Imposing isn't it?
I dreaded our forth grade assembly. All the kids scampered around the classroom asking each other, “Is your mommy coming?” and without waiting for a response, they’d finish with; “MY mommy’s coming!” Over and over, the same thing would bounce out of every kid’s mouth but mine. I answered by nodding yes and then I immediately prayed, “Sweet Jesus, please don’t let my mommy come to the assembly.”
At School 9 the assemblies were held in the auditorium. It was really an indoor basketball court with a stage where folding chairs were set up for the audience. The students from all the other grades attended and the parents of the students performing were all invited. But because the assemblies were held during the day usually only mommies showed up.
The performance began as planned. Through out the performance I was tormented by the idea that at any moment my mother would show up while I was on stage. It wasn’t until we were half way through that I began to feel relief, thinking; maybe my mom’s not going to make it after all!
Everyone in the class was at the assembly.
Then a loud “Ka-Chun-Ka!” came from back of the auditorium. It was the loud sound of those, “Ka-Chun-Ka” bars, the long brass bar handles on the doors to the auditorium that you have to press down hard to open, and when you do they make a loud, “Ka-Chun-Ka!”
The doors flew open and the entire audience turned around toward the back of the auditorium. Silence. Everything stopped. It felt like I was dreaming while standing in shock.
There she was, my mommy, standing slightly off balance in the doorway with her frosted hair all banged up, a purse dangling off her arm, wearing a tight sweater, Capri pants and heels. Oblivious to the fact that the entire audience was twisted around in their seats and staring at her, she pointed at the stage and proudly shouted, “My baby!” This shattered the silence and I was instantly very conscious of myself.
Oh my god, it's my mom.
All at once everyone swung back around in their seats curious to see who her “baby” was. Frozen on stage, I convinced myself, as my face heated up like the coils on a toaster oven and turned just as red, that maybe they’d think it’s one of the other kids; after all, there are four of us up here.
That’s when she shouted, “Daaaaar-rell!” I just wanted to fall on my cardboard sword and end it all.
Walking home from school, humiliated, I couldn’t imagine anything worse, until I heard Brazil 66 blasting from the open windows and front door of our house. When I stepped inside my mom grabbed my hand, pulled me into the living room began dancing with me, with a drink one hand and holding mine with the other, “Come on Darrell, dance with mommy.”
Let's dance, Darrell!
Seeing your mother drunk is one thing, but being forced to dance with your drunken mother is discomfort like no other. Even though no one was there to witness this, except for my younger brother, Eric, (who pretended to be a cat so he wouldn’t have to dance with her), I felt even more embarrassed and uncomfortable than I did on stage just moments before.
Oh no, not another record!
At five o’clock everything changed. My dad walked in and she made a beeline for the kitchen. The crash of the silverware drawer hitting the floor and my father shouting, “Billie, will you put down the knife!” was routine. I knew she didn’t really intend to stab my dad; she just wanted to get his attention.
But apparently, this time she really wanted to teach him a lesson. So she stripped down naked, threw down the knife and ran out the back door. “God damn it! Darrell, Eric get out here!” my father shouting, “Your mother just ran out of the house, naked!”
When my father caught a glimpse of me his impatience was apparent; “What the hell are you doing putting shoes on for? Your mother’s not wearing any! Come on we’re losing her, we got to go get her!”
She's outside naked?
So there I was with my little brother chasing our naked mother through the neighborhood and it wasn’t easy keeping up with her, she was jumping hedges like a wild gazelle! The neighbor’s porch lights started popping on like flash bulbs on cameras. It wasn’t until we were half way down the block that we got her cornered. Unfortunately, on Rhonda Mangels’ front yard. I had a crush on Rhonda, so all opportunity there was just smothered. Oh, and all my friends who lived in the neighborhood and walked to school with us were now coming outside to witness the commotion.
It wasn’t long after this episode that my parents divorced and our mom moved out. I thought having her out of our lives would change how inadequate I felt. It didn’t. I still felt like a turd compared to all the other kids on the School 9 playground. I knew I needed something special to transform myself from what I believed everyone thought of me, into someone they would admire.
That day came when I discovered where my dad hid his card playing money. I knew with money I could impress the other kids. I had a plan, if I only took the change, and not the bills, my father would never notice.
Nothing a roll of quarters won't fix.
Our dad worked during the day, so each day I came home for lunch; I’d steal a roll of quarters. This was 1972 when a roll of quarters was worth, like…what, eight grand? So, I was able to buy massive bags of Starburst fruit chews. I didn’t even like Starburst fruit chews, but the cool kids like Wayne Giambatista did. Then as soon as I’d arrive at the playground all the kids would crowd around me and I’d throw out Starburst fruit chews to the group like herring to hungry sea lions. The kids went wild for these fruit chews. It was incredible, I felt like a Rock Star with groping fans. I had arrived, I was becoming famous.
This went on for weeks seemingly unnoticed until the owner of Carousel, the local candy shop, asked me where I was getting all the loot. I told him it was from allowance and shining shoes. This lie made me feel uncomfortable but not enough to stop.
Then one day skipping home for lunch to snatch another roll of quarters I noticed my dad’s car in the driveway. Because of his job he was never home at lunchtime. I panicked; “He knows!” There was no way out, if I don’t show up for lunch it would confirm my guilt and if I do, I faced severe punishment and death. I decided, since running away wasn’t an option for a cowardly ten year old, that I’d take my chances with trying to explain or deny it. I continued toward our house working out the most plausible lie, or excuse, if the evidence he had was too great to surmount.
This is it, I'm finished.
Before I got up the front steps my dad swung open the screen door and looking down at me he began; “Darrell I want to talk to you. Someone’s been taking rolls of quarters from my card money…” Bracing myself as he continued, he asked; “Have you seen your mother around here, lately?”
I stood in shock and slowly nodded, “yes.”
Only ten years old and I threw my mother under the bus.
Whew, that was close.
The years following this incident flew by without our mother around. Her leaving us became my great excuse, for all sorts of irresponsibility and bad behavior, especially when I got caught. When I was eighteen our father died and without a rudder and no direction I was lost. Full of self-pity, I was quick to blame it all on my mother’s leaving us.
I was heading towards disaster and it wasn’t until I was nearly twenty-four years old that I finally hit a wall. I could no longer lower my standards as fast as my behavior. It took a military Court Martial for me to realize that my problems were of my own making, no one else was to blame. The only alternatives left were that I could either change or die. Thank God for the U.S. Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant who made that clear.
I spent my life screwing up, finally, I was growing up.
It was during this time, motivated to change, that I reached out to renew a relationship with my mother, it had been many years since I had been in touch with her. When I contacted her she was very happy to hear from me, but because she left when I was so young, the best way to describe how I felt would be, ambivalence. Over the years I continued to keep in touch with her, with letters, postcards, and phone calls telling her I loved her, but mostly because I felt I ought to.
A picture I took of my mom on one of her visits with us after she had moved out.
Then about seven years ago, out of nowhere, guilt over stealing those damn quarters began to resurface. Should I say something to my mother, admit what I did and apologize? It went back and forth in my mind, from “I should apologize to her for that.” to, “Why should I bring that up? It wasn’t a big deal. I was only a kid. It happened so long ago, besides, she left us. She’s lucky I’m talking to her at all.” But every time I thought of my mother I’d remember the quarters and wrestle with why I should or should not apologize. It’s true; avoidance is a full time job.
So, I threw in the towel, asked God for the courage and called her. The conversation went like this:
“Mom, remember when I was little and you got blamed for stealing the quarters from daddy’s card playing money? I lied to daddy; I was stealing them and blamed you. I feel really bad about doing that. I’m sorry.”
She responded kindly, “Isn’t it funny the silly things we do when we are young?” and then after a pause, her voice quivered, “Darrell, I don’t want to go to my grave with you and Eric thinking that I didn’t love you both.” She began to cry as she continued, “The hardest thing I ever did was to leave you boys, and it kills me to think how much I loved you both and that you both probably think I didn’t.”
A warm feeling grew in my chest; wonderful moments began to bubble up to the surface of my heart. Memories of my mom teaching me how to tie my shoes, how she’d never get frustrated and praised me continuously for the slightest improvement. I remembered her teaching me how to color in the lines of the coloring book and her secret on how to apply more pressure to the crayon making a dark outline around the image, this seemed magnificent to me. Then came the clear recollection that she always told me how special I was and all the amazing things I would do when I grew up. The overwhelming desire to hug her led me to say. “We know you loved us. I love you, Mommy.” It was true I felt it.
She really was special to me after all.
Funny, how this all came about by admitting my faults, rather than demanding she acknowledge hers. Did my mom really set out to humiliate me by pointing me out at the assembly or wanting me to dance with her? No, I can believe she was just trying to include me in moments when she was temporarily free from her anxieties and feeling good. In any case, if it weren’t for my mom being exactly the way she was, I would have missed out on the wonderful life I have today.
So, thank you mom. And to all the other moms out there, good luck, have fun and regardless of any mistakes you make along the way, eventually your kids will realize how fortunate they have been to have a mom exactly like you.
All the proof I need. I had the perfect mom.
Now for those who have attended School No. 9, feel free to sing along.
“Nine will shine tonight, Nine will shine.
She’ll shine in beauty bright, all down the line.
Won’t we look neat tonight, dressed up so fine.
When the sun goes down and the moon goes up, Nine will shine!
All of the students, they are so fine. They are the pride of School Number Nine.
They will always try to work at their best.
And we always know that Nine will go, ‘Way above the rest!”
-Sung at assemblies at School No. 9 located in the Allwood section of Clifton, NJ.
