Masterpiece in Progress by Smith, TL (snow like ashes txt) 📕

My aunt Wina (mom’s sister) and Uncle Russ and their boys (who were close to my age) lived next door so that kept me excited about moving.  AND the house was MUCH bigger than our house on Broadway.

Dottie and Paul had moved and weren’t our next-door neighbors on Broadway, so I guess this would be okay.  I liked having people around.  And the boys were close in age to me plus could all go to church together.  Which we did, three times a week.

Remember, I told you I was always a chunky kid?  Chunky is being kind, I was overweight. And even when we lived on Broadway, I remember being on a diet.  Going to Weight Watcher’s meetings and weighing in.  I had to eat fish at least once a week.  It was gross. I’d much prefer the steak from Sizzler.   I remember my mom telling me I couldn’t have a two-piece bathing suit (for a swim party I was going to) because I was too big for one.  I needed a one piece.  She also said it was because I burned so easily. (I have burned through a t-shirt at the beach).

My weight didn’t change before our move.  Kids are cruel and I took a lot of bullying because of my weight.  But I always acted like it didn’t bother me, but it did.  A LOT.  Walking home from elementary school, I had to pass the junior high kids.  They would call me names (fatty, lard-ass, hippo, elephant, whale) and then do some weird thing with their fingers and thump me on the head.  I would keep walking and never let them see me cry.  But I would go home and cry rivers.

Church was my safe place.  I was active in the youth group and I felt grounded there.  I saw my daddy get baptized at that church and I already knew my momma had been baptized as a young girl.  She didn’t go to church much, she said it hurt her back and shoulder.  But there was never any doubt in my mind that she loved God.  She was very spiritual and taught me a lot about God’s love.  She also made sure I experienced other types of churches.  She took me to a Jewish temple, Buddhist temple, catholic service because she wanted me to be knowledgeable of other beliefs to form my own view on how I believed, not just what I was told to believe.  I thought that was really impressive.

Church also provided me an outlet.  I had always loved music (my parents put me in accordion lessons as a youngster) and I was a good singer.  Church really helped me become confident in my singing.  I sang in the youth choir, the school choir, along to my records at home, in the car.  I’m sure it annoyed my parents at times. But singing is where no one made fun of me.  They liked me.  Accepted me.

I had the biggest crush on a boy named Rodney from church.  His dad was a California Highway Patrol Officer.  Rodney played guitar and was just the nicest guy.  One day after I had sung a special at church, Rodney told me that his dad said I should sing country music.  My voice was that good.  I never forgot that.

By now, my dad was getting sicker and sicker.  With more frequent trips to the hospital.

I have many memories of standing outside the hospital waving to him (back then kids weren't allowed into a patient’s room) and blowing kisses.  Waiting in the lobby for my mom to be done with her visit with dad, secretly mad that I couldn’t go in and see him too.  We would often stop at Jack in the Box on the way home from the hospital for an easy dinner since it was on the way.

I wasn’t allowed to have 2 things and fries.  If I wanted a burger and fries, fine.  But I couldn’t have a taco, burger, and fries.  If you’ve never eaten at Jack in the Box, the tacos are SUPER thin, but I could never make my argument stick with her.

She had to be exhausted.  She was working, taking care of me, and trying to take care of my dad.

It was during this time I learned to wash my own clothes, cook easy dinners, make mom’s cappuccino, or coffee, and keep the house picked up.

I only felt safe and happy when all my family was around.  My sisters, Diane, Dottie, and Debbie, my brother, Kenny and their husbands, wife, and kids.  It was as if time stopped and I could just be “normal” when they were there.  Life was normal.  My dad wasn’t dying.

And we made such great memories in that house and yard.  Birthdays, Christmas, Easter egg hunts, 4th of July barbeques.

My mom and her sister (aunt Wina) spent lots of time together and they made me laugh more times that I can count. It was there that I think my mom seemed the happiest to me.  I had no idea what she was dealing with though.

I very distinctly recall on one of our trips home from the hospital, my mom sobbing. Sobbing so hard she had to pull the car over. I had to be around 9 or 10. When I finally mustered up the courage to ask her what was wrong, she told me, "Daddy asked me to bring him the gun". "He's tired of living like this."  I didn’t even know we had a gun.

It was in that moment I realized I HAD to be strong for my mom, she needed me. So, I neglected my own insecurities and fear and kept up a good facade for her.  But I was terrified.  Would she take him the gun?  Would she go to jail if she did?

Dad got to come home