Time Flies…

I was fully prepared to write about Kim Davis here today. But my Kim Davis stance turned out to be interesting enough that I’m selling it to one of the sites I write for. That means you’ll see it soon enough, just not here.

Besides, I realized that this second week of September marks the 20 year anniversary of the last time I spoke to my mother–outside of the screamed conversations that happen when I’m alone. Ha! No, really…

I’m not going to go into what caused the estrangement. Anybody who doesn’t know but would like to is welcome to peruse my “family” or “wednes past” tags to catch up with me talking about mumsy and her whole deal. No, I didn’t ever call her “mumsy,” I just think that’s a hilarious way to refer to a mom who wasn’t especially motherly. For a beautifully exaggerated and somewhat fictionalized version of life with mumsy, you can always read my self-indulgeant debut novel, A Stabbing for Sadie. When people ask me if I’m Sadie, I like to look shocked while shaking my head and proclaiming that such would be impossible…because Sadie is fat. Hahahahahahaha!

My mom is a big TV watcher. We grew up knowing that TV was the only activity our family could engage in together without screaming or violence. By not talking to her for 20 years–we never got to discuss huge TV events like LOST, Game of Thrones, or even The Sopranos. I bet she likes them. I have no idea if she’s seen the Harry Potter movies (she doesn’t read, or didn’t when I knew her), though I imagine she’s all over that Christian Grey shit. Ew. When we last talked, LA Law, Animaniacs, Romper Room, Star Trek Next Gen, and the Arsenio Hall Show were still on the air.
I know, right?

I’ve changed mightily as a person since last speaking to Mater. It’s amazing how much one can grow and develop when no one is hitting them, screaming how ugly, fat and stupid they are, or just generally not having someone figuratively step on your neck every time you try to speak or move. Even if I’m never as kind, considerate, or accepting as I’d like to be–I can take solace in the fact that I’ll never EVER be the frightened, duplicitous, lasher-outer that passed for a mother where I grew up.
It makes me happy to hang out with kids and see that I don’t have the urge to smack them, even if they’re little assholes. For people who grew up thinking smacking people was normal, this is kind of a big deal.

Of course, I have almost no memory of ever speaking to my biological father. I grew up with a stepdad, only I was NEVER supposed to refer to him that way. My mom was hysterical when she thought someone was lying to her–but that was nothing compared to what she would do if someone told one of her truths.

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