what I wrote yesterday instead of my poetic assignment...

2011-01-19 21:13

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Theme: “Tyrants”

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TYRANTS

Tolls will be paid with oppression
Years served under thumb and boot
Rage whipped out with humiliation
And we are still here after all this time
Needful of ourselves but not knowing
Time is to bide and we kill it well
Someday being the constant mantra


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A MOTHER'S RULE, A MAN'S MEASUREMENT


1. Momma

Small me aged 2 through 10 knew the indisputable command of Mother. "Momma" was not one to mince words when discretion occurred. Her flash whip was near unconscious reflex. Maybe it was. I didn't get the wrath often but when I did it was complete and devastating.

The most heinous of offenses was to question her authority. To ask "why" was just as bad as the wrong act in that house and it was a lesson I unfortunately didn't learn quickly. The only thing that could equal perceived rebellion in severity was to be caught in a lie no matter how small. The lesson I learned from those times was DO NOT LIE TO YOUR MOTHER.

The times of my childhood seem almost comical if it were not for today's standards of abuse. I never felt bad about the punishment. Even as a small girl I knew that actions had consequences or rewards depending on the nature of what I had done. Sadly, I remember the consequences far more vividly than the rewards.

Agnostic hippies in the 70s rarely censored their tongues so I was exposed to a lot of language that a child should not repeat. I knew the words of jest and anger and how to use them. The mistake I made was to use them with my mother. I don't even remember anymore the conversation or situation prior to the result. I just recall my mother telling me something I didn't like so I muttered "bitch" under my breath but not softly enough

The next thing I knew I was being snatched up by my hair and drug to the bathroom. I'd never been moved to a different place for punishment before so the fear I felt at that moment is indescribable. When we reached the bathroom my mother grabbed the soap off the sink with one hand and forced my mouth open in the other. I can almost still taste the soap and feel the lather forming in my mouth with the saliva. I gagged and struggled but Momma was going to make her point.

I'd say she made it. I can't say I never cussed again after that but to this day I rarely if ever cuss in front of my mother. It's a near unconscious thing that I don't put effort into. That is how strong of an impression that particular incident left on my psyche.



2. Bob

In retrospect, perhaps some of the wrath of my mother stemmed from a relay of dealing with my stepfather. I know now that my mother's attachment to him was one of passions. Either the throws of sex or the being thrown in anger.



TO BE CONTINUED...




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There is a writers' show in San Diego called So Say We All (http://www.sosayweallonline.com/) and I was trying my hand at one of the subjects. I want to visit friends in SD at some point and they go to the show every month so I figured even though I don't usually write prose, I would try it. I have this habit of needing to do the things that I feel not so comfy doing. :-P



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