Sunday, October 12, 2008
In That Past I Was Cold, Hungry And Alone
This is something that I discovered last winter. I was cross-country skiing with Toni. We had the trails to ourselves. We were talking about hard stuff. Childhood stuff. As I was speaking I was remembering, and the memory was so shocking that I fell off the trail and had an asthma attack. I couldn't stop crying and gasping, and I think I scared Toni because she wanted to get the ski patrol. It was so awful and I had completely forgotten. And now that I remember I don't know what to do with this information.
This is a true story. Our house was cold. I wasn't allowed to turn on the furnace. I had no clothes that fit me. I wore my brother's and sister's clothes that they left behind when they were away at school, or else I wore my school uniform. I would wear my uniform on civvies days. My school uniforms were not clean. My clothes were often dirty. I was dirty. I had a knot in my hair the size of a banana and it stretched across the back of my neck. I wasn't allowed to get my hair cut (I think due to the expense). I had the knot in my hair for about 6 months, until a neighbourhood kid finally cut it out for me. I used to go over to neighbours' houses at mealtimes hoping to be invited for meals. I was supposed to make my own lunches but there were often only apples to eat. At school, after lunch, I would wait for the kids to leave to go out to play, and then I would pick through the garbage for their leftovers. I would pick through the garbage for their leftovers. I was hungry for a year - with the exception of being at summer camp. I think I grew 6 inches that year. Finally my Aunt Margaret came to help us.
The reasons why haven't changed. Why did this happen? How could this happen to an affluent family, to a child in a private school? I don't know what to do with this information. Holidays are still hard. I told my sister about this today. She was so sorry. She wishes she had known. It wasn't like I was keeping a secret at the time, I just didn't have a clue. For the most part I didn't know what was happening to me when it was happening to me. And now that I know it's difficult to process.
Before my dad got sick holidays were days-long occasions of preparation and fun and eating and long dinner and stories and dishwashing and more talking and eating and drinking and long nights in front of the fire. And afterwards... it was bewildering shit show of adults behaving like zombies, and neglected children fending for themselves. And no one seemed to know.
Holidays are still hard. Up and down. I do my own thing, sometimes with families and sometimes without.
This is something that I discovered last winter. I was cross-country skiing with Toni. We had the trails to ourselves. We were talking about hard stuff. Childhood stuff. As I was speaking I was remembering, and the memory was so shocking that I fell off the trail and had an asthma attack. I couldn't stop crying and gasping, and I think I scared Toni because she wanted to get the ski patrol. It was so awful and I had completely forgotten. And now that I remember I don't know what to do with this information.
This is a true story. Our house was cold. I wasn't allowed to turn on the furnace. I had no clothes that fit me. I wore my brother's and sister's clothes that they left behind when they were away at school, or else I wore my school uniform. I would wear my uniform on civvies days. My school uniforms were not clean. My clothes were often dirty. I was dirty. I had a knot in my hair the size of a banana and it stretched across the back of my neck. I wasn't allowed to get my hair cut (I think due to the expense). I had the knot in my hair for about 6 months, until a neighbourhood kid finally cut it out for me. I used to go over to neighbours' houses at mealtimes hoping to be invited for meals. I was supposed to make my own lunches but there were often only apples to eat. At school, after lunch, I would wait for the kids to leave to go out to play, and then I would pick through the garbage for their leftovers. I would pick through the garbage for their leftovers. I was hungry for a year - with the exception of being at summer camp. I think I grew 6 inches that year. Finally my Aunt Margaret came to help us.
The reasons why haven't changed. Why did this happen? How could this happen to an affluent family, to a child in a private school? I don't know what to do with this information. Holidays are still hard. I told my sister about this today. She was so sorry. She wishes she had known. It wasn't like I was keeping a secret at the time, I just didn't have a clue. For the most part I didn't know what was happening to me when it was happening to me. And now that I know it's difficult to process.
Before my dad got sick holidays were days-long occasions of preparation and fun and eating and long dinner and stories and dishwashing and more talking and eating and drinking and long nights in front of the fire. And afterwards... it was bewildering shit show of adults behaving like zombies, and neglected children fending for themselves. And no one seemed to know.
Holidays are still hard. Up and down. I do my own thing, sometimes with families and sometimes without.
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