Ugly p6

Time passed, a year passed and I became two.

I learned to say all sorts of words in the last year.


Peace.


Love.


Flower Power.

Oh, how my mothers and fathers were proud of my limited but very enlightened vocabulary.

They made me wooden blocks.

Yes, it was a group effort. One or two would cut them, later another on or two would sand them. This was a long process, unfinished blocks were around the house for months. When ever anyone felt artistic they would paint some. Mothers, fathers, guests, me, even my own mother painted one. After they were painted they all got shellacked. It is a good thing I preferred love beads and peace medallions for my teething rings than blocks made of wood lead paint and schaleack.

When they were all finished and dried they were given to me for my second birthday. They all were so happy at what they accomplished. So was I. I loved pretending I made words. Sometimes I guess I did make words. It would really freak them out, especially when my mothers and fathers were high. They looked all funny and believed I was a genesis. I know this because I was told about it every time my mother would see me.

"You were so smart." She would say as if I became less intelligent as I grew older.

I do remember, because of their reaction, one day shortly after my 2nd birthday when my tower of blocks fell. I looked said then I said "Fuck!"

They all stopped and looked at me.

"No!" my mother yelled at me. "We don't talk like that." She yelled sternly and ran out of the room.

The rest were as shocked by her reaction as they did my the word I used.

I didn't understand, they used the word. They would stub their tow "fuck." They would drop a glass "fuck". Different variations of the words describe people they didn't like. I didn't like the blocks falling.

Before I could think anymore about it my mother stuck soap in my mouth. I cried.

"Maybe that will teach you not to use dirty words!"

"Hey!" yelled my oldest father and a few others.

He came up and took it out of my mouth. "Not cool, mom." He handed her the soap.

My big mother stuck some peanut butter in my mouth. "It's o.k., Moonbeam, this will help."

"You want her talkin' that way? Like a dirty truck driver?"

"Freedom of Speech!" one of the others father spoke up.

"Bullshit! How's that for fuckin' freedom of speech." My mother stormed out of the room. Only to return a few seconds later.

"You people have to remember I am her mother! I will not have her grow into a foul mouth low class tramp."

"It would be nice if your Southern Baptist fascist values wouldn't come out to terrorize her into submission. You ran away from that place, if you hated the backward thinking so much, of you couldn't wait until you grew up to find a different life, why are you repeating the same small minded thinking?

It would be nice if you just acted like a mother just half of the time instead of a kid yourself!

The other mothers int he community don't act like this! They are young,too. You are the one who wanted her until she came out and you saw who she really was. I have been waiting for you to open your heart and be a 'mother'.

When? When Bobbie Sue? When will this happen? It crushes her every time you call her Ugly. Every time you reject her. Every time you push her away. When?"

My oldest father was upset. I heard him passionately arguing about human values, the war in Viet Nam, or anything that sparked his interest. He talked that way now.

I was brought to the kitchen with my mother who called me Moonbeam. She made me a peanut butter sandwich to take all the taste of soap out of my mouth. She didn't want me to hear. She looked to the floor a lot. She didn't like what was being said.

When things need to be said, no-one likes hearing them.

I did like hearing them. I did not like being scolded and soap being put in my mouth. Now my mother was being scolded.

This must have been the concept of karma in play.

I really didn't understand the dynamics of the situating until I was much older. The future turned on a dime. She would not try so hard in the future. What was good parenting in her mother's house was bad here. She did not know which way was up. So she let the others do it for her. It was easier than trying and being treated a child for the effort.

She indulged more in drugs and men. She escaped in the place she escaped to. She traded one cage for another. The farm and the strict rules and judgments of her paernts and the church ladies for a world who judged her for not being without rules enough while judging for not being a good mother without rules. She could not figure anyway to please anyone else.So she gave up and pleased herself.

Within weeks of my first curse word, a few of the mothers and fathers left for other places. They said it was time to move on, one was paired two were not. Over time, since my birth, people have come to live in the house as well. Not my original mothers or fathers, they played their parts when I was around.

1968. It was a year of constant change for me.

People moving in, people moving out. And my own mother... not even bothering to call me Ugly anymore. Not bothering at all.

Still I went to the park with my hippie family. Still I saw other children.

I hugged my oldest father when Martin Luther King died.I didn't realize what it meant at the time. All I knew was he was sad. He started talking about the governments involvement in assassinations then. A piece of him died.

After Bobby Kennedy was shot more of him died.

Not just him, but all in the house.

They seemed to have more of an edge, they took me protesting. We protested war a lot, we protested for civil rights. We had people in our house. they were different. they got angry a lot. Not like the passionate talk of my oldest father, but real rage. They frighten me. I would stay hidden in the upstairs closet when they would come by. I would play with my dolls. They were corn dollies. They represented my mothers and fathers the way they used to be. The way we all used to be.

Children should not see the real world too soon.