from The Daily Scream by Dan
Well, the holiday season is upon us. I don't know about everyone else, but I'm not feeling real festive this year. The bottom continues to fall out of the economy...the real estate market has tanked and people in general are acting pretty weird. Mother Nature is just adding to the fun by dumping snow and record cold temps on us here in the usually warm south.
Don't get me wrong, even with all the gloom and doom around, I still find plenty of things to be thankful for. My wife, my kids, and especially my two little monster granddaughters...Abby and Livvie bring me lots of smiles and make the days worthwhile. I don't want to forget the rest of my family either...Dad and my step-mom, my brother Jeff and his family and my sister Kristin and her brood. Somewhere out there I have another sister...but I haven't a clue where she even is...Washington state I think. Maybe someday I'll find her again.
One thing I am not all that thankful for is my birth mother...she decided to drag me home to America from Germany when I was only a few months old, so she could dump me on my grandparents (my dad's parents) and run off to Florida and play with her boyfriend. At some point, she tired of her boy toy and returned to NY...in time to flush my fish (Christmas presents) down the toilet...because they smelled funny to her...to wash my turtle (birthday present) with Ivory soap...because he smelled funny (he didn't survive the bath)...I spent a lot of time worried about how I smelled...just in case she decided I smelled and needed to die too.
Yep...dear old mom was a loving one...got bored with me and sent me to spend some quality time with her drunken parents...they had company over one afternoon to sit around and get drunk...and told me to get out of the house..."just go somewhere and don't come back until we call you"...so I walked over to a friend's house. Now, mind you, this is the same house that my mother used to go to as a kid...because her childhood friend was the mother of my friend. We spent the afternoon playing and having a good time just being kids. Around supper time, my grandmother showed up...drunk on her ass...swearing and screaming, she started beating on me with a stick. She finally got bored with that and slammed me in the car...the entire drive back to her house was filled with profanity and rants about what a worthless bastard I was. We got to her house and I was dragged from the car and beaten again. Then I was dragged into the house and beaten while I packed my stuff. The beating continued all the way to the car...several sticks and rulers were broken in the process. Once in the car the tirade began again. I was called every horrible name imaginable to a young boy. The old battle axe told me that she never wanted to see me again. We got to my home and I was yanked from the car yet again and slapped across the face several times. My mother stood by and said nothing. Over the ensuing years, that evil woman (mother's mother) never did speak to me again...she bought Christmas and birthday gifts for my siblings...but none for me. When the bitch died, my mother insisted that I be a pallbearer for her funeral. You have no idea how much I just wanted to take that casket and throw it off a cliff.
My mother went out of her way to make Christmas special. Every year she would ask me what I would like and every year I would get some crap that had nothing to do with anything I was even remotely interested in. One of the best was the year I asked for a set of screwdrivers and instead was given a guitar. I am not musically inclined...never have been, never will be. Hell, we even had a discussion about music and I told her repeatedly that I had no interest in it. Come Christmas morning I opened a very suspicious looking package and sure enough, there was this stupid guitar. I was a kid, I cried...I didn't want a guitar...I got my face slapped and sent to bed. Merry Christmas.
I will share more stories of a mother's "love" in the coming weeks.