Whip It Good

"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." - Thoreau

My mother was the oldest of five children, three girls and two boys.  Her father worked for a lumber company in Canada.  His job entailed going off into forests and scoping-out and measuring how much wood could be yielded from harvesting the timber.  He would be away from home for long periods of time.  She tells how it seemed that whenever he returned home for a while, he would leave for the forest and my grandmother would be pregnant yet again.  When my mother was nine years old, her mother got up from bed one morning and collapsed and died instantly from a massive heart attack.  Her father was devastated and spent the rest of his life drinking.

At first, as a short-term solution, he placed the children with whomever would take them, sometimes separating them amongst friends and relatives.  Other times, someone would come and stay, taking care of them in-house.  He eventually sent them to Catholic boarding schools where they were schooled and raised by nuns until they graduated from High School.  My mother and her siblings were understandably very rebellious.  The nuns would sometimes strike them.  My mother would stand and shake her fist at the nuns as she remarked, "You're not my mother, I don't have to listen to you." When she finished with her schooling, her father handed her a suitcase, as he did with each of them and said, "I've done all I can for you.  Now, you're on your own.  Good luck."

Some of my earliest memories are not very pleasant.  My brother is nearly three years older than me.  When we were very young, we slept in the same bed.  I think that my mother did this as a matter of convenience.  It made things easier for her.  She would only have to oversee one room instead of two.  Each night, she would put us to bed and then go into the adjoining living room and lie on the sofa watching T.V.  She always appeared angry and still does to this day.  My brother and I would oftentimes lie awake in bed, talking, joking and playing with our toys.  My mother would yell for us to be quiet and go to sleep.  Eventually, she would come into our room with an old leather belt that she kept hanging on a nail in the kitchen and whip us.

This happened routinely, even when we were quiet.  As we grew older, we would try to evade her.  It was not until we were teenagers that she could no longer do this because we had grown too fast and strong for her.  We would withstand her assaults, thwarting her lashings by running away or reaching out and snatching the belt from her.  This was the pattern of my youth.  I would often go to school with welts and whip marks on my skin.  I would try to conceal them under my clothes.  Clothes, that were given to us by others, didn't fit properly and were usually out of style.  I would often play the class clown, trying to make my classmates laugh in an attempt to hide my pain and suffering that I did not understand at the time.

When my brother and I approached our teens years, my mother moved me into my own room.  When I was eleven years old, I got a job delivering newspapers door-to-door.  With the money that I earned, I bought a stereo with headphones for my room.  The headphones were mostly to drown out the sound of my parents arguing.  My father would try to reason with my mother to no avail.  It was futile.  She was broken.  It was during this time that I developed a great love for music.  I would shut the door to my room and don my headphones for hours upon hours.  To this day, I listen to music almost incessantly.  There is always a song playing in my heart and head if not on my car radio, cell-phone or laptop.  My lips can often be seen mouthing the lyrics to songs or humming and my foot tapping to a rhythm.  Music and melodies dance cathartically in my head just as William Congreve explained in 1697 when he said that, "Musick hath charms to soothe a savage breast."

My mother is a hoarder and the house is filled with miscellaneous, old things and junk that do nothing but sit and collect dust.  A vain attempt to control and hold onto what she lost in life.  I mostly buried this deeply and tried not to ever consider it.  It has now come back to haunt me with a vengeance.  Probably because my parents are now, both, nearing the end of their lives.  Only my faith in God and love for music sustain me now as they did then ...

Author's Note

"Whether he sleeps or wakes,--whether he runs or walks,--whether he uses a microscope or a telescope, or his naked eye,--a man never discovers anything, never overtakes anything, or leaves anything behind, but himself. Whatever he says or does, he merely reports himself. If he is in love, he loves; if he is in heaven, he enjoys; if he is in hell, he suffers. It is his condition that determines his locality." - Thoreau

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Thank you for sharing your deepest memories & feelings here. This snippet may describe a hard life, but it's still a beautiful gift, as far as observing the realities of human nature, a journey that is necessary for authentic writing. No wonder you have such depth to your writing. No wonder I've always felt some kinship in the way we express ourselves in writing. Thank you again for bravely sharing, so we can inspire the younger ones to write their truth without shame (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Pete]

thank you Margie. not much to say, so i'll leave it at that i guess ...

[barleygirl]

Completely understandable!

[Onlyme]

Pete, you are a lovely kindhearted warm person. With a good heart and soul. Who has not had an easy life? As did your mum and dad. But they made a good one in you. Thank you for sharing bits of your life with us all. And for being so open and honest and brave for sharing your life. I can really understand why your mum is a hoarder. Due to what happened when she was younger. Being a hoarder is not something to look down on. It's someone who is upset over think in their life. As you said. And try to keep hold of order or control of what they do have. No of us in this world is perfect and never will be. You love your parents dearly anyone can see that. love and hug to you Pete. Dawn.

[Pete]

i can see that you get it. thank you for your understanding and insight, it is much appreciated. we each react differently to traumatic events in life in the name of survival. love, hugs and blessings to you my dear friend ...

[Onlyme]

Pete anytime you need a chat or someone to listen or even care drop me a line. honest. Dawn. I really do understand. hugs. Dawn.

[Samuel Dickens]

In reading this, I found a lot to identify with. Hand-me-downs, sharing beds, not having the best of parents... those things certainly shape us and leave lasting effects. And music--how could we live without it. I love that song, "From the Beginning" and can play it on guitar a bit. Thank you for sharing this piece of your history.

[Pete]

thank you for your insight and understanding Samuel. certainly don't know where i'd be without music. quite a song, "From the Beginning", seemed to be appropriate somehow. how great that you can play it, would love to hear you ... :)