I Am Stronger Because of All I've Been Through
[b]The Summer Of My Discontent . . .[/b]
A volatile personality finds piece with a loving Aunt and Uncle
When I was fourteen, my parents sent me to spend the summer with my Aunt and Uncle in Florida. The reason? My parents could not bear the thought of another vacation with me and my brother fighting and squabbling in the back seat and having to put up with my restless nature. In short, I was becoming a behavior problem. My moods would shift from argumentative, hostile, and quick tempered, to periods of blissful sweetness and light. My mother could tolerate most things, but this period of my life was causing her great consternation and concern.
It was decided I needed a change of scenery. Thus, I was to spend the summer with my Aunt Fran and Uncle Bill in Florida. My aunt, she being my mother’s sister, knew my mother’s gentle nature, and could tell she was struggling with my volatile behavior. A teary good bye and I was on the plane flying to Florida. I felt a rush of freedom, while at the same time wondering what was waiting for me on the other end. Maybe I’m being sent to a summer camp for bad girls in puberty.
My fears were quickly set aside when my Uncle Bill met me at the airport. His big broad smile welcomed me as I received his warm hug. As we drove, we talked as we passed fields of hay and grazing cattle. I didn’t remember Florida looking like this when I visited as a child. We stopped for ice cream at the small general store in the center of town. Uncle Bill introduced me to the owners and some of his buddies hanging around the store. Once back in the car I asked who those men were. “Oh, just some of the local good old boys,” he answered. “Hmm, what is a good old boy?” I asked. “Well, it’s sort of a guy who uh you know.“ My uncle fell silent and then struggled to try and explain to me what a good old boy was. In frustration, he said he would tell me later.
We arrived at the small ranch house in a subdivision that seemed to go on for ever. The house was smaller than I remembered it. My aunt got me settled in my room, a small bedroom my uncle had converted from a utility room. It used to be my cousin Buddy’s room before he left for the Navy. Uncle Bill painted it a mauve color. He asked me if I liked the color, and I said I wasn’t sure. I had to be honest. It was darker than any room I had ever slept in. I had a bed, a desk, a side table, and my own air conditioner that was mounted in the cement block wall. With only one window, you had to crank the windows open and shut. I had already begun to feel that my uncle had made great effort to make me feel at home. “Thank you Uncle Bill,” as I hugged him.
“Where’s the ocean?” I asked. “About two miles down the road,” he answered. Two miles, I thought. “How do I get there? I asked. “I can drive you or you can ride a bicycle I got for you.”
I sat at the supper table that evening feeling depressed. I suddenly realized I would be spending the next few months with these two aging pensioners. It was obvious I was being punished for my sins. Further, my brother Gilbert was obviously being showered with all the attention of my parents. I thought of my mother and started crying. My aunt comforted me and my uncle looked confused and saddened by my expression of grief. “What happened to the happy girl I brought home from the airport?” he asked. At that I exploded into more tears and uncontrolled grief. I left the table and went to my room, my little mauve room that my uncle had worked so hard to fix up for me.
After a while, my aunt called my mother and told her things weren’t going well. I was called to the phone where my mother reassured me that if it didn’t work out, I could come home. “Ok,” I said. I went back to my room and went to sleep.
The next morning, i felt a little better. After breakfast, I accompanied my uncle on his rounds delivering laundry parcels. He drove a box truck with an open side door. I stood on the bottom step and as directed carrying the parcel up to the door, rang the bell, and stepped back. The woman pushed the door open and as she did, I did something that to this day I am not sure why I did it, nor where the compulsion to do such a thing came from, but none the less I did it. I bowed and curtsied before her as I held the package for her to take. I heard the woman giggling. “Oh my, now that’s something I haven’t seen done in a long time” she said. Suddenly it struck me at what I had done. I thought how do I recover from this? I felt myself ready to fall forward, but recovered and gracefully regained my balance and composure and stood straight up and said, “Your package madam.”
Uncle Bill was watching with horror from the truck could not believe what I was doing! The woman took the package and told me to wait. She returned giving me a two dollar tip. Aghast, I ran back to the truck waving the two dollars. My uncle was speechless. That day, I continued to dance, trot, and pirouette my way to the front door of our customers. I was earning notoriety and fame among his customers. At the end of the week, my uncle paid me a modest wage and split the tips with me. It was the least he could since I did most of the leg work. But it was still a generous amount for me to earn at that age. I figured it would take a month of baby sitting to equal the amount I got in just tips.
With money in my pockets, I made off to the store with my aunt to do the weekly grocery shopping. After grocery shopping, we went to in Woolworths. There, I finally found a pair of sunglasses that looked just like the pair Audrey Hepburn had worn in Breakfast at Tiffanys.
I had only seen the movie once with my mother. I didn’t understand most of it, in fact I was confused as to why Holly was married to Buddy Ebsen, was always getting engaged to guys she met, and yet passed up a hunk like George Peppard, and wouldn’t properly name her cat. My mother and I actually left the movie early, and of course that meant we missed the famous rain scene at the end where George and Audrey kiss, and happily recover the cat. I thought Holly was a very unhappy girl. My mother was disappointed that It wasn’t the comedy she thought it would be, and it was just as well as I was completely confused. But, my mother and I talked it out over lunch at a little bistro in town, which made it special in that way. We were actually talking about adult situations which we didn’t do often. But I had seen just enough to be completely taken with Audrey Hepburn. She was smart, elegant, and drop dead beautiful, which is what I wanted to be.
My clouds of gloom were pretty much gone after a few weeks and I was starting to feel quite at home. I mowed the lawn for my uncle and helped him paint the house, or rather white wash it. He would have me go up on the roof to adjust the TV aerial. I steered the antenna while we shouted back and forth. “How’s that?” I shouted. “More… more .. no.. the other way” as he yelled from inside the house. From the roof I could see mlles and miles of little houses. One day I shouted at the top of my lungs “Hello Florida!” as loud as I could. The answer came back, “Hello whoever you are.”
Aunt Fran and I would talk at night while we got supper ready. Such fun we had shucking corn and snapping peas while she told me about things she and my mother had done growing up.
One day after our deliveries, my uncle drove out to an abandoned Air Force base in the old Chrysler and parked. “Young lady, It’s about time you learned how to drive a car.” he said. “Are you kidding?” I gasped. “I’m not kidding,” he answered.
We swapped places, and my feet could barely reach the peddles and could just see over the steering wheel. Getting it going was a real challenge. I raced the engine and let out the clutch. Bonk.. I kept stalling. Every time I just about had the clutch and the gas working together it would stall. Finally, my uncle pressed his hand on my left knee to steady it, and finally I got the hang of it. I was chugging along in first gear, and that was that for the first lesson. I went home feeling ten feet tall. The driving lessons continued while I learned how to shift, steer, back up, and execute a K turn. I would work so vigorously wrestling that old Chrysler that I was a pool of sweat at the end of a lesson. After parallel parking between a couple of posts one day, I turned and smiled at Uncle Bill and he just beamed with pleasure that I was having so much fun.
Soon I was driving my uncle around town at the amusement of his “good old boys” as they saw my Uncle Bill pass by the store while being driven by his female chauffeur. Even the good old boy police officers would “look the other way” when they saw us driving down Main Street. I loved spending my days with my Uncle Bill.
I remember one day during my period, I wasn’t feeling well. My uncle noticed I was quiet and not as chatty and didn’t seem to have the same spark. “Are you ok honey?” he asked. I explained I was in my period. And then, in his kind way he spoke softly to me. “See if you can just work through it, ok?" he gently asked. I nodded. Yes, thought, I would try to work through it! With all my will that day I pushed myself beyond my normal limits, and smiled and bowed as I always did. I discovered that you don’t have to be a servant to your emotions or moods. In fact, I called my mother that night and told her the news, and how happy I was. My mother was quiet at first and then began to tearfully tell me how much she missed me. We cried and talked together for an hour.
Often. after our delivery rounds each day, I would ride my bicycle to the beach to swim and soak up some sun. I started to meet some girls my age and we would pal around and do things, although they thought it was odd that I would like classical music and art museums. I also began to meet some boys. Two in particular would always try and talk to me. Honestly, they were so clumsy and awkward, it was pitiful. They would tease me a little but I gave it right back to them, which seemed to earn their respect. So, we hung out at the beach and I tried smoking. I wasn’t very good at it.
If I lingered too long at the beach, my uncle would drive over and pick me up, loading my bicycle in the trunk of the Chrysler, and making sure he had a chance to meet all of my friends. I wasn’t embarrassed and he always treated my friends like real people and didn’t talk down to them. One night he let me drive him home on one of the back streets, but not before I passed in front of my friends. They were so impressed their jaws dropped.
One problem I had with my uncle was his choice of music, that is country western. I tolerated it as long I could, even to singing along as my uncle wrestled with the large bulky 8 track cassettes in and out of the changer. Finally one day I said, “Uncle Bill, can we listen to come different music for a change?” as I smiled at him sweetly. “Well ok, but what?” he asked. “How about some rock and roll, or even classical?” I asked. I immediately felt the truck slow. “Classical?” he asked. “Yes, like Bach, Mozart, Beethoven?” I answered. “I don’t think I have any of those cassettes.” he said. “Well then, we can try the radio,” I answered. And so I began to turn the dial and all I found was more country western when finally I found a rock station. Hurrah! I left it there for a while. I could tell my uncle was suffering, but I had to fight for some radio time, otherwise I might go crazy. Luckily for my uncle, it was only an AM radio. The classical stations were all on FM. Drat!
With the money rolling in, I bought a make up kit, a sun dress with shoulder straps and a broad brimmed sun hat - like Audrey’s. After our delivery rounds one day , I went to work applying my make up. I stepped into the kitchen to show my aunt. “What do you think?” I asked. She sat very still restraining a smile. “That would be ok if you were a two dollar hooker.” she answered. “A what?” I asked rather alarmed. “Never mind honey, come here and let me help you.” she said. And so my aunt gave me a clean scrub and we started with the basics of foundation, rouge, eye brows, lashes, and of course lip stick.
And then the day came for me to go home. The summer had passed so quickly. I packed and dressed making my grand entrance in the kitchen with my sundress, broad brimmed hat, Audrey’s sunglasses, and strappy sandals. My beautiful make up effort didn’t last long once I began saying good bye to everyone, and to my wonderful Aunt Fran and Uncle Bill who had taken me under their wing and adopted me as the daughter they never had.
I think I cried for the most of the flight home, but composed myself as I prepared to meet my family. As they saw me I struck an Audrey Hepburn pose holding my ball point pen as if it was a cigarette lighter. My mother teared up, my father looked shocked but finally broke a smile, and my brother Gilbert gave me a strange contorted look and uttered “What the . . “
A volatile personality finds piece with a loving Aunt and Uncle
When I was fourteen, my parents sent me to spend the summer with my Aunt and Uncle in Florida. The reason? My parents could not bear the thought of another vacation with me and my brother fighting and squabbling in the back seat and having to put up with my restless nature. In short, I was becoming a behavior problem. My moods would shift from argumentative, hostile, and quick tempered, to periods of blissful sweetness and light. My mother could tolerate most things, but this period of my life was causing her great consternation and concern.
It was decided I needed a change of scenery. Thus, I was to spend the summer with my Aunt Fran and Uncle Bill in Florida. My aunt, she being my mother’s sister, knew my mother’s gentle nature, and could tell she was struggling with my volatile behavior. A teary good bye and I was on the plane flying to Florida. I felt a rush of freedom, while at the same time wondering what was waiting for me on the other end. Maybe I’m being sent to a summer camp for bad girls in puberty.
My fears were quickly set aside when my Uncle Bill met me at the airport. His big broad smile welcomed me as I received his warm hug. As we drove, we talked as we passed fields of hay and grazing cattle. I didn’t remember Florida looking like this when I visited as a child. We stopped for ice cream at the small general store in the center of town. Uncle Bill introduced me to the owners and some of his buddies hanging around the store. Once back in the car I asked who those men were. “Oh, just some of the local good old boys,” he answered. “Hmm, what is a good old boy?” I asked. “Well, it’s sort of a guy who uh you know.“ My uncle fell silent and then struggled to try and explain to me what a good old boy was. In frustration, he said he would tell me later.
We arrived at the small ranch house in a subdivision that seemed to go on for ever. The house was smaller than I remembered it. My aunt got me settled in my room, a small bedroom my uncle had converted from a utility room. It used to be my cousin Buddy’s room before he left for the Navy. Uncle Bill painted it a mauve color. He asked me if I liked the color, and I said I wasn’t sure. I had to be honest. It was darker than any room I had ever slept in. I had a bed, a desk, a side table, and my own air conditioner that was mounted in the cement block wall. With only one window, you had to crank the windows open and shut. I had already begun to feel that my uncle had made great effort to make me feel at home. “Thank you Uncle Bill,” as I hugged him.
“Where’s the ocean?” I asked. “About two miles down the road,” he answered. Two miles, I thought. “How do I get there? I asked. “I can drive you or you can ride a bicycle I got for you.”
I sat at the supper table that evening feeling depressed. I suddenly realized I would be spending the next few months with these two aging pensioners. It was obvious I was being punished for my sins. Further, my brother Gilbert was obviously being showered with all the attention of my parents. I thought of my mother and started crying. My aunt comforted me and my uncle looked confused and saddened by my expression of grief. “What happened to the happy girl I brought home from the airport?” he asked. At that I exploded into more tears and uncontrolled grief. I left the table and went to my room, my little mauve room that my uncle had worked so hard to fix up for me.
After a while, my aunt called my mother and told her things weren’t going well. I was called to the phone where my mother reassured me that if it didn’t work out, I could come home. “Ok,” I said. I went back to my room and went to sleep.
The next morning, i felt a little better. After breakfast, I accompanied my uncle on his rounds delivering laundry parcels. He drove a box truck with an open side door. I stood on the bottom step and as directed carrying the parcel up to the door, rang the bell, and stepped back. The woman pushed the door open and as she did, I did something that to this day I am not sure why I did it, nor where the compulsion to do such a thing came from, but none the less I did it. I bowed and curtsied before her as I held the package for her to take. I heard the woman giggling. “Oh my, now that’s something I haven’t seen done in a long time” she said. Suddenly it struck me at what I had done. I thought how do I recover from this? I felt myself ready to fall forward, but recovered and gracefully regained my balance and composure and stood straight up and said, “Your package madam.”
Uncle Bill was watching with horror from the truck could not believe what I was doing! The woman took the package and told me to wait. She returned giving me a two dollar tip. Aghast, I ran back to the truck waving the two dollars. My uncle was speechless. That day, I continued to dance, trot, and pirouette my way to the front door of our customers. I was earning notoriety and fame among his customers. At the end of the week, my uncle paid me a modest wage and split the tips with me. It was the least he could since I did most of the leg work. But it was still a generous amount for me to earn at that age. I figured it would take a month of baby sitting to equal the amount I got in just tips.
With money in my pockets, I made off to the store with my aunt to do the weekly grocery shopping. After grocery shopping, we went to in Woolworths. There, I finally found a pair of sunglasses that looked just like the pair Audrey Hepburn had worn in Breakfast at Tiffanys.
I had only seen the movie once with my mother. I didn’t understand most of it, in fact I was confused as to why Holly was married to Buddy Ebsen, was always getting engaged to guys she met, and yet passed up a hunk like George Peppard, and wouldn’t properly name her cat. My mother and I actually left the movie early, and of course that meant we missed the famous rain scene at the end where George and Audrey kiss, and happily recover the cat. I thought Holly was a very unhappy girl. My mother was disappointed that It wasn’t the comedy she thought it would be, and it was just as well as I was completely confused. But, my mother and I talked it out over lunch at a little bistro in town, which made it special in that way. We were actually talking about adult situations which we didn’t do often. But I had seen just enough to be completely taken with Audrey Hepburn. She was smart, elegant, and drop dead beautiful, which is what I wanted to be.
My clouds of gloom were pretty much gone after a few weeks and I was starting to feel quite at home. I mowed the lawn for my uncle and helped him paint the house, or rather white wash it. He would have me go up on the roof to adjust the TV aerial. I steered the antenna while we shouted back and forth. “How’s that?” I shouted. “More… more .. no.. the other way” as he yelled from inside the house. From the roof I could see mlles and miles of little houses. One day I shouted at the top of my lungs “Hello Florida!” as loud as I could. The answer came back, “Hello whoever you are.”
Aunt Fran and I would talk at night while we got supper ready. Such fun we had shucking corn and snapping peas while she told me about things she and my mother had done growing up.
One day after our deliveries, my uncle drove out to an abandoned Air Force base in the old Chrysler and parked. “Young lady, It’s about time you learned how to drive a car.” he said. “Are you kidding?” I gasped. “I’m not kidding,” he answered.
We swapped places, and my feet could barely reach the peddles and could just see over the steering wheel. Getting it going was a real challenge. I raced the engine and let out the clutch. Bonk.. I kept stalling. Every time I just about had the clutch and the gas working together it would stall. Finally, my uncle pressed his hand on my left knee to steady it, and finally I got the hang of it. I was chugging along in first gear, and that was that for the first lesson. I went home feeling ten feet tall. The driving lessons continued while I learned how to shift, steer, back up, and execute a K turn. I would work so vigorously wrestling that old Chrysler that I was a pool of sweat at the end of a lesson. After parallel parking between a couple of posts one day, I turned and smiled at Uncle Bill and he just beamed with pleasure that I was having so much fun.
Soon I was driving my uncle around town at the amusement of his “good old boys” as they saw my Uncle Bill pass by the store while being driven by his female chauffeur. Even the good old boy police officers would “look the other way” when they saw us driving down Main Street. I loved spending my days with my Uncle Bill.
I remember one day during my period, I wasn’t feeling well. My uncle noticed I was quiet and not as chatty and didn’t seem to have the same spark. “Are you ok honey?” he asked. I explained I was in my period. And then, in his kind way he spoke softly to me. “See if you can just work through it, ok?" he gently asked. I nodded. Yes, thought, I would try to work through it! With all my will that day I pushed myself beyond my normal limits, and smiled and bowed as I always did. I discovered that you don’t have to be a servant to your emotions or moods. In fact, I called my mother that night and told her the news, and how happy I was. My mother was quiet at first and then began to tearfully tell me how much she missed me. We cried and talked together for an hour.
Often. after our delivery rounds each day, I would ride my bicycle to the beach to swim and soak up some sun. I started to meet some girls my age and we would pal around and do things, although they thought it was odd that I would like classical music and art museums. I also began to meet some boys. Two in particular would always try and talk to me. Honestly, they were so clumsy and awkward, it was pitiful. They would tease me a little but I gave it right back to them, which seemed to earn their respect. So, we hung out at the beach and I tried smoking. I wasn’t very good at it.
If I lingered too long at the beach, my uncle would drive over and pick me up, loading my bicycle in the trunk of the Chrysler, and making sure he had a chance to meet all of my friends. I wasn’t embarrassed and he always treated my friends like real people and didn’t talk down to them. One night he let me drive him home on one of the back streets, but not before I passed in front of my friends. They were so impressed their jaws dropped.
One problem I had with my uncle was his choice of music, that is country western. I tolerated it as long I could, even to singing along as my uncle wrestled with the large bulky 8 track cassettes in and out of the changer. Finally one day I said, “Uncle Bill, can we listen to come different music for a change?” as I smiled at him sweetly. “Well ok, but what?” he asked. “How about some rock and roll, or even classical?” I asked. I immediately felt the truck slow. “Classical?” he asked. “Yes, like Bach, Mozart, Beethoven?” I answered. “I don’t think I have any of those cassettes.” he said. “Well then, we can try the radio,” I answered. And so I began to turn the dial and all I found was more country western when finally I found a rock station. Hurrah! I left it there for a while. I could tell my uncle was suffering, but I had to fight for some radio time, otherwise I might go crazy. Luckily for my uncle, it was only an AM radio. The classical stations were all on FM. Drat!
With the money rolling in, I bought a make up kit, a sun dress with shoulder straps and a broad brimmed sun hat - like Audrey’s. After our delivery rounds one day , I went to work applying my make up. I stepped into the kitchen to show my aunt. “What do you think?” I asked. She sat very still restraining a smile. “That would be ok if you were a two dollar hooker.” she answered. “A what?” I asked rather alarmed. “Never mind honey, come here and let me help you.” she said. And so my aunt gave me a clean scrub and we started with the basics of foundation, rouge, eye brows, lashes, and of course lip stick.
And then the day came for me to go home. The summer had passed so quickly. I packed and dressed making my grand entrance in the kitchen with my sundress, broad brimmed hat, Audrey’s sunglasses, and strappy sandals. My beautiful make up effort didn’t last long once I began saying good bye to everyone, and to my wonderful Aunt Fran and Uncle Bill who had taken me under their wing and adopted me as the daughter they never had.
I think I cried for the most of the flight home, but composed myself as I prepared to meet my family. As they saw me I struck an Audrey Hepburn pose holding my ball point pen as if it was a cigarette lighter. My mother teared up, my father looked shocked but finally broke a smile, and my brother Gilbert gave me a strange contorted look and uttered “What the . . “
51-55, F
