they became mad… I knew I was going to get ‘what for’…

 

I knew a lot of ‘good, cuss words’… and if another child made me angry… they knew them, too!  We would sound like… Grandma Alma, and George!

 

There’s one thing that has stuck out through time… my Grandma Alma always said it to George, when she became angry.  Everyone would be off in a distance listening… they never knew it.  When she’d become mad… she’d yell at him, saying ‘you are a he-man, you are nothing but, a ‘he-man’!

 

What that meant, I’m not sure.  But… it was the ‘perfect button for her to push’… because George would ‘blow up’!  The fight was on!  They never knew they entertained when they had a fuss.  The children would giggle… the adults would grin a ‘knowing’ smile.

 

They were the only ones who could ‘fight, fuss’… make others laugh.  When ‘the others, themselves’… fought… the world would become a very scary place.  They would come to the ‘arena’ in front of Grandma Alma, George… and ‘fight like hell’ in front of them.  Blood was drawn, flesh was pounded… somebody was going to get hurt.  Somebody was going to… know who was boss!

 

No matter what… this little girl grew up loving those… hell-raisers.  Loved them with her very heart.  Learned as she grew older… in that family… it wasn’t possible to form a lasting relationship.  Growing older, she learned it was part of the ‘family heritage’… it wasn’t possible.

 

George… was the kindest man I ever knew, until… I met Skip.  Like my Grandma Alma… I found my best friend, my soul mate, and my hero in this life.  That doesn’t happen a lot… I was fortunate.  God was good to me… to give me someone who loved me… as much as I loved… him.

 

Life with Skip has been full of many unusual things.  We both traveled many paths in Life… a lot we learned weren’t the paths we wanted to be on.  Those paths we had all the material wealth, luxuries we wanted… people thought we were the greatest.

 

Through time, as we learned from the paths we wanted to be on, travel now… we began to not have so much.  People like us… but, not for what we have ‘now’.  I think because they see ‘real people’ now, in place of what we wanted to project many years ago.

 

Also, there are people who are glad we no longer have anything.  So, that tells you a lot about them.  A lot of them don’t, either.  Jealousy, greed… makes people ‘your best friends’… you become the worse if you no longer ‘have it to give’…

 

The way I see it… it really feels good ‘to not keep up the pretense of being something … you never were to begin with… never will be … no matter what’.  I remember my Mom always telling me something so true (I may get it backwards… I do that!  But, you’ll know what I mean! :))).  She’d always say, “Faye, don’t fly so high that you can’t fall”…

 

I love being a ‘private’ person.  I like myself… I don’t know a lot of people in my ‘everyday’ life like me.  I know that I’m ‘nobody’ to others… but, I really am to myself.  I don’t pretend to be something I’m surely not.  I like being with ‘me’… I can entertain myself with drawing, computer, reading, playing with my Pups… it’s seldom I get lonely.  Of course, with all of you who follow me, are my friends… I’m never alone.  I have Skip, our Pups… that’s my world; my life.

 

I do wish for one thing not only for myself… but, what I could do for people who ‘need’… that is to have a lot of money.  I know money is supposed to be the ‘root of all evil’, ‘bad’… but, it’s not when you are happy with it, and making a ‘good’ difference everywhere you go in life.  I do ‘know’ that for sure… I have lived it in my life… I did make a difference.  I wish to be able to do that again.

 

When I do have extra to give, sometimes even… if I don’t have extra to give… I do it from my very heart.  I feel it deeply from caring with my very heart.

 

When people are younger… life is an illusion of sorts.  They want to project that they ‘are more than what they actually are’.  I watch the same old pattern play out now… in the generation behind me.  I understand it… ‘everyone wants to be somebody… sometimes, they are on the wrong path’… to really be.  People ‘see through them’… why?  They have been there… done that.

 

The one common thing they want to project is… that they are rich, have so much… so, others can think ‘they are somebody’.  Day by day, fancy words they don’t normally use (it tells on one)… bragging about this, that….. someone is always around who ‘knows better’……

 

Then… one day they ‘know’… they know that this life is not about ‘what one has’… it’s about love, caring for others.  Being rich is a good thing because it does make possible to have all you desire… it also, makes possible to make others happy, too.  That’s strictly my ‘Gloria Opinion’.

 

One doesn’t have to brag about in words they aren’t used to saying … trying to appear to be ‘more’ than what they are.  Instead of bragging… do something.

 

I promise when you do something for another… see such appreciation, gratefulness… you’ll feel a happiness you can’t get from anything else.  I promise you.

 

Make even a ‘tiny dream’ come true for a child… an adult you hear wishing for this, that.  Whenever I get extra money… I listen, watch the whole time.  I ‘already know the amount’ I can let go of… to do something, even small… to make another person smile, happy.

 

Guess what?  Good things… do… come back to you in the most unexpected ways.  Everything goes in a cycle… it ‘all comes back to you’.

 

Just think… you don’t want ‘a bad thing to travel full-circle back to you’.  It’s like planting a garden… if you plant good seeds, tend your garden… it’s going to be wonderful seeing what comes up next!  Think of your words… like seeds.  If they are ‘bad toward others’… they are going to ‘sprout up later’, haunt you.

 

Of course, we know I’m not perfect… not even anywhere to being perfect.  I’m going to say, do things sometimes just like anybody else.  I am old enough to ‘try not to’… to ‘know better’.

 

Once in a while… I’m going to be human.  It’s my only excuse if I ‘misbehave badly’.  I try not to… but, I ‘feel things deeply’… and I’m pretty much used to expressing what I really think.  When I do … I try to do it in the kindest way.

 

I don’t like to hurt others… but, if I’m pushed in a ‘bad’ way… then, trouble is sure to follow.  Especially … after the number ‘3’.  The 3rd time… I’m holding my ground.  :)))  I bet most people are… the same way.  Especially people everyone thinks ‘are so nice… I can do them any old way… they are too nice to not take it’…. :)))

 

Back to best friends, soul mates, heroes.  All of my readers, followers, fans… know instantly ‘who’ is mine.  For those who are just learning, it’s my husband, Skip.  He is my whole life… he and our Pups are the only family I have… and the only relationships that I ‘know’ is forever, to the end.

 

We don’t agree all the time… much of the time we do.  When we don’t agree, we tell each other ‘why’.  By the time, we get it talked out, the other ‘sees why’… nine out of ten times… we end up agreeing.  :)))  Of course… we are going to have our differences… once in a while.

 

One difference being… when we cook-out on the grill.  Our steaks are going to be different.  He is going to want his more medium-rare… mine is going to be well-done.  He doesn’t like garlic… I love garlic!  We cook together… he watches his………. I watch mine!  :)))

 

My best friend, my hero… my soul mate… I’m always, always glad to see… you.  I love you, Skip.  You are ‘most perfect for me’… :)))

 

 

 

 

 

When I Hate You Means… You Hurt Me


Gloria ‘Faye’ Brown Bates… just before going to Hell

 

 

When I Hate You Means… You Hurt Me

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

 

 

“No, no, no!  Please don’t, please don’t hurt me!  Oh, my leg!”  The little girl was fighting to get away from the young woman who held her hand.  Held her hand to keep her captive… while she beat her.  Each time she struck the child, she drew blood.  The piece of stove wood was rough; it cut the girl’s legs each time it made contact.

 

The little girl had come into the bedroom that sat directly over Hell… this is where the portal was.  Where the portal/doorway was… was never discovered by the little girl.  What she did know was… the devil’s daughter lived in that bedroom.  She was mean; evil.  Sometimes… she was just as nice.  Sometimes… she loved her.

 

All she wanted to do was to come into the bedroom, listen to the young woman’s record player.  She was caught, couldn’t escape fast enough.  The young woman was her aunt. She was a teenager… ill-natured.  She was mean to the bone; she could be as good as gold.

 

The aunt beat the little girl until her rage subsided.  She let go of her, throwing her to the floor.  “You damn little b___”, stay out of my room!  Don’t you ever touch my record player again”!

 

The little girl sobbed, tried to stand up.  Her little girl body had taken one of the most severe beatings it’d ever known.  She had known beatings… The pain, oh the pain.  She stood up, looked at the aunt she loved.  Her little face was red, blotchy from the furious tears that rolled down her face.  “I’m going to tell my mama!  I’m going tell my mama; she will beat you up”!

 

The aunt began telling her she wasn’t going to tell anyone… if she did, she’d whip her ass again!  The little girl told her aunt as she began edging toward the door, “I hate you, I hate you”!  As she slipped through the door toward freedom, she screamed at her aunt, once more.  “I’m telling my mama when she comes back”!

 

She walked to the red, vinyl couch in Grandma Alma, George’s home.  She climbed up on it.  Her legs burned, stuck to the vinyl.  She began to notice her legs, her arms.  She had open cuts on her little girl skin… blood was sticking to the couch.  It made it hard for her to slip around to ease her hurting body.

 

She sat there quietly for several moments; in her little girl mind were thoughts of her aunt smiling at her, being nice to her.  She began crying her heart out… her aunt had hurt her, making her bleed.  She thought her aunt loved her.  Her aunt forgot she said she loved her.  As she cried silently, her little shoulders shook.

 

No one noticed the little girl sitting there on that red, vinyl couch.  Someone was always crying there… that’s just the way it is when you live in Hell.  Gnashing teeth, screaming, cussing, anger, hatred.   It was the way of life.  Someone got their ass beat every two, or three days.  Only this time, it wasn’t in the Arena where Grandma Alma, George sat.

 

Her aunt had beat her in private where no one could see the demon she was.  She didn’t think about the little girl growing up to remember her for what she did.  Children are nobody; who believes them… anyway.  Only… her niece had frightened her when she said she would tell her mama on her.

 

Her niece’s mother was this aunt’s sister… and she knew if she didn’t talk the little girl out of telling her… she was going to get the hell beat out of her.  The little girl’s mother was always going off for weeks, months… leaving the little girl there.  No one wanted to take care of her… she damn sure didn’t.  She wanted to have fun, not have to be bothered by a child.  She was still in high school.

 

Faye, the little girl, fell asleep on the old, red vinyl couch.  When she got spankings, slapped around… she always found a place to curl up, put her thumb in her mouth… went to sleep.

 

Crying made her sleepy.  As she fell asleep, her thoughts were of seeing anger on someone’s face toward her; cuss words coming from their mouths at her.  Nobody loved her.  She began crying again, silently… her little body shook.  She began rocking herself to sleep.  Faye began pinching the center of her chest.  Since being in hell, she had begun doing that.

 

She was too young to wonder ‘why?’  As an adult, she often thought about it… strange enough, when she was diagnosed with cancer… that was the area a mass was found on her lung, resting against her heart.  Of course, that had nothing to do with it… but, it was strange…

 

She awoke to the gentle touch of her aunt’s hand.  “Faye, wake up… I’m sorry”, she heard her aunt say.  Faye began sniffling once again, burst out crying.  Her aunt gathered her up in her arms.  “I’m so sorry, Faye.  Please don’t tell your mama.  I have something for you”.

 

In her aunt’s hand was a watch; a Timex watch.  Faye looked at it, back to her aunt’s face.  She had hurt her… in her mind she saw her aunt go to the wood box, grab a slender piece of wood.  Faye looked down to her little legs… they stung.  There was dry blood on them.  Her body hurt.

 

“I’m going to tell my mama on you!  You hurt me, she’s going to beat you up!  I hate you!”  She didn’t take the watch her aunt offered her.

 

One day, Faye heard someone say, “Faye’s mama is here”!  In her mind, she felt instant happiness!  Her mama was here to get her!

 

She ran to the old screen door, pushed it open.  “Mama!”  She ran into her mama’s open arms, began telling her what her aunt had done.  She never knew the effect it had on her mama… she just knew things began to happen fast.  Her mama had let go of her, walked quickly up on the porch, went inside Hell…

 

She heard cussing, flesh on flesh as someone was being slapped.  Faye’s stomach felt sick; she felt afraid.  She went up on the porch, peeped through the screen.  There in front of the red, vinyl couch was her aunt.  She’d been knocked to the floor!

 

Faye opened the door, went inside.  Her mama, aunt were never aware of her… they were screaming at each other.  Not only that… Faye saw some teeth laying on the floor… the wooden floor.  Blood…  Her aunt’s mouth had blood on it.

 

Faye felt anger toward her aunt; she hated her for hurting her.  She walked over to her aunt, and hit her with her little hand.  “I told you I was going to tell my mama!  I told you, she was going to beat you up!”

 

From that day on… her aunt held that against her.  She paid her back through the years every opportunity she saw.  Through time she worked to turn her mother against her; make passes at her husband when she married as a young woman.  Faye’s aunt hated her. At one time, she tried to turn Faye’s own son against her… it didn’t work.

 

Faye never hated her through time.  As she got older, what she thought was hatred… when she thought she hated someone… she discovered what she meant when she said, “I hate you!”  She meant… I loved, trusted you, you hurt me.

She Wanted Some More ‘Damn’ Tea…


She Wanted Some More ‘Damn’ Tea…

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

Photo of a little girl… photo of Gloria Faye Brown Bates at 3 years old… she never knew fear… but then… it was beginning to find her… she just didn’t know what it was… yet.  At this age, she’d just learned a new word… ‘Damn’!

 

At this age, she was becoming aware of her Grandma Alma, George, when they visited.  It was scary there… George sure could holler loud; as loud as his voice was… his hand was just as gentle to a little girl.  She didn’t know then, what she was feeling was such … love for the both.

 

Her Grandma Alma dipped snuff… she wanted to.  Grandma Alma sneezed as she placed a ‘pinch’ between her teeth… inside of her mouth… “Damn”!

 

This little girl loved the sound of that word…. and when she played with her tea set…. on the patch of white sand at home… she would say “damn”!  She got choked on the ‘snuff’… the next thing she knew…

 

“Didn’t I tell you if I caught you saying a bad word, I would wash your mouth out with soap?  Didn’t I”?

 

Her mother held her head near the bathroom sink… the other hand

turned on the water… she made it warm.  She soaped that wash cloth up with Ivory soap… stuck it in this little girl’s mouth… tried to wash that dirty word out of her mouth.

 

She must not could find that ‘dirty word’… because when ‘this little girl who is a big girl’… becomes angry, upset… the first word she will say (after she looks around to see if anyone can hear her :)))… is…. ‘damn’!!!

 

‘She’ continues to use that word if, when she feels the need to.  She earned the right that day her mama washed her mouth out with soap… her mama left that word in there… somewhere!  Now… she can find it… anytime she needs it!  Looking back through time… I know a lot of people who love that word!

 

The photo below is just after I ‘got hold’ of a pair of scissors… I wanted to cut hair; I had seen my uncle cut George’s hair.  I knew I could do it.  I found a pair of scissors… cut my hair, bangs; cut my baby brother’s hair… I don’t know what happened… I can’t remember.  Seems like I heard the word, “damn!”, then…

 

*********************************************************************************

 

 

Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee at age 6… At this age, I was becoming aware of what real fear was… hands, hands, hands.  I was becoming afraid, was afraid of … hands when a man would reach out for me.  I didn’t know why… many years later, I knew….

 

Not only that… I didn’t know that I would be going to Hell… I would be ‘nobody’ any longer.  I would learn how it felt to be made fun of; how it felt to be mistreated… no relief from it either at school, ‘home/Hell’…

 

This was just before… I began to know hate… I learned the word when one of my family members shouted that to me as a child… when I was thrown in Hell at the age of 9.  Hell was a bad place for a child… I learned ‘a lot more dirty’ words… I learned hate; anger… distrust.  I always loved back as quickly as I hated… I only ‘hated when… I had been mistreated’.

 

I forgave… easily.  This little girl wanted to be loved… love would be given one day… the next day it was taken back.  Someone would forget they said they loved her… and mistreat her again.  Life went on…..

************************************************************************************************

 

 

This little girl… Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee… standing in the yard of Hell, looking toward the house that was the doorway/portal to … Hell.  She never knew one day she would be tossed into Hell, left to either ‘sink or swim’ to survive.

 

No one would believe how strong a little naive, innocent girl can learn to be… and not even know that she is… she just ‘is’… she never knew that what she lived in wasn’t the way ‘everyone else’ lived.  She had to make it until she was fourteen to realize how it felt … to live a normal, good life again.

 

There, at her father’s home, it was beautiful… wonderful.  She was dressed in nice clothes, good shoes… she became a beautiful flower… only for two years almost… she lived in a ‘wonderful Hell’… one where she almost lived in silence… her father never spoke to her but, once… he was drinking beer when he did… everyone was gone.

 

That’s okay… this little girl is glad as a big girl… she didn’t know as that little girl she was being prepared for the day she’d… lose her only child; her son, Tommy.

 

Even all the strength she’d gained in her lifetime… wasn’t enough to help her to come through it.  Thank-God, for placing her hero, best friend, husband, Skip in her life… and their two Pups. Without them… she wouldn’t

have known to ‘come back’… how could she?  She didn’t know she was still living…

 

They wouldn’t let her stay in the dark world she’d retreated to… to forever stay…. where she lost the will to ‘be’… anymore.  May 29, 2010… she stopped living… didn’t know she was here…

 

She was a fighter; she wanted to live… loved life.  She forgot all… when her son died.  None of what she went through in life… prepared her to lose her only child.

 

Now… everything is going to be alright… no matter how bad it is, or… can be.  I’ve rediscovered my love for life, found my fighting spirit again.  I’m going to live until… I die.

*****************************************************************************************************

She Wanted Some More ‘Damn’ Tea…

A little girl, about four years old, lay in her bed… trembling.  She had waken to a strange sound in the bedroom she, her little brother slept in.

 

She looked over to the bed, her brother was still asleep.  He was just a baby; he didn’t know to wake up… didn’t know something scary happened.

 

There it was again… the little girl sat up quickly, froze as the ‘scratching’ sound came again from the front window!  She was trembling, her little thumb between her teeth.  She was sucking on it, not aware that she was.

 

She tried to call for her mama.  “Mama”…. no sound came from her mouth.  The little girl was afraid, but… what could it be?  At this age she hadn’t had experiences ‘enough’ to know what fear was.  She was learning fast… how it felt… though.

 

Her eyes were wide, her precious little face filled with fear.  Her little lips were open… trying to breathe as her little heart beat fast…

 

The scratching sound came once more… the little girl sprang up from her bed, as fast as a jumping jack ,ran to the bedroom door.  She looked back as her little hand reached to turn the knob.  It was dark, she couldn’t see.

 

“Mama! Mama!”  The little girl screamed, as she ran down the hall to her mother’s bedroom.  “The bogeyman’s going to get me, the bogeyman’s going to get me”!

 

The little girl’s mother, step-father, came rushing through their bedroom door.  The little girl tried to tell them about the noise in the bedroom… but, how can a child who has never experienced fear… put into words… what she is afraid of?

 

Not long before this… the little girl had became afraid of her uncle who babysitted her.  Before that… her step-grandfather…

 

She had no idea of time… how long ago.  As she became older… she ‘knew’…

 

Her mama, step-father, made her get back into bed.  They said it wasn’t anything… “see, there’s nothing in here”.  The little girl was tucked in by her mother, gently kissed on the forehead.  Everything is alright…

 

This began the little girl’s unconscious decision not to tell anyone anything… no one believed her.  She was too young to realize that they didn’t… she’d only reacted to her fear.  Going to mama… was her natural reaction.

 

Everything is alright now, her mama said.  She’d tucked her under her bed covers, kissed her on the forehead.  Then, it must be so.

 

The little girl fell asleep… woke up the next morning.  She didn’t remember she was afraid last night.  She wasn’t old enough to let memories stay in her mind.  She ran, played as usual.

 

While she sat beneath the big, old Oak tree on Elm Street, where she lived… her mama, step-daddy were walking around outside.  She was drinking ‘tea/sand’… from her beautiful tea set.  The sun was shining, the sunlight kissing the white sand here, there.

 

“Look!  Oh, my God!  She did hear something last night!”  The little girl watched with interest… she wasn’t old enough to know … that was her bedroom behind the window they were looking at.

 

She heard them say excitedly, “Look”!  She watched them as they traced with their fingers … long scratches on the nice screen on the window.  The window screens were screens one could see outside from inside…. not see inside from outside.

 

They turned, looked at her.  She felt afraid… of what, she didn’t know.  No one said anything; they walked back to the porch.  She forgot about them…

 

She wanted some more ‘damn’ tea….

MAMA…


Mama…

 

 

My Mama, Earlene
My brother, Ricky… and Mama, Earlene

 

MAMA…

 

On the right side of the photo is my mother as a young woman… beautiful, vivacious.  She looked enough like Elizabeth Taylor… to be sisters.  My mother was as beautiful… with a fun personality.

 

 

Oh, as a little girl… I looked up to my beautiful mother.  When I first remembered her, she had long, curly hair.  She always dressed in dresses, skirts… she was the prettiest girl around.  I wanted to be like her, I wanted to grow up beautiful… like my mama.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Mama, Earlene…and Grandma Alma…

 

Daisy Earlene… My Mama…

 

My Mama, Earlene…
My Mama, Earlene…

 

 

My Mama, Earlene… on left

 

My Mama, Earlene on left… Me, Gloria… on right

 

 

 

My Mama… on left
Mama… Earlene

 

 

Mama… Earlene, in front…

 

My Mama, Earlene… Camp Lejune, NC

 

Mama on right…

 

Mama… Earlene

 

My beautiful, vivacious mother, Earlene…

Tonight, I had my mother on my mind.  Can you see here, that there was once a young woman who had dreams, hopes for a good life?  She was real, had real feelings.  I knew her as ‘Mama’.

 

Can you understand when looking at these photos of the past… what I mean… when I say ‘everyone should have a book’… your mother, my mother … anyone who has been on this earth… who was so real… so… ‘the people we knew, loved’?

 

Don’t you think it sad… they aren’t remembered?  ‘They are gone, ashes to ashes… dust to dust.’  Of course, my Mama was cremated… her ashes haven’t been scattered.  They are in a beautiful chest… with painted roses on it.  The chest is in my happy … art room.  My little brother, Rick-Rick’s (Ricky) ashes are in a white chest, sitting side by side… by Mama.

 

I’m so fortunate to have any photos left of my mama… so many were burned, damaged in the house fire that destroyed all our belongings.  A lot of these photos have been trimmed, cut … because of water stains, etc.

 

That’s okay, I’m most thankful for them.  You know, when I look at these photos… some of them are like ‘yesterday.’  Isn’t it strange, because in a sense… they are ‘old photos’, literally.

 

There is a lot of pain in my heart when I look at my mother… I know, remember so much about her.  Her dreams didn’t come true, her life had a lot of unhappiness in it.  The end of her life wasn’t good… the end of her life … her last sounds…is recorded on a tiny cassette tape that I have put up… have ‘lost from myself’… as I can’t bear to listen to it.  I would get physically sick now… if I were to listen to it.  I feel a tightness in my chest… just thinking about it.

 

I can remember how always when I was a little girl, everyone constantly remarking on what a beautiful mother I had.  I knew that, as a little girl… why, I wanted to grow up to look like her.  They said she was the prettiest girl around…

 

My mother was one of the few women I ever saw… wear red lipstick, and was beautiful wearing it.  The red lipstick complimented her dark hair, skin.  I remember she loved to wear ‘black and white’ together in her skirts, blouses, dresses.  The colors became her… though, she could wear anything, look nice.  I never saw her wear anything that wasn’t pretty on her.

 

No one knew my mother had a little girl… I was sent to live with a father who didn’t want me… he had his second wife who had a little girl; then… they had a little girl.  There wasn’t room for a daughter who was from his prior marriage… I can understand now, being older.

 

Later… in time, I came to live with my mother… people found out my mama had a daughter… they would always say to her, ‘Ms Brown, you have a lovely daughter.’  We’d look at each other, and laugh.  There was a song out by that name.  I did become as pretty as my mother… we loved it.  We had fun… being pretty together… wearing the same clothes, she taught me about make-up, we laughed together.

 

I sit here looking at these photos closely… isn’t it sad to see such ‘life reflecting out from each photo’… and now… it’s gone?  Isn’t that very sad?  For instance, I look at the photo below… look at my mother’s smile, the smile of her cousin, Carol.

 

Look at how pretty they both were in their crisp, white blouses… black skirts…  look at how white, pretty their teeth are…. their dark hair.  See, how they smile for the camera?  So ‘alive’… so … ‘gone now’… but, so… alive in the photo.  They even look like… sisters.

 

Tonight, I share my thoughts with you… I’m thinking about my…. mama.  I’m thinking about how… I miss my… mama.

 

 

On Right… my Mother, Earlene
  • O Mama! (theauthorsblogg.wordpress.com)

I Wonder… Will He Grow Up To Be An Actor


I Wonder… Will He Grow Up To Be An Actor
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

(Tommy holding Taban… he was so proud)………

Tommy Mitchell Sidden holding his newborn son shortly after he was born... 3-16-2007
I looked at a little face so familiar
So, like the little boy I had once
I even saw ‘myself’ in that little face
The eyes, the smile so, like mine… like Tommy’s

My little grandson, so like his father
With such a sunshine personality
That can change to stormy in a moment
I wonder who else was like that… who is like that… ‘now’

Yes, it was Tommy, this little one’s father
And … me, too… I’m lots of sunshine, and stormy, too
This little fellow might be a flirt, he likes girls
Girls like him, big girls… little girls are drawn to him

His daddy was like that as a young boy, I had to say ‘no’
Big girls wanted to ride him around in their cars
He’d smile his little boy smile at me, hoping I would say ‘yes’
I would grin back at his little mischievous face, say ‘no!’

I would tell him to wait until he was old enough to be out with big girls
He would laugh at his over-protective mother
So, would the girls as they went their merry ways
They knew… one day would come… Tommy would grow up

Just as Tommy’s little son will grow up one day, full of life
Full of wonderful life, his bright personality lighting up the world
Only when he sleeps will it soften like the night
When he wakes up, it’ll glow like the golden sunshine

I sense special things about my little grandson, I feel he will go
Far in life with such confidence, do something special
He could become an actor, a writer, a doctor… even
I ‘know’ in my heart he is destined to ‘be someone’, I ‘see’ it now

Little sweet Taban, who melts my heart, makes me smile
My little grandson whom I love most… he’ll say ‘Granny Gee, I love you most!’
I know in my ‘big girl’ heart that I love him most… I know what it’s all about
I love him in so many ways… for himself, for being my son’s …son

For being my only grandson I’ll ever have in this life
He’s the closest to Tommy I can ever come
I can see my son in my grandson who is here
I thank God for him … everyday

I feel I can ‘see’ special things in the future, I ‘feel’ them
All around my grandson… I know he’s going to do well in life
How do I know… I can’t possibly explain, but, I’ve sensed it before
With other children… sure enough… they grew up to be special

I think I’m going to plan on being around a very long time
Just to see what he’ll do, accomplish… I know it will be interesting
For even now, he likes ‘to wear many hats’, dress up to be somebody new
I’m thinking he loves to be different characters… I wonder if he’ll grow up to be an… actor? He can be very entertaining…. :)))

 

 

One Minute At A Time…


One Minute At A Time…
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

Her little face innocent of what was ahead
In her future as a big girl… no lines, frowns, sadness
One can see the happiness, eagerness to learn, to run
To play like all the other children around

No! That hurts, don’t touch me, leave me alone!
These shouldn’t be words a little girl would ever say
I’m going to tell my mama, please leave me alone!
The little girl doesn’t tell anyone, stays quiet ‘forever’

As time goes by, one thing after the other reaches out for her
She wiggles, moves sideways, jumps, runs to avoid scary things
In her life, through the years as she grows up… look at her face
You can see, if you look closely… pain already etched permanently in her eyes

Still, she smiles, reaches out to love, to be loved… she still trusts
With her very heart that surely no one would hurt her, because
Why would someone do that, it’s easier to love than to hate!
No, leave me alone, don’t hurt me… I won’t reach out anymore

The young girl soon becomes a young woman, learns as years go by
Don’t be so eager to trust, people will take advantage, hurt you
If you give them the opportunity to… they will use you, throw you away
You stay on that side of the invisible line, I’ll stay on my side, I respect you, you respect me

I want to be friends, but… don’t cross my line… or I can’t be with you
You have to be friends, but… don’t get into my personal life, I won’t get into yours
I can’t risk being hurt anymore, life has already made me suffer so
I am fragile as I grow older to be an elderly woman

My shoulders aren’t as strong, though I can make you think they are
I can’t save the world as I once meant to do, I’m older now, I’m an older woman
See the pain in my eyes, my face… see the lines, the frowns, the grief that is permanently there?

It comes from the knowledge that I couldn’t do everything I thought I could as a little girl, a young woman
When I used to be invincible, I could fly! I could do anything
I could fight for the underdog, make them all safe
All was an illusion… I just thought I could!

Now, in the latter years when I thought I would grow older
With my son always there to love, care for his mother
To outlive me, so… that I could leave him my ‘earthly possessions’
Leave my memory so, he could tell his children about their Granny Gee

He is gone… he died at the age of 40, when he should have lived a long life
He’s no longer here to tell his children about me, who I am, what I am about
So, I had to begin writing to the world my blog, my books… hoping
To be remembered … hoping my grandchildren will … one day find ‘Me’, Granny Gee… Gloria Faye Brown Bates

I sit here… I close my eyes, smile a sad smile
I put my head in my hands, rub my forehead to comfort myself
I put my palms over my eyes, rub them placing my fingertips over
Each eye… turn my hands over so that the back of my fingers are over my eyes

My head hurts, my ears ring… I feel pain in my heart
I feel sleepy, I want to lay down but, I won’t
The tears didn’t come this time… they got lost along the way
I’ll get up, I can’t sit still for the pain

Walk around, look at this, get out of the house
See the sunshine, feel the warm air
Walk down to the pond, listen to the frogs
A fish jumps up from the water, goes back with a splash!

How wonderful it feels to be outside where there’s room
To let one’s sad feelings soar up in the air
Where there aren’t any walls to hold them in
The universe is big enough to absorb them all, until they aren’t there anymore

I can take a deep breath now, everything’s going to be alright
Once again, I can feel happiness, light of heart
Until the next time… until the next time when it will begin over again
For now… I’m going to smile, live life as it is for now… one minute at a time

Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

People Trust Faces Of Human Monsters, Never Knowing…


Gloria at age three … when she was a little precious, innocent girl … she was becoming to learn there were human monsters in her ‘little girl world’… she just didn’t know the difference between the real ones, or the fictitious stories told to her.  All she knew was that the ‘boogeyman would get her’ if she continued to be ‘mean’.  They got her … anyway.

 

 

 

 

People Trust Faces Of Human Monsters, Never Knowing

 

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

I was just reading a post on someone’s blog… I read something that struck deep inside me.  I ‘always knew this’… but, how does a child put to voice ..words he/she doesn’t have in their possession?  How can a child learn such at that young, tender age?  They can’t.

 

Little children haven’t learned the words needed to tell the people who are their parents, caregivers, protectors …. ‘help me … Grandpa or, Uncle So and So, or Aunt Jane… they are touching me, they are hurting me.  Or, the pastor’s son is hurting me… or Katherine’s boyfriend’ is ………………………… the list goes on, and … on.

 

I sat here thinking about the post I read.  Basically… what I read was …. children don’t have to be afraid of the scary bedtime stories, or the boogeymen that’s going to get them if they are mean.

 

I went on to read ‘what I always knew, lived as a small child’.  A child has to be more afraid of the ‘human monsters’, than the fictitious stories of boogeymen, monsters that ‘get mean little children’.

 

I felt a sickness in the pit of my stomach when I was reading that… why?  Because, though I block so much in my mind … my memories are still there when I was a little girl.

 

I’ve put many layers of protection over them through the years, because of what happened to me… I still feel the sickness, nervousness in my stomach.  Just think what it would feel like… had there been no layers there……

 

I can’t help but, to look inside my mind at this moment… to ‘see faces’ on some of the ‘human monsters’ I met as a little, innocent girl-child.

 

You would think this is an easy thing to do … it isn’t.  There have been so many years that have passed … I’m not feeling the best ‘inside’ for the moment, because I have traveled back into the past.

 

The first person I can see in my mind was a close family member whom I loved.  I may have been between age three- four … who knows how long it went on before my ‘little girl mind’ began to become aware of him, to …. retain memories of things I didn’t know the words to.  If I didn’t know … how could I tell?  I wasn’t old enough to know right from wrong.

 

This person was one of the people who took care of me, my little precious brother… I could say he lived with us.  I don’t want to say that … I don’t want to remember.

 

He was there, when we took our baths in the bathtub.  My little brother and I would sit, laugh, play in the warm water.  The bubbles, oh how I loved the bubbles as a little girl … how I love the bubbles as a big girl.

 

He would dry my little brother off with a big, soft towel.  He put pajamas on him, and then, they were gone.  My mind says he took him to bed, came back … to … dry me off.

 

I won’t think any further that, only … I remember so strongly through all the layers, through these years … how he took my little hand in his, pulling it to do things … a little girl hand shouldn’t.

 

My head feels so awful at this moment, my stomach feels shaky, I ‘will let go’ now, of this memory.  It is upsetting me … there’s more ‘there’.  I feel the need to cry… I won’t.  I choose to go on, now… I just can’t take it.

 

Another partial memory forces itself on me… being at the bed, him pulling my little girl body, my little girl hand….. somehow, I was trying ‘not to see him’ … was my little girl hands trying to cover my face?  Or is it my ‘big girl’ eyes trying not to see ….

 

So, how did I know this family member was doing the ultimate in child abuse, child molestation when he ‘did the things he did to me’?  Did it not count … when it came to me?  Was it only important when it ‘happen to other children’?  When I was a little girl, ‘was I supposed to be molested, and it be all right’?

 

I don’t bother to think about these things, excepting … when I’m faced with a reminder that ‘touches something deep inside me’.  The post I read, made me feel ‘uneasy, uncomfortable, sick’ inside.  It triggered the memories of the ‘human monsters’ I began to meet as a little, innocent child.

 

In my mind, little memories began to swirl, dance forward for me to ‘see’, then… swirl off, teasing me … to try to get my attention …. to invite me back to the past …to remember.

 

I think for now, I’ll stop.  My mind keeps pushing me to remember an uncle…. who babysat ‘some of us little children’.  When I think of him now… I think how wild animals do when they prey on a herd … they separate, isolate ‘the victim’ they’ve chosen.

 

I, ‘being the victim’, remember trying to stretch tall enough to look out the window of the pantry.  I could hear all the others screaming, laughing, running, playing outside.  

 

I was inside this room, my uncle (I didn’t know what ‘uncle’ meant… I was still around three-four years old) … handed me a cookie, laid me down on the floor.  I didn’t want to stay there, I wanted to run, squeal, play with the others.

 

I was always terrified of him whenever he appeared after that, as I grew up.  I remember freezing in place when I saw him.  I can’t remember what else happened in that pantry… why?  I don’t want to.

 

I just wondered something … I was being abused, molested not by ‘one human monster’.  Did they not know that another human monster was doing such to a little child so early in age … that little girl had met two in the short span of her life … would it have stopped the other, thinking ‘this is too much to happen to one so young, I won’t add more on her’?

 

These were ‘my first encounters’ with human monsters.  I went on to meet many, many more before I grew up.  All the human monsters I met …. had wonderful, loving smiles.  They were well-thought of, they were ‘somebody people trusted’… they could never do any wrong.

 

I grew up being afraid of ‘hands’… hands reaching out to me.  I always backed off from people who wanted to reach for me, to hug me … as a young girl.  I felt anger…..

 

Of course, through the years, I didn’t stay like that.  I learned to be hugged, not to stiffen until ‘it was over’.  I will hug someone now, when I could never do it before…. to show caring, comfort.

 

I learned to do that when working in a hospital.  That experience taught me a lot of things about life … not only that.  I saw the results of ‘human monsters’ in other people’s lives.

 

I always ‘reached out’ to hug, if I didn’t hug them… when they saw my eyes they saw ‘caring, that I felt deeply for them’.  I cried for them, they never knew.  I cared for them, more than they saw in my eyes.

 

Everyday, people trust every person ‘who is supposed to be a pillar of the community, a professional, a family member, a babysitter’… just every person who smiles kindly, charms … who seems to be wonderful people.  There are a lot of ‘these people’ who ‘get by with doing things they shouldn’t’.

 

How else could they do it, if they weren’t trusted?  To blend in, making the right sounds, looking the part … is how they prey on the weak.  They never let their dark sides show … if they did, they’d never be trusted around a child, be in prison, or … dead.  Some people won’t tolerate their children being preyed upon … much less … touching them in ways they shouldn’t.

 

People trust faces of human monsters, never knowing… especially when that face is either kind, handsome, pretty, charming, a face that looks so, so ……….. clean, good, wholesome, so angelic.  Why someone who looks like that can’t do any evil… how could they?  They ‘don’t look the part’… you know all evil things ‘look dark and ugly, repulsive’……… don’t they?

 

People trust faces of human monsters, never knowing…..

Link to post I read to trigger my story for today…..    http://advocatemmmohanaksharaalu.wordpress.com/2013/01/04/be-ware-of-child-abuser/comment-page-1/#comment-1302

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wandering Through The Halls Of My Mind…


Wandering Through The Halls Of My Mind…

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

I stop at a door, open it just a little… listen before I step inside.  I’m not sure I want to enter this door.

Tommy was sitting cross-legged on the deck with his chin in both hands, listening.  Listening to me, his young mother reading to him from his story book.

I don’t want to think about this memory… something happened before I sat down to read to him… something that scared me.  I sat down to read to him to keep my sanity.

I was a young girl, left alone in the countryside too many times… I had been used to living in town, being around people.  My little son kept me strong… I would protect him with my life.  I was afraid… but, I would fight and win … to protect my child.

Sometime at nights where I lived with my little son… there would be noises outside… I would run to the gun, keep it by my side.  I knew how to use it as a young girl, I loved to target practice.  I know sometimes… someone was outside.

Fourteen miles from any town… a young girl sat many nights afraid, alone excepting for her young son.  Sometimes, men tried to say things, make passes at her when she was out and about.  She worried sometimes, if someone like that was… out there. I, being that young girl, knew that men came on the pretense to see my husband… always when he was gone.

No, it’s time to move out of this room.  I don’t like to think about those things.  I wonder if I’ll find a much happier memory to think about……

I roam through the halls of my mind, thinking I want to remember something.  I open, close the doors along the way… I don’t want to remember.  I don’t want to remember anything at all… I thought I did.

I’m thinking all the while.  I’m worried for Skip, he still isn’t feeling well at all.  I stay close to him so, that every moment I know if I need to take him to the hospital, or to call 911.  He has to wait until Tuesday to get tests done on his heart.  Only then, can the medicine another doctor gave him… be changed.

The medicine isn’t what he should have been taking all this time.  I’m so glad at least he got to stop taking the fluid (diuretic) pill he’s been taking two years unnecessarily.

While I worry about Skip… Tommy is in the back of my mind.  My mind is trying to wander into the past, into the halls…. to make me remember.  I don’t think I want to.  I am on guard, I really don’t want to let my mind think… not this evening.  I’m too weary.

Worry, weary… I don’t feel like I have the strength to do more than sit here, write.  Truthfully, I’m too drained to write tonight.

No, I don’t feel I want to be wandering the halls of my mind tonight.

Here’s a link to my story on Authors.com….. ‘Time After Time’…

http://www.authors.com/profiles/blogs/time-after-time?xg_source=activity