Rumours
A lot of people know mother. Some of these people don’t like her; some of these people positively hate her. Many people comment that I look just like mother. I think this may be the reason why they sometimes direct their hatred towards me.
I had one friend at high school, she was my best friend. She came from a nice regular family which consisted of a mother, father and brother. I loved going round to their house as I loved seeing her parents together and I craved the atmosphere that her family generated. However my friend’s parents never really approved of me and they made it quite clear that their reasons for this disapproval stemmed from who my mother was. I was tarred with the same brush as mother and because of this was considered to be a bad influence and generally no good. Mother would never give me a reason when I asked her why my friends family thought so badly of her, her response was always to make derogatory comments about my friend and her family.
My friend’s parents were not alone in their disapproval of mother. Daddy’s sister (once my step-aunt) told me that no one knew who my real father was. She said daddy had told her that mother had said to him that he was either a soldier from the local barracks or an Irish man. Daddy’s new wife told me that no one knew who it was, that it was either the soldier, the Irishman or a cousin! All these comments left me feeling very confused, disorientated and angry. I remembered my doubts following the initial telephone call with my so called father and these comments reinforced my confusion.
I tried to talk to mother about it. I told her the things people were saying. For the first time I tell her about that first phone call at grandmothers. I beg mother to tell me the truth. But she won’t, Mother tells me that as I think she is a slut (I haven’t said that!) she really can’t answer any of my questions. The arguments get heated and I am sent to live with daddy for a while, where I have to listen to daddy’s new wife repeatedly telling me how bad mother is and how no one knows who my father is. After a short while I’m sent back to mothers to live.
My head is full of questions, I want answers. I keep asking mother to tell me the truth. Mother gives the same answer every time, if I think she’s a slut then she can’t answer my questions. She is never sad when she shouts these words, she’s laughing. The arguments get more and more heated as I’m desperate for an answer and I get very angry. I shut myself away in my room or in the bathroom and pull my hair out by the roots and cry and rock my body to try to comfort myself. I tell no one about this.
One day during one of these monumental arguments when I’m asking mother to tell me the truth about who my father is she starts her laughing at me again, but this time she actually laughs right in my face. Her eyes look hateful but her mouth is laughing and I can feel her breath and spittle on my face. I can’t stand it. I lash out, striking mother. We are at the top of the stairs. Mother almost falls down the stairs but I catch by the arm, just in time. Mother screams and says I have hurt her arm and she runs down the stairs to the telephone and phones her friend who lives in the same road as us. I’ve been brought up to call this woman aunt; she’s not really my aunt, just another pseudo aunt. The aunt comes round and she and Mother go into another room to talk. I am left alone and I am crying. I’m afraid of what may happen to me. Mother and the aunt come out to the hallway; I can see them from the top of the stairs where I’m sitting. The aunt encourages Mother to make a phone call. Mother does, she telephone’s the social services and tells on me. A social worker comes to the house I am being taken away to be put into what they call care. I don’t want to go am terrified. I want to stay where I am. I want my father, whoever and wherever he may be. I am sent to London for one week to my alleged father’s after which I have been told that I am being sent to a Foster home. My alleged father cries when I tell him.
I had one friend at high school, she was my best friend. She came from a nice regular family which consisted of a mother, father and brother. I loved going round to their house as I loved seeing her parents together and I craved the atmosphere that her family generated. However my friend’s parents never really approved of me and they made it quite clear that their reasons for this disapproval stemmed from who my mother was. I was tarred with the same brush as mother and because of this was considered to be a bad influence and generally no good. Mother would never give me a reason when I asked her why my friends family thought so badly of her, her response was always to make derogatory comments about my friend and her family.
My friend’s parents were not alone in their disapproval of mother. Daddy’s sister (once my step-aunt) told me that no one knew who my real father was. She said daddy had told her that mother had said to him that he was either a soldier from the local barracks or an Irish man. Daddy’s new wife told me that no one knew who it was, that it was either the soldier, the Irishman or a cousin! All these comments left me feeling very confused, disorientated and angry. I remembered my doubts following the initial telephone call with my so called father and these comments reinforced my confusion.
I tried to talk to mother about it. I told her the things people were saying. For the first time I tell her about that first phone call at grandmothers. I beg mother to tell me the truth. But she won’t, Mother tells me that as I think she is a slut (I haven’t said that!) she really can’t answer any of my questions. The arguments get heated and I am sent to live with daddy for a while, where I have to listen to daddy’s new wife repeatedly telling me how bad mother is and how no one knows who my father is. After a short while I’m sent back to mothers to live.
My head is full of questions, I want answers. I keep asking mother to tell me the truth. Mother gives the same answer every time, if I think she’s a slut then she can’t answer my questions. She is never sad when she shouts these words, she’s laughing. The arguments get more and more heated as I’m desperate for an answer and I get very angry. I shut myself away in my room or in the bathroom and pull my hair out by the roots and cry and rock my body to try to comfort myself. I tell no one about this.
One day during one of these monumental arguments when I’m asking mother to tell me the truth about who my father is she starts her laughing at me again, but this time she actually laughs right in my face. Her eyes look hateful but her mouth is laughing and I can feel her breath and spittle on my face. I can’t stand it. I lash out, striking mother. We are at the top of the stairs. Mother almost falls down the stairs but I catch by the arm, just in time. Mother screams and says I have hurt her arm and she runs down the stairs to the telephone and phones her friend who lives in the same road as us. I’ve been brought up to call this woman aunt; she’s not really my aunt, just another pseudo aunt. The aunt comes round and she and Mother go into another room to talk. I am left alone and I am crying. I’m afraid of what may happen to me. Mother and the aunt come out to the hallway; I can see them from the top of the stairs where I’m sitting. The aunt encourages Mother to make a phone call. Mother does, she telephone’s the social services and tells on me. A social worker comes to the house I am being taken away to be put into what they call care. I don’t want to go am terrified. I want to stay where I am. I want my father, whoever and wherever he may be. I am sent to London for one week to my alleged father’s after which I have been told that I am being sent to a Foster home. My alleged father cries when I tell him.
Labels: Rumours
posted by bunny taylor @ 21:37
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