Walking on Eggshells: Discovering Strength and Courage Amid Chaos (8 page)

It must have been hard on Cecily to see her mom fighting like this. She was barely more than a toddler and had gone, overnight, from being the only child in the home to having three siblings. She and I often played house, and I remember teaching her how to spell her name. No matter how bad things were, I always loved Cecily. However, I did become jealous of the attention Beth gave her, and that made me confused, even though I understood that Beth was Cecily’s “real” mom and we were the “step” children. There was a lot of jealousy going on and a lot of egos to massage in that house.

The many crowns, trophies, and sashes in Cecily’s room fascinated me. She had won them all in beauty pageants and I soon began competing, too. I especially loved that when I was onstage Beth sometimes called me beautiful, and several times she even
cried. To me, her tears meant love and acceptance, and I needed lots of both. I was so surprised when I won first runner- up in the state competition, which put me in line to go to the nationals.

I know a lot of people do not approve of pageants for little girls. JonBenét Ramsey, the little girl whose murder, to date, has not been solved, was on the circuit with us during this time and was in Cecily’s age group. Cecily even placed above her a few times. But pageants gave me a hefty dose of validation. I loved practicing my dance for the talent portion, and the attention Beth showered on me when I was getting ready was wonderful. I am very happy that I had the opportunity to compete, even if it was just for a short time.

★

Between pageants, Beth was constantly on Dad about his drug use. And rightly so. While he wasn’t using as much or as often as he had been in Hawai’i, any amount was too much. Plus, Ginny called regularly from Hawai’i, and Dad and Beth fought a lot about that. After one fight, Dad told us to pack up, and we moved back to the Motel 6. There were so many back-and-forth moves that I lost count. We might stay a few days or a few weeks at the Motel 6 (or we might stay with Dad’s “woman of the week”), and then Barbara, Tucker, and I would move back to Beth’s for a day or a month. I don’t know how many times we packed up to move, but it was enough that I began to keep all of my things stuffed under my
bed in a large plastic trash bag. It was simpler that way. When we heard the words “Kids, pack your shit,” all we had to do was reach under the bed and head for the car.

All of these moves were hard on us, but it also must have been hard on Beth and Cecily. It is a testament to Beth’s deep love for my dad that she put up with as much as she did. Anyone who has been around a person who uses drugs knows how much the missed appointments, forgotten errands, and general irresponsibility trickle down to everyone involved with the drug user. Dad’s drug use kept all of us off balance.

Another problem for me was that Beth and I never really clicked. All of the other women in Dad’s life had absolutely adored me. But not Beth. It might have been that I wasn’t as young and cute as I was when the other women had been around. It could have been that I was in a transitional phase from good girl to someone who lied on occasion and didn’t care all that much about anything. Or, most likely, the reason Beth and I never clicked is that we are just two very different people. That happens even in the best of families.

At the time I also felt that Beth picked on me. For example, I had never used a curling iron, and she regularly commented to me after I tried to use one that my hair looked funny. One time we both struggled with the iron and my hair, and the end result was that I had a huge burn on my neck from the curling iron. I think now that picking on me was Beth’s way of trying to help me. After all, I was the little girl with the dirty clothes, unwashed hair, and ragged
fingernails. I probably needed a lot of help. But I didn’t understand her way of trying to assist me, and animosity built.

Resentment also reared its head when we were living with Beth and Cecily. I’m not sure if Dad saw it, but suddenly there were a lot of people competing for his attention. I didn’t understand what it was initially, but over time I realized that tension in Beth’s home increased every time Dad paid special attention to me or to Barbara or Tucker.

I am sure that Tucker and Barbara’s acting out was terribly hard on Beth, too, especially as I was the only one of the three of us who even halfway listened to her. That might be why I took the brunt of her frustration and discipline, only to be overcompensated with kindness when Dad was around. It was one more thing in my life to be confused about.

I now know that a child learns what he or she is taught, and I was being taught that men disrespect women, hit them, and scream at them. I also learned that what couples do is fight and scream for hours, then everything can go back to normal. At the drop of a hat the same two people who were just at war, now are a happy couple.

I had also learned to keep secrets. It was an unspoken rule in our family that we were never to speak about what we saw or heard at home. We had learned that lesson in Hawai’i, but it continued here.

At school I was still in the fifth grade, but I was no longer the only troubled kid in my class, as I had been when I went to school
in Hawai’i. Now a few other kids my age were smoking and in relationships with older boys. I had finally found friends I could relate to.

I started stealing liquor from the house and pot from my brother and sister. I rebelled, and did not care about anything other than boys, alcohol, and drugs. At home, my brother and sister took great joy in teasing me in cruel ways. I remember Tucker hanging me by my hair out a window. In addition to being totally frightening, it hurt more than you could imagine. I also remember being put in the dryer while Tucker turned it on and held the door shut from the outside. To this day I don’t feel comfortable in small, dark places. When I told Dad or Beth what they were doing to me my siblings would be punished, and before long I was just the family tattletale. During this period I got drunk for the first time. I remember thinking how all my problems went away when I was drunk. Like pot, booze provided me another escape from the crappy life I was stuck in. Role models are so important. I wish I’d had a mentor who could have shown me that drugs and alcohol were not the way, that I had other choices. But it was not to be.

I desperately wanted control of something in my life, including the ability to make my own decisions. But most of all, I wanted out from under Beth and Dad’s control. I would get my wish very soon, but sometimes wishes aren’t all that they seem.

★

M
otherhood is by far
the greatest joy of my life. I love seeing the day-to-day growth of my daughters, and I revel in their creative efforts and progress. This progress comes in many shapes and sizes. For example, Abbie recently came to me and asked the difference between Democrats and Republicans. I believe that being a mother sometimes means not forcing my own beliefs on my child. Instead, I want to let her make her own decisions.

Of course, “What are you, Mom?” was one of her first questions. So I explained the main differences between the two political parties without prejudice and added that the decision was one she would not have to make until she was much older and could vote.

Madalynn’s progress is on a much less intense level. I enjoy
seeing her amaze people with her extensive vocabulary and her ability to hold a conversation far beyond her years. She has always picked up on things quickly and was walking at nine months. She also was potty trained by one year and swimming on her own by age two. Mady amazes me every day with her ability to complete so many tasks effortlessly.

Not all parents get to experience this gift, and at certain times in my life either my mother or dad was absent for long periods. When I did reconnect, it was always a little different from what I thought or hoped it would be.

When I was ten I went for a visit during spring break to see my mother. I’m not sure why Dad decided this would be a good time for me to go. Maybe he thought that since I was growing up I needed my biological mother more. Or maybe he and Beth just wanted some time alone. By then my mother was living in Healy, Alaska. Healy is a small town of about a thousand people in the center of the state with a beautiful view of the mountains. This was the first time I had seen my mother since the brief time she lived across the street from us in Hawai’i, when Nicholas was born. I also hadn’t heard from her at all during those years—not one birthday card, Christmas card, or phone call, other than the occasional screaming match between her and Dad on the phone. Once in a while Dad would make up a card for me and tell me it was from my mother, but I recognized his handwriting and called him out on it every time. I love that he tried, though.

I was excited and a little apprehensive about spending time with
my mother. On one hand, I would have done anything to get out of my chaotic living situation in Colorado. All the moving and fighting left me feeling very nervous, and it was nowhere near the positive environment that a child needed to be in. I was hoping to find a few days of peace and stability with my mother.

On the other hand, I was flying into an unknown. I was just at the age where I was beginning to wonder why my mother had left me all those years ago. Why hadn’t she come to see me? Why didn’t she call? I realize now that she must have been getting reports about me from Barbara and Tucker. Maybe my mother thought that because I was so young it would be easier for me if she didn’t have any contact. I also didn’t yet understand that distance and financial constraints played a part, although I would much later realize that there were other factors as well.

Even though I was ten, I was also still puzzled about the role of “mother.” Maybe my mother was doing what mothers are supposed do. Thinking back, I hadn’t ever been in one place long enough, or had any close friends for a long enough time, to gauge the actions of the mothers of my friends. Did they stick around? Was there just one mother, like we had just one dad? All I had to go on was Tawny, Ginny, Beth, the herd of nannies, and the many other women who had been in and out of our home. It was all so perplexing, but long story short, at that time in my life I would have given anything to get away from Dad and Beth—even for a while. I was beyond thrilled that I was on a plane to Alaska.

For some reason, Barbara and Tucker were already in Alaska,
so I flew north by myself. I was also on an earlier flight than originally planned, so when I landed in Fairbanks late one morning, I had to wait for my mother to show up. It seemed like the longest wait of my life, but the airline staff was great and even let me play with some computer software that moved the Jetway back and forth.

Eventually, though, I became bored—and anxious. What would my mother look like? Be like? When I finally saw her curly hair and bright smile, she enveloped me in a huge hug. Right away I could see that she was light, free, and playful. I really hoped that during this visit I would not have to experience the exhausted feeling I got at Dad’s after yet another family fight. And I didn’t. My mother was bubbling with happiness—and bordering on silliness. I was too naive to make the connection between the empty bottle of booze in the backseat of the car and her happy mood. Thank goodness a friend of hers was driving.

I knew that by this time my mother had gotten married to a man named Mark Bargas. Mark often worked in a small town in the northern part of the state, so I didn’t see him very much on that trip. My younger brother Nick had by now grown into a little boy and was about four years of age. Younger kids still fascinated me, and while Nick was the perfect age for me to play with, I don’t remember that I spent all that much time with him.

Despite my apprehension, I really did love my time in Alaska. Even though I wanted to feel a lot closer to my mother than I did, I thought it was cool that she let me drink coffee. I loved the ritual
of adding cream and sugar and felt very like an adult when I took a sip. I especially enjoyed it because coffee was a privilege I wasn’t allowed when I lived with Dad or Beth. Coffee was a big deal for me because I was in such a hurry to grow up. I’ve never quite understood why that was, unless I just wanted to get out on my own and away from the daily disorder of my life.

Coffee sticks in my mind because it is a good example of one of the main differences between Dad’s house and my mother’s. In Alaska there were few rules and life was unstructured. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, but I grasped at every bit of freedom I had there. My mother allowed us to go out with our friends, and we walked all over that town. It was my chance to be social, to be free to make my own choices—which was usually to smoke pot and flirt with boys.

The second reason why I loved this little vacation was that the household was quiet. Once I had some distance and perspective, I realized that Dad and Beth didn’t just fight regularly then; they fought all the time. About everything. I know now that Beth was trying hard to get Dad off what drugs he was still using and that he kept sliding back into that lifestyle. But when I was ten, that wasn’t so clear to me. All I knew was that most of the words spoken when we lived with Beth were loud and angry.

Finally, I realized that my mother was a fun person to be around. She was always the life of the party, and could find a reason to celebrate at the drop of a hat.

That visit I got a welcome and smiling face from my mother, and
it was everything I needed. Because they were older, Barbara and Tucker had always bounced back and forth between our parents, and since Barbara had hit puberty she had spent most of the time with our mother. Dad once told me that he felt a girl needed her mom when she reached that age.

I had hoped to spend a lot of time with my siblings during our stay, but that was not to be. Barbara and Tucker had convinced our mother that they were old enough not to need a curfew or follow any rules she may have set for them. Barbara was fifteen then and Tucker about fourteen, far too young to be so free. But Mark and my mother thought it was okay. Consequently, my older siblings were rarely home.