Red - the New Black-Out.

Anger was my Step mom's middle name.  

Actually no, scratch that... Rage - to the point of seeing red and having no memory afterward as to what went down...that was my Step Mom. 

No real outlet for an enormous amount of pent up rage. I suppose it had everything to do with probably feeling she had in many ways married elements of the monster that resided within her own father.  Her dad was a child molester. Grandpa did some serious damage in several towns over the course of many years.  He was, like most pedophiles, someone who positioned themselves smack-dab in the middle of children.  He held roles like Sunday school Superintendent and Phys Ed teacher.  

Grandma was a poor example of a happy marriage and divorce was out of the question. Ever the dutiful wife, she was raised conservative Baptist. It was understood that a woman's place should be unflinching, at her husband's side. By those standards, to question or criticize her husband was nothing short of unloving and did not represent the trust, respect and honor-driven support she had verbally committed to uphold within their marriage vows. So essentially, as the dutiful wife, Grandma became his every day enabler. Covering for his multitude of sins, regardless of the devastation that remained in their path.

Grandpa preferred little boys. Fear of discovery became a persistent motivator behind his frequent relocation urges. Each of his daughters bore the brunt of his unbridled rage and though they were safe from his sexual appetites, his grandson (my cousin) was not so fortunate in escaping the very same sickness as his own uncle's incestuous depravity, inflicted by on him by his uncle's father before him... and on down the line it went. 

Subsequent to the abuse, my cousin acted out in turn on his two younger sisters, molesting them repeatedly over the course of several years and had even made attempts to coerce me into his sexual curiosity. I recall being 5, 6 and 7 years of age and he, only a year younger than I, trying his utmost to convince me into taking off my clothes and performing girlfriend duties. When I refused to play his game he would threaten to go home unless I relented. Play times with my cousin often ended with tears on my part and his anger toward me for not 'allowing him to be my boyfriend' and everything he felt encompassed that role.

All four of my Aunties ended up marrying. My step mom, barely 21, married our dad, nearly 10 years her senior with demons of his own having just returned from ground combat in Vietnam, PTSD in hand and in the middle of divorcing our Mama diagnosed 'Schizophrenic' and declared "unfit" by the State. My sisters and I (four of us in tow) were dispersed to foster care at that time until dad could secure a proper home and regain custody.

Auntie H. just a year or 2 younger than our step mom had serial nightmares of her own, marrying another physically abusive man who drank incessantly and beat the living shit out of her often. They had 3 kids (the cousins - one that Grandpa molested and his two sisters I told you about). It wasn't long after she left him, he got himself shit-faced drunk and killed himself while cleaning one of his shot guns.  Auntie H. married again after that. And what a picker... that guy was also a pedophile, abusing both girls from the first marriage as well as two younger girls they'd had together.  

He's currently serving hard time in California.  After her 2nd failed marriage, Auntie H. moved to the Midwest with all her kids where they've been living for quite a number of years now... it's been more than 15 years though I've lost count.

My step mom met dad in one of those Christian Communes. It was Southern California in the midst of 'The Jesus People' movement.... bunch of hippies come to Jesus after Vietnam.  He was very persistent and aggressive in his pursuit of her. She only gave in and said yes to him after numerous proposals... he (like he is in everyday life) didn't take to the word 'no' very amicably. Respecting boundaries has always been a foreign concept to his psyche.

One of my earlier memories was my step mom taking a shower and dad barging into the bathroom to take advantage of her nakedness. I hated the sound of him laughing like they're just having fun and her awkward laughter turned to pleading, begging for him to leave her alone. In his mind, sexual advances by a spouse ought never to be refused. The concept of a healthy marriage eluded him. That a marriage license is not a means to facilitate free reign 'rights to indulge in sex 24/7' and within that to hound your spouse incessantly for sex and then force/rape them anytime you think their no should be a yes.  

Dad felt that as 'head of the household' his was the final say on everything, whatever that entailed. When we'd argue with mom or said something out of turn, he was sure quick to scold us "Don't you talk to MY WIFE that way." almost as though she were some kind of possession.  I think at times we all were... fetching stuff, doing all household chores, volunteering our time to others and even our personal belongings to anyone his generosity deemed appropriate.  

Mom's rages and blackouts were very volatile and (like dad's road rages) frequent; she'd often shake us or just grab whatever was handy.. belt, metal ruler (dad's switch of choice) hair brush, Jokari paddle, high heel, the back of her hand (her rings cut and blistered my face) smacking us, throwing us against a wall, screaming at us... her tongue was quick and her words cut like a rusty kitchen knife. There were a few times her anger was so intense she's switch over to whipping her own leg or beating on herself just to calm the mad rage erupting from her past and the nightmare she continued to live. I used to make predictions of her moods based on what she chose to wear. Days she wore her Red dress or that one red shirt I knew to lay low and keep out of her sights. 

To this day Red is my least favorite color. 

Aside from Dad doing military combat in his sleep, (nearly killing our step mom in the night on more than one occasion....why she chose to continue sharing a bed with his untreated PTSD flair ups after all that is beyond me.) he also fostered serious road rage. En route to church on Sundays was particularly epic. Mom and Dad would often ask someone to join us for Sunday dinner hoping to "Feed a poor college kid".  

One occasion in particular; they'd invited a young man over, suggesting he follow them in his car which dad felt was the simplest way to 'offer directions' to our house. (before GPS and Map Quest were accessible.)  We were not half way home when mom pointed out that Peter was no longer joining us for dinner.  Dad had indulged in his usual bout of road rage and in the midst of speeding through intersections, managed to lose our dinner guest back there somewhere among the dust of his entitled driver ego.

Needless to say, we didn't have another guest over for several few weeks after that incident. Anytime dad would even suggest it, mom would smirk, questioning his ability to drive with enough sense to retain our guest from the church parking lot all the way home to our front door.  And when mom would smirk, that was our queue....we kids jumped right into a humorous re-enactment of "the Sunday meal that wasn't", giggling and snickering as we relayed the prospect of what must have been going through Peter's mind watching dad tear off out of sight.  Dad of course would get super butt hurt, nursing his pride all over again "For crying out loud, it was one time!" She'd continue teasing him while we girls enjoyed the rare spectacle of mom in the proverbial driver seat, giving him a taste of the medicine he loved to dish out. "Just forget it." he'd grumble. Then that would be the end of it. We'd all pile back in the car and head home.


It was a only a brief moment to let loose and now had past but even a small window of laughter for me was enough humor and realness to keep my spirits fed...I'd be replaying it over and over in my head in silence, chewing and savoring that sweet morsel of imperfect humanity for the rest of the afternoon.