Chapter 4: Me and "The Boys". Stories from a Childhood in Prison

Everything about my childhood was measured by control, restriction, and isolation. I choose to choose a few highlights rather than recount too many details. These snippets are chosen to reveal the tension and underlying feelings of insecurity and lack of safety prevalent in my youth to early adulthood.

Don’t answer questions you aren’t asked, and don't talk about "our" family business to others.

My dad had a rule with the phone. What happens in “our home, stays in our home.” This rule applied not only to family, but schoolteachers, classmates, anyone other than my father’s friends.

It’s probably the reason why until this day I hate talking on the phone. The phone ringing gives me so much anxiety. Being around people now gives me anxiety. We could never answer the phone, or talk to anyone without permission. Outside of school, the only time I was able to talk to others for most of childhood were supervised phone calls with extended family.

My mom’s sisters and brothers would call occasionally and talk on the phone. My mom was never allowed to talk to them when my dad was out of the house. In fact, when my dad was not around, unless it was him calling, the phone was not to be answered. Any important calls would go to voicemail to be addressed when he was around.

His house, his rules. No one in or out without permission.

If you walked into my parent’s house, it didn’t look like any children lived there. Everything had to be impeccable. The living room, was a showroom. No one was really ever allowed in there. Not to sit on the furniture to read any of the magazines or to touch his chess set, etc.

So yes, my Dad bought us the latest game systems, and scooters and bikes, and even an above ground pool. But these gifts were all to make him look good. Each gift gave him things to brag about to his coworkers and friends. Likely we only got the things that we did, not because he cared, but because he cared to look good to others.

The bikes and scooters, we could only ride when he wanted to go outside and supervise us. Even then my brothers and I had to stay together, and we were not allowed to play with or talk to any other the other neighborhood children, even with him present.

Remember when I said the move isolated my mom? She had no friends outside of my brothers and I, because even though she had a part-time job, she was under the same rules as me and my brothers. She could not talk to anyone, or have any friendships without my dad’s permission. Because again, no one was allowed at the house without his permission. No one was allowed to call the house without his permission, and no one was allowed to leave the house without his permission.

Why my Mom stayed under the radar.

One summer I remember going to a classmate’s birthday party. Firstly, it was rare for me to get invites, and secondly it was even more rare that I would be allowed to go.  But it was during the day and my mom was able to take me and both my brothers while my dad was at work. The home was in a nice neighborhood and the party was lavish. I remember it was the first time I learned the macarena and danced with others. We left early of course to get home before my dad, but I remember seeing the mom seeming so loving but getting a familiar vibe of something being off.

Later that year, my mom called me downstairs and showed me a news article in the local newspaper. That girl’s dad had shot and killed her mom, in front of house with her children present. He was going to prison, but my classmate had lost both parents. It was likely the summer between elementary and middle school. She told me to keep it from my dad that we went to the party and not to say anything about the article. And that was the end of it. We never spoke of it again.

As I got older, I began to see there was treatment for "us" and there was treatment for "them"

As I got older, my dad became clearer to me. I could see how he was different around his friends then he was at home. He treated these strangers better than he treated us. He was jovial and funny and friendly to them. A common refrain from his friends was "your dad is such a smart/funny/kind/great guy". Your dad was the only one able to solve the problem. You dad is the only one who speaks up against management being unfair. Never your dad is a terror.

It was always in the middle of the night that my dad would be up stomping around the house, screaming at my mom about the money, the bills, the house not being clean, her lying or betraying him in some way. "You bitch this, you bitch that." Nothing was every done right, but he wouldn’t do it himself. Instead he would complain at my mom. I learned later that my dad didn’t really understand the finances. My mom managed all the bills because of her banking background. My dad pretended like he knew it, but when things didn’t add up the way he wanted them to, then it was her fault.

The "Family" Dog - Sweet Pea

Sweet pea was less a family dog than she was an omnipresent prisoner as well. She was chained in the backyard for her entire life. When I learned that other let their dog and animals inside the house or that they played with them I was confused. Sweet Pea, according to my dad was not a pet, she was a guard dog. She was there to bark and alert for strangers.

I still remember one day my dad actually let her off her chain, and she zoomed all around the yard and actually got out the gate. She zoomed all around the neighborhood, but he didn’t even bother to try to chase her down. A few hours later, eventually she zoomed back to the yard. He thought it was the funniest thing ever, and actually would tell people that story.

I wish she had just taken her freedom and never returned, because she went right back to being chained up for the rest of her life until she died at 15. My dad to celebrate had bought her some treats and gave her rawhide unsupervised and she choked and died. He too thought that was funny, because he had just bought all these treats for her cause she lived so long, just for her to die. Let me tell you a metaphor is a hell of a thing.

A Prison to a Never Ending Hell of Narcissistic Rage.

By the time I started high school, my dad had enough seniority to switch to a day shift. Which meant that now he worked early in the morning, but he was home in afternoon just in time to pick-up me and "the boys" from school while my mom worked. He also now had weekends off, so now the only time free of him was when we were at school, and on the very very rare occasions he worked overtime.

It was already bad, but now without any reprieve from his bad behavior, it changed from a prison to hell. Worse, I was now at an age that I could understand I was undeserving of his beratement and rage, but I couldn't yet safely escape. There was no showing of any expression around him. If you were happy – "what are you over there smiling about", If you were upset/angry - "get that smirk off your face." If you were sad, " I’ll give you something to be sad about."

I could never predict when he would fly into a rage. It was 24/7 eggshells where there was never a right answer. What was right one week, the next week would earn you rage. I became a robot around him, and since he was around all the time, I began to lose any sense of my real self.

The alarm to keep us inside (and "intruders" out)

At some point for safety my dad got an alarm system. Despite their literally being no crime, no break-in, no security concerns in our quiet neighborhood, the alarm system had to be armed every night. Where he placed that alarm system was on the only staircase from the first floor to the second floor.

And what that meant is around middle school, none of us could even leave the second floor of the home once he armed the alarm. He claimed that it was my mom who was concerned about safety and he got the alarm for her peace of mind. But my mom hated that alarm.

When my dad would go on vacation, sure she’d lock all the doors, but she’d never armed the alarm. Because arming the alarm meant that none of us could even go downstairs for a drink of water, or for a snack from the kitchen without his permission. And you can bet, my dad got more peace of mind knowing that all his chess pieces were in place.

You have no friends.

"The Boys" shared a room, so despite the challenges with that they had each other from sun-up to sun-down. As the only girl, I had my own room. And that meant I spent far more time alone. To this day, I feel like "the boys" have their own language, and I'm just doing my best to translate. Sure I loved my brothers, but I always wanted a sister so I wouldn't have to be alone in my room.

I recall one time wanting to go to a friend’s party and my mom told me I’d have to ask my dad because he’d be home. So after much dragging of my feet trying to find a time to ask my dad, I finally did. I knew the conversation would not go well, but at the persistence of my mom to not put her in the middle, I did ask. And what I was told was he didn’t know these people, and that I had no friends. Why hadn’t these friends been over to his house, and why did I need to go anywhere.  These people were not my friends.

And the sad part is, that he was right, I had no friends, because I had no freedom to make any friends, nor could I ever bring any friends’ home. If I asked to have anyone over, it was 100 questions which there was never a good enough answer to – who is this person? Why do they need to come to HIS house? Why couldn’t I just see them at school?

There was no winning. He let me go to that party, but in that moment, I knew I wouldn’t be asking him for anything else. I began to see. My mom cowering and not wanting to stand up for me. My dad being unchanging in his ways, and now that he was home more, there no way to get around his overbearing control.

I needed to escape, and college seemed like a way out.

I started to begin to countdown the days. I didn’t really know much about college, but I knew it was a way to get the hell out of that home. I became hyper focused on grades and being at the top of my class because I knew college would be an opportunity to go somewhere else. As soon as I learned about dorms, I was sold. I never received a letter to go to Hogwarts and to my real family, but I did start to get a bunch of prospecting mail from different schools. I didn’t really care what school I would go to, but any opportunity to start preparing was a light at the end of the tunnel.

The days were excruciatingly slow. The longest time of my life was 0-18, and between 10-18 seemed especially long as I started to see, just how abnormal and unhappy my situation really was. But I was so hopeful for college and getting the hell out of there. Especially in the last few years when my dad was injured, on disability from work, and raged around the house with nowhere else to go. College is the only thing that kept me going, when the days were hard, and I didn’t see any meaning to my life, the dream kept me alive.

And I was right, college was freeing. I met some lifelong friends who are still near and dear to this day. But I also lost my mind…. For the first time.