| General Non-Fiction posted April 27, 2017 | Chapters: |
2 3 -4- 5... 
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...my father taught me a life lesson
A chapter in the book Grammy's Memoirs 2018
Educating Patty
by Mustang Patty
| Background Another chapter in my story of memories for my grandchildren. I want them to know life comes with many challenges. Living is the choices you make for yourself. Approximately 832 words. |
Mr. Stevens was holding our test results in his hand, "Here is someone who is clearly not living up to their potential. Patty has scored higher than anyone in the seventh grade on these tests. She chooses to not come to school or participate in her own education. What a waste!"
Those are words that haunt me. A seventh-grade teacher took it upon himself to share the results of a standardized test with the whole class. Twelve-year-olds have enough issues in dealing with their ever-changing bodies and surge of hormones, and now I was outed as being even more different.
School was a problem for me. From early on, I was bored. To cure the boredom, I only went to school when we were having a test or project due. My grades were all A's, and no one really made a big deal about my attendance. I was honest when teachers asked me why I wasn't at school. It was the only way to have time with my mother.
I had been tested in the first grade and the school wanted to put me in a gifted program. My parents were against it. Mostly because it would cost them money, and no one was available to drive me to and from the special school. I try not to dwell on how different my life would be if I had attended the program.
Finally, the teacher I had for fifth grade realized that the problem was my not being challenged enough. She gave me extra assignments, and I wasn't absent one day during that year. Her notes in my academic file were copious. She believed I was destined for great things.
But, my father returned from jail in the fall of 1969, when I was in the sixth grade, and everything was turned upside-down. Oh, he behaved himself for almost a year. There were no drunken rages or anger filled fights. He brought his paycheck home every week, and we were almost like a real family. Almost.
There was a huge secret; my mother had dated someone else while he was gone. My brother and sister were too old for him to bully, and he had to tread carefully. The divorce papers had been filed, but never finalized. Life was balanced on a razor's edge.
It all blew up in late spring of 1970. I came home from school to blaring country western music that could be heard from the street. My legs were shaking as I walked up the stairs. I was afraid of what I would find.
My father sat at the kitchen table with an open bottle in front of him. A box of pictures was spilled and spread out before him. I could hear him grinding his teeth from across the room.
"Patty, come over here, darlin'. Come and sit with your daddy." The smile on his lips didn't quite reach his eyes, and I knew he was up to something.
"Sure, Daddy. Just let me put my stuff away." I ran to my room and tried to find a way to avoid going back out there. Where was everyone else? What was he doing home at three-thirty in the afternoon?
I sat down at the table, and he held up one picture. "Who is that in this picture?" His voice was barely controlled and his anger was palpable.
"That's a picture of me in Mommy's car."
"No. Who is the reflection of? Who was taking this picture?"
It was the only picture my mother hadn't purged. Reflected in the window was a picture of Fred, the man she had dated. His camera caught me in the back seat with a big smile on my face. I froze at the thought that I would be the one to reveal this horrible truth. The razor was about to slice my life.
I don't remember my exact words. My total recall left me. His anger weakened my legs and fogged my brain. Whatever I said, it unleashed all the fury he had been holding in.
He wanted a name. He wanted facts. I was crying so hard, I couldn't give him anything.
His belt was pulled from the loops of his pants. Swinging towards me, I could hear the harsh whistle of the leather. His words were even more haunting as he roared, "Come here, you little bitch – I'll teach you to lie to me."
I don't remember the rest of that day. I only know that when I came to, lying under my brother's bed, the voices of my mother and sister were calling to me. The house was in shambles. We never saw my father again.
School was easy compared to the lessons I learned that day. My education about people, and how much you could trust them, was complete. Mr. Stevens' actions on that fateful day in seventh grade only proved the point.
I went on to get degrees in Accounting, Business, an MBA, and a law degree. It seems that I was trying to prove to myself, and the world, that I was living up to my potential.
Those are words that haunt me. A seventh-grade teacher took it upon himself to share the results of a standardized test with the whole class. Twelve-year-olds have enough issues in dealing with their ever-changing bodies and surge of hormones, and now I was outed as being even more different.
School was a problem for me. From early on, I was bored. To cure the boredom, I only went to school when we were having a test or project due. My grades were all A's, and no one really made a big deal about my attendance. I was honest when teachers asked me why I wasn't at school. It was the only way to have time with my mother.
I had been tested in the first grade and the school wanted to put me in a gifted program. My parents were against it. Mostly because it would cost them money, and no one was available to drive me to and from the special school. I try not to dwell on how different my life would be if I had attended the program.
Finally, the teacher I had for fifth grade realized that the problem was my not being challenged enough. She gave me extra assignments, and I wasn't absent one day during that year. Her notes in my academic file were copious. She believed I was destined for great things.
But, my father returned from jail in the fall of 1969, when I was in the sixth grade, and everything was turned upside-down. Oh, he behaved himself for almost a year. There were no drunken rages or anger filled fights. He brought his paycheck home every week, and we were almost like a real family. Almost.
There was a huge secret; my mother had dated someone else while he was gone. My brother and sister were too old for him to bully, and he had to tread carefully. The divorce papers had been filed, but never finalized. Life was balanced on a razor's edge.
It all blew up in late spring of 1970. I came home from school to blaring country western music that could be heard from the street. My legs were shaking as I walked up the stairs. I was afraid of what I would find.
My father sat at the kitchen table with an open bottle in front of him. A box of pictures was spilled and spread out before him. I could hear him grinding his teeth from across the room.
"Patty, come over here, darlin'. Come and sit with your daddy." The smile on his lips didn't quite reach his eyes, and I knew he was up to something.
"Sure, Daddy. Just let me put my stuff away." I ran to my room and tried to find a way to avoid going back out there. Where was everyone else? What was he doing home at three-thirty in the afternoon?
I sat down at the table, and he held up one picture. "Who is that in this picture?" His voice was barely controlled and his anger was palpable.
"That's a picture of me in Mommy's car."
"No. Who is the reflection of? Who was taking this picture?"
It was the only picture my mother hadn't purged. Reflected in the window was a picture of Fred, the man she had dated. His camera caught me in the back seat with a big smile on my face. I froze at the thought that I would be the one to reveal this horrible truth. The razor was about to slice my life.
I don't remember my exact words. My total recall left me. His anger weakened my legs and fogged my brain. Whatever I said, it unleashed all the fury he had been holding in.
He wanted a name. He wanted facts. I was crying so hard, I couldn't give him anything.
His belt was pulled from the loops of his pants. Swinging towards me, I could hear the harsh whistle of the leather. His words were even more haunting as he roared, "Come here, you little bitch – I'll teach you to lie to me."
I don't remember the rest of that day. I only know that when I came to, lying under my brother's bed, the voices of my mother and sister were calling to me. The house was in shambles. We never saw my father again.
School was easy compared to the lessons I learned that day. My education about people, and how much you could trust them, was complete. Mr. Stevens' actions on that fateful day in seventh grade only proved the point.
I went on to get degrees in Accounting, Business, an MBA, and a law degree. It seems that I was trying to prove to myself, and the world, that I was living up to my potential.
 Recognized |
|
This was another chapter that was hard to write. Memories of that day still haunt my dreams.
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