2 posts tagged “m”
As most of you know, I got pregnant at 15 years old. I had the baby, a boy, and raised him alone - with intermittent support from my parents.
Really young mothers are looked down on by just about everyone. I would frequently receive looks from others ranging from pity to disgust. Whispers could be heard behind my back. Sometimes people wouldn't even wait for me to be out of earshot before expressing their disapproval and questioning how I was equipped to raise a child. I always pretended that I didn't hear it or that it didn't bother me.
We had each other, M and I, and we played together a lot. We also talked about everything. I never spoke to him as if he couldn't understand. I never dumbed-down my language. I read to him several times a day. Often the books would be classics, not merely Dr. Suess. When he was a very young toddler I began teaching M to speak French and Spanish. I taught him his letters, numbers, nouns and verbs in three languages simultaneously. I introduced him to music - classical, pop, rock, and jazz all got equal play. To this day he remembers so much of what we discussed and studied. It is a bit freaky.
When my son, M, was ready to begin pre-school, my parents paid for him to attend an exclusive and expensive private academy. The mothers there were especially cruel to me. Conversations would stop as I walked past them with my clean, well-dressed, well-mannered little one in tow. Then the hurried whispers would start. Each morning, I had to run this guantlet of acrimony. It didn't take long before I was fed up with the rude behavior exhibited by this den of bitches.
So, I expanded M's morning routine. Each morning after he would wake up, as we were getting him dressed and fed, we would learn "the word of the day." We would discuss, learn, and use words like hydroponics, soujorn, rendez-vous, and fecetious. I always made a game out of it. We both enjoyed the time and discussions, it wasn't like studying. His vocabulary and understanding, already impressive for a child his age, became deeper and more colorful as a result.
Then, later in the morning, as we would trot past the disapproving stares of the normal mothers and their snot-nosed brats, I would ask M, a little too loudly perhaps, what the word of the day was for today.
He would clearly ennunciate in his toddler's high pitched voice, "Today's word is hydroponics."
"And what does hydroponics mean?" I would follow-up.
"Hydroponics is when you grow plants in water without soil. Sometimes you add nuuuuutrients."
About this time an audible contaigen of cracks could be heard as the presumptuous mothers' heads snapped to stare in our direction.
Usually, I couldn't resist continuing.
Sometimes I would ask about him to what yesterday's word was.
He would respond, "Sojourn." And then he would tell me that it was a journey or travel.
We would briefly discuss that the word was French. Then I would ask him to count to ten in French or maybe sing the French alphabet. "Ah, bay, say, day, euh, eff," we would sing as we skipped down the hallway together.
A couple of days of this and the whispers and gossip stopped - for good. Take that snooty witches. That's right...a teen-ager is a better mother and has a brighter child than you could ever dream of having.
Booooya!
I had a long talk with Sug yesterday during which he told me that sometimes he wished he could have been around during earlier years to "save" me from some of the difficult times of my life. He then went on to say that the way he sees it, he was quite literally made for me as just as my life took a sideways turn, he was in the process of being "baked" just for me.
I think I will now call him "Pop-n-Fresh." He makes me all warm and gooey inside, like a cinnamon bun.
And yes, he is THAT much younger than I am. I have been the one with the age issue. He is a decade and-a-half younger than I am. A fact that doesn't seem to bother him at all, but terrifies me on many levels. I may just have to decide to get over it, however, as I am becoming increasingly addicted to his sugary sweetness.
Maybe I should give you some background. This is hard for me. I don't usually disclose this fact to strangers, let alone the world, but I got pregnant at 15 - just before my 16th birthday. My "boyfriend" was headed off to college. I was two years ahead in school and looked and acted much more mature than I actually was. I had sex with my boyfriend 3 times. Third time is the charm they say.
To the chagrin of my parents, I chose to marry the Guy as I thought it was the "right" thing to do. He was incredibly controlling and would only "let" me go to college if it didn't "affect" his life. He would routinely take my car and house keys to try to keep me from going to school. I would just pick up my son, put him on my hip, and walk the 2 miles to college. He would also initiate fights to keep me from being able to study for exams. Even without any support and with all the obstacles, I managed to work 50 hours a week, go to school full-time, and graduate Summa.
Threatened, the guy became violent. He beat me up in front of my son, "M," who was 3. M still remembers it. I took M and left and finished college on my own.
I didn't hear from the Guy for the remainder of my time in college. M, nor I, heard from him for two years; not until he heard I was going to law school. He then sued me, seeking custody, claiming I would be an unfit mother as there was no way a single mother could go to law school AND care for her child. The judge told me I was crazy to think I could do it. Everyone else, except my parents, told me I was selfish for intending to go to school instead of working to support my child. Of course, I WAS working to put food on the table and the kid always had everything he needed. But, for some reason, they felt it was better for M for me to be unhappy and work as a cocktail waitress in the evening and a church secretary during the day to be able to afford to take care of him. It didn't matter to anyone that I had been accepted to some of the best law schools in the country, or that some of them were willing to give me a free ride on tuition.
Luckily, just before trial, I fell into a corporate job which I took rather than going to school. That ended the lawsuit.
After a couple of years, it was clear to me that I wouldn't be happy unless I went to school. I quietly enrolled and began school. The bastard Guy found out just after my first semester and sued me for custody again. I fought it at first, and then decided to say okay. You want custody, I am willing to give it to you. The Guy didn't want it and promptly withdrew his suit.
I drove two hours each way to school every day so I wouldn't have to uproot M. One of my profs - who was brand new to teaching - decided there was no way I could do that and went to the Dean trying to force me into taking a sabatical in the middle of my second semester. I had been making the drive for almost a whole year and had really great grades my first semester. But, he decided to join the chorus already singing "You can't, you can't, you can't." Luckily the Dean was female and chastized the prof for dragging me to her in light of my good grades.
It was about this time I met a man, Art, who was more than twice my age and made millions a year. Art took me in and made me his trophy. I was more than happy to have someone look at me as a prize instead of beating me down. M and I moved in with him and I made Art my job while I went to school. As long as I accompanied him whenever and wherever he wanted, things were fine. I went to school in the morning, when we were in town, and was with M in the afternoon and Art at night. I learned to study anywhere. I have studied in alum boxes at Hockey games, I studied on far away beaches, I studied at dinner while Art was on his cell phone making money, I studied in owner's boxes at football stadiums, I studied on planes. It didn't matter what was going on around me, as long as I wasn't "needed," I could study. And I did well.
But, just before I graduated, Art became threatened. I don't know why, he was so proud that he could say I was in law school. I think he felt that I would leave him as soon as I graduated. I had not planned on it. He soon set about trying to create obstacles to keep me from finishing my last semester. I kept manuevering around the obstacles and stood up to him. To keep his gameplan on track, he began becoming increasingly violent. I sent M to my parents house to make sure he didn't witness the storm that was beginning to brew. I couldn't just leave. I had stupidly given up everything I owned. Art had sold my car, my house had been sold, he had given away all the clothes, furniture, etc. that I had prior to meeting him. I had let myself become totally dependent on him. I had no money of my own with which to leave. With my final exams and the bar looming, I made the decision to stay and take his abuse.
And he was abusive. He would punch me, throw me, hold me down, and physically throw me out the door. He said he was "taking out the trash." After each episode, he would buy me expensive jewelry, furs, etc. and ask me to stay. I stayed, hoping to stretch the time between episodes just enough to allow me to save some bits of money, study and take exams. The day after I took the bar he really beat me up. It ended with Art throwing me on the bed of a hotel room, holding both of my wrists over my head in one of his hands. His shoulder was pressed into my face, covering my nose and mouth. He used his other hand and legs to lift my skirt and pry my legs apart. I managed to open my mouth enough to grab the flesh just below his shoulder with my teeth - and I bit down. I bit down so hard, I could feel my teeth sinking through his flesh. I was close to ripping off a mouthfull of his skin and muscle. It felt like I was taking a bite out of a thick steak.
He let me go and jumped off me, yelping. The he began hitting me and tossing me around the room. Someone heard the fray and called the police. He was arrested. So was I. I was let go a few hours later for lack of probable cause supporting the arrest. The arresting officer then proceeded to tell me how "lucky" I was to not be spending a few days in jail. Lucky? I always thought that an interesting choice of words.
While Art was in jail, I fled home, packed my things and left. M was tucked safely away at my parents house. A few months passed and everything was quiet. M came back to me and started school in a new city. I started seeing a man. Then, I began to suspect that someone was coming into my house when I was gone. Things were going missing. Things appeared to have been moved. Then one day, I stepped out of the shower to find Art standing in my bathroom. I ordered him to leave. When he wouldn't go, I ran for the phone. He quickly resorted to violence and proceeded to toss my naked body against walls, furniture, down stairs. He told me that he was going to kill me. He told me that he was going to kill M. He left, telling me that I had 48 hours to live. He called my parents and told them he was going to kill me. He called M's dad and told him he had better come get him that I was dealing cocaine out of my house. He called every lawyer in town claiming all kinds of horrendous things. He was attacking every aspect of my life, personal and professional. No one did a thing. No one lifted a finger to help me. No one. The police said they couldn't do anything until he physically touched me again (i.e. until he made good on his threat). I had already filed a complaint concerning his breaking into my house and beating me up. He had not yet been arrested for that.
I withdrew into my house, making a fortress. I took my phone off the hook as Art called continually (the record was 150 times in one day). M didn't go to school. The man I started seeing had gone to South America for three months. He called one night and I told him what was happening. I told him I was trying to hire a bodyguard. He told me to call his roommate, a big, tall, strong, Irish man. The Irish man came. He moved in my house. As long as he was there, Art stayed outside, only calling or daring to come near when the Irishman was gone. The Irishman stopped going to work so that he could stay by my side 24 hours a day until Art went to jail. I owe that Irishman my life. I do. I spent 8 years trying to make it up to him. I spent 8 years paying for his service to me. That Irishman is now my Ex.
So there it is.....a nutshell of my life - and near death. Not fascinating, not interesting, but mildly eventful. Wow....I didn't intend to say all of that. But there it is. The point of all this is to tell you how it is that Sug is the same age as my son - well actually, a little bit younger. And THAT freaks me out. And THAT is why I have all of these age issues.
I will now hit "Save" and post it. Now. Okay, not then, but NOW! *deep breath* NOW!!!!
EDIT: By the way, M is a happy healthy and well-adjusted man now. He is on his own and still loves his Momma.
