Entry #2 (Click here to read entry #1)
By the time I realized that my brother was of no consequence to me being the center of attention, I was about 8. He was still a baby, and I had basically cancelled him out of my little life, so to speak. My mother was a great mom, but she didn’t go for that spoiled brat shit. She had a laid back personality, but she was a stern disciplinarian and I knew not to rattle her cage. I reserved my spoiled little girl antics for paternal grandma and my father. By now, I’m sure you have noticed that I haven’t mentioned my maternal grandparents. Well mama’s parents were a bit different. My mother’s dad was not around…she had contact with him when she was a kid, but I never knew him. My mom’s mother was around, and she was highly religious, Pentecostal, Holy Ghost Filled, Sanctified woman of God. She was a very sweet person, but entering her world meant giving up what she called “worldly” things: secular music, mainstream television (it was all Christian Broadcasting in her house) except for the occasional times she would let us watch cartoons. So needless to say, I didn’t enjoy going to her home. I remember one time in particular, I had a walkman with the headphones. It was during Christmas time and we went by to visit her. She took my walkman because I wasn’t listening to Christian music. As a kid I was mad and devastated. I didn’t get my walkman back until we were leaving. I really hated visiting her because her rules and way of life made no sense to me. Because of the way maternal grandma lived, I never really bonded with her. All of my time was spent with my fathers mother and we were closer than close. I really loved her.
My relationship with my mother was pretty darn good; which is surprising when you think about how girls and their moms usually stop getting along as the daughters get older. My mom was different. She was really laid back and down to earth. One thing I vividly remember growing up was that all of her nieces would always like to hang out at our house. She and her sisters were really close. I can recall watching mom get dressed to go out with her sisters. They would all meet up at our house and get dressed for a night out on the town. All of the big parties and gatherings were held at our home. She and her girlfriends would kick back in our den, listening to albums and shoot the shit like it was nobody’s business. It may seem odd, but mom never treated me like a kid neither did she treat me like an adult. The best way to describe it would be to say she treated me as if I mattered; she held me accountable for my actions very early on. She created a level of responsibility in me that I eventually learned would be necessary for my survival later in life.
As I mentioned before, my paternal grandma really spoiled me. So much so, that I didn’t even call her grandma: she preferred to be called by her first name. As a matter of fact, neither of her children addressed her as mother. No reason was ever given as to why she preferred her first name…it was just something we all did. By the time I was 10, I was able to get her to give me pretty much anything I wanted. All kinds of material things could be mine if I just asked-she may have cussed and preached that “money didnt grow on trees”, but in the end I got what I wanted. My dad’s side of the family consisted of a lot of heavy drinkers. So I was exposed to drinking at an early age. I took my first drink of beer at the age of 8. I can recall hearing my dad say “aint nothing wrong with her drinking a little beer…it’s good for worms.” My mom of course was livid about this. She and my father got into many arguments about this. She to drank, but nothing like my dad and his mom; truth be told, they were functioning alcoholics. I can recall my dad riding around on the weekends with a pint of Windsor Canadian Whiskey either in his back pocket or in the console of his truck. He would always have a can of coke with him so he could chase that whiskey after a long deep swig. He never drank during the week, because of his job…but once 5pm on Friday hit, he was posted up at the liquor store getting his stash for the weekend. Grandma was the same way…except she didn’t drive. On any given day, you could step into grandma’s kitchen and see a bottle of brandy, a small pea green plastic cup for her brandy and a clear plastic up with water in it. It fascinated me to watch her take the shot of brandy and swish it around in her mouth like mouthwash and then chase it with an equal amount of water. My wild eyed fascination in watching her savor the brandy eventually influenced me to try it.
Aquarius.Soul © 2009
