22 September 2010

Mamma Mia

Everyone is messed up one way or another.  Not a single person has not been damaged in some way.  Of course, some more than others.  It's the lot we draw in life, the cross to bear.

My upbringing, I can say unabashedly, was really amazing.  I was fortunate enough to have two loving parents who always provided more than I could ever want.  I visited my extended family on both sides often.  Silver spoon and all that jazz.

Blah blah blah.  My mother has forever scarred me.*  Sigmund Freud would have a field day with this dissertation.

1. I nearly died in childbirth. (Birth)
True, this isn't necessarily HER fault, but I was born blue from lack of oxygen with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck and an APGAR score of 2 out of 5 after one minute.  For all the students at home, a 40 per cent.  Also, the gestational diabetes made me a super huge baby, 4.5 kg (ten lbs) and 22 inches long.  I barely fit in the incubator. 

I'm sure this is why I have a phobia of tight objects wrapped my neck and the need to always fit into small spaces.

2. She kicked me down the stairs.  Twice. (Age 13)
Okay, so I had told my little sister she was adopted.  My mother found her sobbing, packing her room because she had to move.  Therefore, mother called me to the second floor.  I slowly ascended the stairs while she was screaming unintelligible babble (to my ears).  When I hit the second-to-last stair, her anger reached a crescendo in which she pushed me down the stairs with her foot.  Face splotchy, she asked me to climb the stairs again before repeating the process.

I never told any sibling they were adopted again.

3. She threw the dog food and water dish at me. (Age 17)
I'm not sure what I did to cause this to happen, but I remember being in the kitchen when kibbles and water exploded everywhere.  With bits clattering across the tile, she commanded I clean the mess.

I probably wasn't looking after the dogs very well, but from then on I checked the dog dishes daily.

4. Burns on my neck. (Age 15)
Between haircuts, the hairline on my neck tends to become a little shaggy.  I usually had a brother or an older cousin straighten out the line every two weeks.  On this particular Sunday evening, there was no one available so I asked my mother. (These days I have perfected the hairline myself with two mirrors and a straight razor.)  For some reason, she thought an electric razor would be a better choice then a sideburns trimmer.

     a. She wasn't experienced with electric razors.
     b. She didn't hold it flush with the skin.
     c. She berated me, calling me a 'wienie' for squirming.
     d. She drew blood.

My neck was torn up so bad, I couldn't attend school the next day.  For the pain.  And to escape ridicule.

5. The Aeroporto Leonardo da Vinci di Fiumicino incident (Age 4)
Possibly the most traumatic event inflicted on me by my mother.  We had a short holiday in Italia which ended in Roma and were flying home to Barcelona.  My father had a business emergency and left a day before the rest of the family. With six children under the age of ten, including a newborn baby, my mother literally had her hands full.  Alitalia was dealing with flights and cancellations and therefore there were some gate changes.

See where this is heading?

This is partially my fault because I had a new Gameboy with awesome headphones.  I was toggling between Super Mario Land and Castlevania before I realized I was surrounded by unfamiliar faces.  Surreal colors began their journey across my eyes as my legs wandered aimlessly, hoping to run into my family.

Then, the Polizia di Stato with AK-47s surrounded me.  My four-year-old brain crapped its pants, I knew I would be in deep trouble for this infraction.  Turns out, the poliziotti (policemen) were alerted by the captain of my family's flight when my mother noticed after takeoff there was one seat unoccupied.  My father immediately flew to Roma to collect me from the holding room four hours later. 

The poliziotti told him I was a delightful child after they convinced me they were not deporting me to Israel.  Which is where my mother convinced me that bad children were sent to fight in the Holy Land.

It's so awesome I'm a well-adjusted individual today.  /sarcasm

*I love my mother dearly and this is in jest.  We laugh about all these occurrences often.


  1. Ha. Well-adjusted indeed.

    I share your adoption-related and forgotten-about-whilst-travelling stories (somewhat), and I think I turned out OK.

    Yay to eventful childhoods!

  2. I hope someday to be as good of mother as yours is. I believe that children learn best by fear (being deported to Israel to fight in the holy land is far better than anything I think I could come up with on my own, give your mother a high five for me) and when I get to have my own I know they'll turn out well because I'll scare them into being good people. Ahh love.

  3. I'm printing this out as a guideline for how to be a good mother RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

  4. Shit...I might be like you mom minus the 10 kids. damn demon children.

  5. Heh. I like this woman. I just do. (I like you too, Orion, but I like your mom.)

  6. haha... maybe your sis was adopted. ;) That is funny though. :P

  7. Oh yes, I also forgot when she put me in ballet class. I blocked the actual classes but it made me a good dancer. So fail-win?

  8. I love that your mom told you that bad children were sent to Israel. That's excellent. My best friend's mother used some sort of German bogeyman whose name I can't recall. I remember witnessing (and participating in) a great many unfortunate events where the youngest was terrorized into behaving/doing whatever was asked of her because _____ was at the door. On at least one occasion, one of the other girls put a mask on and stood at the door and when we opened it Bella started crying. At the time, I'm pretty sure it was the saddest thing I had ever seen in my entire life.

  9. (but then, I think everyone with siblings could produce a comprehensive list of the ways in which our siblings traumatized us for life...being the youngest of 6, the poor kid never stood a chance)