Football, The Beatles and My God-Forsaken Hair

            I will never forget my hard, long summer.  I remember it as several things but what sticks out is that it was “my fat summer and my God forsaken hair summer.”  I was starting to mature and I was getting very heavy.  The kids in the neighborhood had been calling me “fatty” for some time now.  I prided myself in the ability to be able to beat up any boy on the block.  I would pick them up, swing them around and hurl them in the yard.  My sister would tell everyone “if you don’t be nice to me my sister will sit on you.”  I pretended it didn’t hurt me but it cut me like a knife.  

 I felt oversized and I didn’t like the way I looked when I put on a dress so I would hate going to Sunday school.  My older brother had already been given permission to make his own choice about attending church or not.  When would my time come?  Couldn’t it be now?

 I woke up one particular morning and just flat out did not want to go!  I settled in my heart that no one was going to make me either.  I was always coming up with excuses to try to get out of going and I could get very creative when push came to shove.  That particular morning I would have done about anything not to have to go.  I tried to fake oversleeping but I heard Dad say, “Molly, get up for Sunday school.”  Then all of a sudden a light went off in my head and I thought, “I will pretend to be sick.”  I proceeded to put powder all over my face in an attempt to look as though I was pale and weak.  I figured this was the perfect, ingenious idea that would allow me to stay home.  I got up walking very slowly (and of course, I was very weak) into my parents’ bedroom.  I announced to them I was sick, and that I did not feel good.  I pointed out, “Look at how pale my face is.”  Then the unexpected happened.  My dad turned around to look at me and actually asked me if I had powder on my face!  I hung my head in shame and frustration, admitting I did.  He immediately said, “Get dressed for Sunday school.”  I thought I was so smart!  How did he know I had put powder on my face?  How did he figure out that quick that I was not sick?  That was my dad, however.  He always seemed to be ahead of the game, knew everything and then some.

  My dad had big football plans for my brothers.  They got what seemed to be all of his attention.  I longed for it as well, but in his mind, I was a girl and I had a mother for all of the girl things.  I would try to imitate my two older brothers to try to get his attention.  I would compete with boys at anything they did.  I wanted to show him I could be as good and fast as any boy.  I could pass a mean football!  My dad would be sitting on the front porch watching me pass while my sister would kick the football over the telephone lines.  He would make the comment, “If only you were a boy.”  We loved the attention.  But, in the end I was not a boy. 

 That was the same time The Beatles landed in America.  Of course, everyone was crazy over them.  Mom had made me take piano lessons for a couple of years now but when I saw Ringo beat those drums I wanted to be a drummer.  I had my hair cut short and got some shoes like they wore (but in a girl color) and a new Beatle had been born. 

 When we went on summer vacation that year all the kids got together and had a talent show.  The adults helped us prepare the songs, construct a stage and the video camera was prepared.  I was equipped with white plastic storage containers that were turned upside down and had sticks from the woods ready to beat my drums.  What a night.  We had a curtain blocking us from the audience (our family and friends) and we were shuttled in behind the curtain while everyone screamed….  Who said Ed Sullivan was the only venue in town?  My first taste of limelight!  I loved it.  Of course, I was in love with Paul McCartney.      

  We had our school pictures made and when I saw them, I looked at myself and started feeling I looked kind of tough for a girl, so I began to let my hair grow out.  It seemed like overnight I wanted to be thin and pretty like some girls at school and girls I would see on TV.  My weight issue had become an ever-increasing concern to my dad.  My mom would try to soothe my dad by telling him she had discussed my weight with her friends and they said, “It’s just baby fat and it will fall off.”  It couldn’t fall off fast enough for my dad. 

  I was struggling with two different people inside.  One was loud, obnoxious, overweight, ready to play football and fight any boy in the neighborhood.  I would wear big, oversized hoodies to cover up my heaviness.  (Hoodies also gave me a sense of comfort as if I wore a security blanket, soothing and protecting myself.)  Then I was trying to be the young lady my mother wanted me to be, taking piano lessons for refinement while hiding in my heart the desire to play the drums.  Something was trying to emerge inside of me and I was in what seemed to be a very unhappy struggle.  I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know which way to go.    

 Finally, everything came to a head our next family vacation.  My hair had become long, thick and full.  I started using it to hide my face, thinking it would help hide my body as well.  My dad would tell me repeatedly to get my hair out of my face and the subject of a diet had even popped up around our house.  

 Friends of my parents and their two girls, who I thought were thin and pretty, went with us that summer on vacation.  One evening during the vacation, our family stayed home to eat while the other family went out.  All of a sudden, my dad yelled at me, “Get that God forsaken hair out of your face.  I am tired of looking at you.”  He went on and on about it.  My family members froze in their chairs as I listened to his ridicule.  The tears started to flow down my cheeks.  He said, “Stop that crying.”  I couldn’t stop crying so he said, “Go to your room.  I have had just about enough of you. I don’t want to look at you anymore.”  My mom said, “That is enough.”  I went to bed sobbing, vowing how much I hated him.  My mother came in later that night (she was always the peacemaker) to sooth my fragile heart.  The next day my dad ended up apologizing for the things he said the night before.  I was numb as I listened to him and as he kissed me on the cheek, I secretly held hate in my heart for him that I dare not tell anyone.  

I had a rebellious personality.  I had so much locked up inside of me that my emotions started manifesting in very odd ways.  My aunt and cousin would come to pick me up at my house and we would ride around town and sometimes stop by the Dairy Queen.  I would hang out the window, screaming and yelling at people walking by.  Then to top it all off, I would force myself to laugh so hard and loud I would practically go into hysteria.  My aunt and cousin would laugh and laugh.  The louder they laughed, the more I performed.  I loved going with them.  I felt as though I had a volcano inside of me that could only be eased by this obnoxious behavior.  Then as quickly as “it” would overtake me, great relief would come once I would get it out.  I would be exhausted by the time they would drop me off at my house.

  Since dieting was becoming an issue, my aunt, who was always on a diet, suggested we start going for walks to help me lose weight.  So off my aunt, cousin and I would go down the main highway of the town.  I had convinced Mom how good it would be for me to go.  We would get started and they would both egg me on to perform for them.  I don’t know why but I started pretending to act as if I was retarded walking down the road.  They just laughed and again, the more they laughed, the more I performed.  I would not exhibit this kind of behavior around just anybody though.  I only behaved this way around people who I knew “liked” it.  At the end of our times together, I would plead with both of them not to tell my mother or dad.  They would have killed me if they knew what I was doing.  My mom was trying to raise me to be a proper young lady, but as soon as I was out of her sight, someone else took over.  Neither of my parents had any clue this side of me existed.  I was becoming increasingly afraid that one of them would tell.             

  After our walks, I would go home and pig out for all the hard work I had just put in.  However, after these outings, I would momentarily go back to a quieter person with a more loving, quiet attitude.  I would make a promise, as I would be in my room alone, that I would never to do those things again.  But a little time would pass and I would be eager to go out again.  In the back of my mind, I thought one day I might grow out this.  I was in a constant state of being up and down and the masks I wore started to be developed.                                

 My room was not only my safe haven but my house was the house where it seemed that young and old alike congregated.  We had a piano in the dining room along with several different musical instruments.  My parents would have a party and someone was always playing on it, a guitar or some kind of instrument.  But, on a regular night you could always find everyone seated in our kitchen.  We had a big round captain’s table with chairs in there where many problems were discussed, confidences made, and good times had.  It was a place of comfort for all.  My mom and dad would sit there in the evenings drinking their “highball” while my dad sang and played on his guitar.  My mother hung the moon on him.  I was used to hearing adults talk about many things that I probably shouldn’t have heard.  One evening as I stood in the doorway almost ready to go into the kitchen, I stopped to listen as my dad was talking about his parents.

 That evening as my mom was sitting on the edge of my bed, I asked her about what I had heard.  She told me details of my dad’s childhood that were heartbreaking, which caused him to hate his parents.  To add more sorrow to what I was already starting to feel for my dad, she told me his sister had raped him in high school.  She was the sister he repeatedly told me I reminded him of. 

  I had only seen his parents a couple of times in my short life but every time we would leave their presence, he would be hurt, vowing never to see them again.  I got this bright idea that if I could just go talk to his parents, I could heal their relationship.  In turn, my dad wouldn’t hurt so much.  I unrelentingly begged Dad to let me go stay with them.  He couldn’t figure out why I would want to go stay with them but he finally gave in to me.  The call was made, arrangements were set and I was off to spend a week with my grandparents that I didn’t even know.

 I arrived there safely, got all settled in and waited for the right time to approach my grandmother.  We were having dinner and she started telling me what a hard life she had.  She was crying and went into great detail about it all.  She told me she did the best she could to raise seven children, as she sobbed.  What could I say then?  I felt sorry for her.  Of course, my attempt to heal this relationship failed.  I came home having a deep sorrow in my heart for my dad and his parents.  I wished I could have fixed them all.  I began to know why my dad would always ask the question, “Do you know how lucky you are?”   

 There was a hidden flaw in my dad.  Something in him never healed due to the years of torment and abuse he endured as a child, so he tried to fill the hole and pain inside of his heart with sex.  He managed to maintain his happy family that he bragged on, while having constant affairs.  The masks he wore which hid his hurt and pain would be worn for the rest of his life until three months before his death.

  There were two sides to my dad and one of them was golden.  He was always helping someone less fortunate than himself.  I had grown up going with him every once in a while on a Saturday afternoon while my mom would go shopping at a place called The Choo Choo Inn.  There was a little boy who hung out there who appeared very unloved and needy.  My dad would ask his mother if he could come home to have dinner and play with my sister and me in the neighborhood.  I couldn’t understand why he would have to come home with us and my dad would explain that he didn’t have a father or a lot of money.  Dad asked us to be nice to him.  But, for some reason I was always relieved when he would go home.  I didn’t want a stranger coming into my safe haven. 

  Dad and I didn’t really talk much about anything important ever.  We would talk around things and life.  He saw a lot of himself and his older sister in me that I do not think he liked causing an even greater division between us.  Due to this, I do not really think he liked looking at me at times.  I had become close-mouthed about a lot of things that I was feeling and didn’t understand.  I talked to my mom somewhat but I never really opened up to her totally…ever.  I became the protector of my own heart by not revealing what I felt and I became the “fixer” of my life.  

  A new light dawned and my life started to change around the seventh grade.  My mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table one evening and I was explaining to her that I didn’t feel like I had any friends.  A sad, but true tale it was.  She told me that if I was nice to people, they would be nice to me.  I told her I would try.  I turned over a new leaf by making an effort of coming out of my protective shell to reach out to people in a friendly way.  This was something new for me, and slowly I started making new friends.

  There was not a defining lightening bolt change in my life that caused me to settle down in my behavior, but as I got older, I would watch others intently.  They weren’t loud-mouthed.  I stopped being so loud-mouthed because frankly, no one else was doing it.  My aunt and cousin would still try to egg me on in front of others to be the loud, crass person I had always been, knowing it would embarrass me.  I wouldn’t want to behave that way anymore, which caused me to start not wanting to be around them any longer.  I didn’t feel good when I was with them so I withdrew from them.  Even though they did not like the sudden change in my behavior, I knew that making fun of others and being loud and obnoxious was not how I wanted to be.  I wanted something different.  I wanted a change.