Continuation of Family Matters

When I was coming back from school I had every intention of creating a blog post which consisted of a review of my first year in college. This will not be the case today, as what I have to say now is much more important to get out of the way. For the following, when I refer to my Grandma and Grandpa, I mean those that gave rise to my mother, not my father.

Dannielle, aka Grandma
No college education, stay at home mom since 1964
While at times illogical about money, she is one of the best people you could ever know. She raised me almost single handedly after my dad left (I dont know exactly when he left, but I know it was pretty soon after I came into this world). My mom worked quite a ways north of here at the time, and could not afford a day care service. Her only option was to first drive out of her way to my Grandma's house and stick me there for the day before going to work. My Grandma raised me well though, I have very few complaints. The only thing that really sticks out right now is when I was accused (falsely I might add) and punished for breaking a lamp. But that is one, only one event that I can think of, out of the decade that I spent with her. I would call that mission success.

Theodor, aka Grandpa
B.S. in Physics from Heidelberg College in Ohio, Doctorate in Medicine from Case Western.
Out of all the people that I know in the world, there are few people that I respect more than him. I am frequently told that I behave just like him (before the Alzheimers), which is exactly how I choose to remember him. When I was in 9th grade, my Grandpa had a stroke that got him in the hospital, and he's never been quite the same since then. Because of that he hasn't been such a good person to my Grandma. There hasn't been anything physical, but there has been alot of arguing, and then he forgets about the argument, so they have it again, and again, and again. This has made being with them unbearable as not only is that house in a state of constant anguish, but I can only see my Grandpa fall into the torment that is what is left of his once profound mind. I cannot bear to speak anymore of this subject.

Mary Anne, aka my mom
Bachelors in Psychology from Randolph Macon (recently made top 10 party schools in the country, she is greatly proud of this)
I usually resisted going home from my grandma's house after my mom would come back from work, but if I tried hard we would sometimes end up having dinner there. My mom sent me to an elementary school that was right by my grandma's house, even though there was a perfectly good school just down the road. And by just down the road, I mean walk out the front door, take a right on the sidewalk, and walk for about half a mile. There you go, a school. I wasn't supposed to talk to anybody about where I really lived since I wasn't supposed to be going to Farmland Elementary. I have no idea how she got around that, maybe stated in some papers that I lived with my Grandma. After third grade though, my Grandma was going to France too much to be able to reliably take care of me after school. I was sent to a residential day care (run by two drunks) after school. Every day I wish I could forget what happened within those walls. But I will not go into this, as this paragraph is supposed to be about my mom, the oh-great-leader of this house. Now is time for a quick question. that will eventually end in an analogy: What government has one central almighty leader, works the commam person to the point of insanity, continuously displays propoganda of how important the proletariat is for the good of everyone, and keeps a continuous watch on their subjects to ensure they do nothing that could be deemed questionable in any way? No, you are not mistaken, I did just badmouth the Soviet Union. But this is only because of the unparalleled correlation with the government here at home. For as long as I could remember, I was always happy to be with my mom. She fed me, clothed me, housed me, and would occasionally give me a gift for appearently no particular reason. I will get back to this in a moment. When I went to college, I got to experience freedom. I could do what I want, when I wanted, because I wanted to. I figured out what I needed to do to be happy, so when I'm at school I do it. I learned that I take great pleasure from interacting with my peers outside of the forced manner that is called the classroom. However, when I would leave high school after school, I always had to immediately go home, no pit stops, no staying after to ask a teacher a question, immediately go home. My mom would call at 2:49 every weekday. That is the precise time that I would get home. If I had a few too many red lights walking back, I had to run some of the way to make up for this lost time. If I was any amount late, I would have to endure the questions she would pose. I ALWAYS do everything in my power to avoid these questions, which made it seem more like an interrogation. I once told her of the similarities to interrogations, but she refused to accept this. Her exact words were as follows and I shall never forget this: "I don't interrogate you! Not once have I asked 'Did anyone see you (In reference to what I did when I got to school that morning)?' ". Now I will go back to above, where I speak of how I thought I was happy at home. It was not until this freedom from the oppression I call mumsy (I dont call her that, but it sounds better) that I realized just how miserable I was. I began to see all of the manipulation, all of the restraints, and all of the fear that she used to get me to do whatever she wanted. She uses me to get money from my grandparents, she uses me to do needless housework (I really do mean needless), and so many other things that I could speak of right now but out of fear for my sanity I dare not dwell onto that right now. But the strange thing is, I truly thought that I was happy when I was a child. I knew my life was boring, but I also knew that exciting does not equal happiness. I lived a sheltered and restrained childhood, far too sheltered for my own good. I was taught to unconditionally love my oh-great-leader from the day I was born. Not all abuse is physical.