Recently I’ve been thinking about
this event, and I thought write about it for my next blog installment. For
those of who have been reading my blog, you’ll realize this is just par for the
course of my childhood.
Road Rage
I was in the sixth grade and we were
assigned to write our first research paper. I had never had such a large school
project assigned to me before, and I hadn’t kept up with the assignment. We
were to write about a country, create a visual project, then serve a dish from
that country. The first due date in a series of deadlines was coming up for the
project. We were to have a set number of note cards filled out with references
and quotes. I hadn’t done any work on
the project at all, I had only chosen my country. Now I know I’m not the only child in the world
who has ever procrastinated on a school project, however how my adoptive
mother reacted to this scenario is unique.
Over reaction and punishment
So the the first due date for the
project was the next day. The teacher called my home and spoke to my mother
about the project and stated that she felt that I might not have note cards
ready for the due date the next day.
What I am about to recount, can best
be described as two hours of terror.
Gathering Resources & References
After my adoptive mother hung up the phone, she
came to me, with her rage just starting to bubble to the surface. She questions me
on the school project and what I have done. I admit that I do not have the
first part of the project started, the note cards that are due the next
day. She starts yelling at me, and
yelling at me… In retrospect I know I’m not the only child to ever do this… and
it was the first time this had ever happened to me… and the last- because after the
next two hours I ensured that I kept any due dates to myself, and never
discussed if I was behind. I answered her honestly that ‘no’ I hadn’t done any
work on the project… this was the last time I would ever give her a truthful
answer if I felt the situation could spiral out of control.
My adoptive mother is now forced to actually “parent”
me. She just assumes I’ll complete my
homework without really taking anytime with me to discuss it, or participate in
it. Her anger is growing, and she is getting angrier and angrier as each minute
that passes because she will have to take me to the library and a travel agency
to gather the materials I need for the research project…. And I have inconveniently
forced her into a situation where she is must participate in being a parent.
She grabs my arm and hauls me to the car forcibly.
Her hold is tight on me and she is hurting me. I start to cry, and she starts
yelling at me to knock it off, or she will give me something really to cry
about. It’s a veiled threat of beating me. I get into the passenger seat, and she speeds
off to the library. She is driving like
a maniac, speeding, making fast hard stops, swerving around other cars. All the
while she is yelling at me in the car… venting her frustration on being forced
to “parent” me.
We arrive at the Library and hit the card
catalog to find the books we need. But instead of calming down as we work
toward solving the problem, she is continuing to get angrier by the minute. I’ve stopped talking, or making any kind of
sounds. I am scared out of mind at this point. I am in fear for my own safety,
and I’m worried she is really going to try to hurt me badly. There had already
been an incident before this where under the guise of hugging me from behind,
she held her arm across my throat and cut off my air way…choking me. So I know
what she was capable of.
She speeds off from the library to the travel
agency, continuing her erratic driving and continues yelling at me. As we speed
into the parking lot, she pulls into a handicap parking spot. She has never
done this before, and I’m more than a little shocked by it. As we walk to the
travel agency, her verbal barrage on me continues… She continues to get angrier
by the moment. I’ve long since gone silent, I am so scared… I just want to get
home and crawl into my closet.
We leave the travel agency with some brochures
on Norway, and she continues her erratic driving home. Only this time she cuts
off a woman who has decided she isn’t going to take my adoptive mother’s
erratic driving. For several miles what can be best described as a full-on road
rage incident unfolds. With each of them trying to cut of the other, each
making sudden stops, flipping each other off, and increasing levels of rage
being displayed. As I sat in the passenger seat I hung on to the door handle. I was so scared that I was beyond fear, and I was
beyond panic, I was waiting for an accident to happen. My adoptive mother unleashed her anger on the
other driver. The other driver lashed it right back at her.
I was 11 years old at the time, and I will never
forget this as long as I live. The terror and lack of control that I felt. Wanting to break into tears, and the treat
that she would give me something to cry about if I didn’t stop.
All this being caused over procrastinating on a
school assignment for the first time. Forcing my adoptive mother to actually “parent”
me.
I know what true terror caused at the hands of
your caretaker feels like… As long as I live I will never forget it….
