For my mother and her siblings, home life was marked by violence and neglect. There were days when they went without food, and at times, their bellies would bloat from hunger. Being extremely poor and half-Native American made attending the nearby school especially challenging. They often hid in the bathroom stalls during lunch because they had no money for food. The environment was hostile, and the children frequently took out their frustrations on one another, resulting in bruises and injuries depending on who had the upper hand.
At just nine years old, my mother ran away from the chaos of her home. Whenever she was caught, she was placed in shelters with other runaway children. However, things took a darker turn during her teenage years when her second eldest brother exploited his sisters sexually. Very few of my aunts escaped the horror of this situation, which continued for many years.
My mother was physically beautiful and intelligent, but she was also highly dysfunctional, violent, and vindictive when things didn’t go her way. By her teenage years, she had learned to manipulate others to control them, resorting to more drastic measures if she felt threatened. My mother, along with her equally attractive older sisters, was popular with older men in the sixties. My oldest aunt married young, and through her new brother-in-law, my mother met my biological father. When my mother discovered she was pregnant, she also found out that he was already married with children. During her pregnancy, Patty stayed with my grandparents, but the environment there was toxic and violent. They were furious with her life choices and continuously insulted her. Patty gave birth to me just three days before her seventeenth birthday. She was broken internally and viewed me like a doll she could pick up, dress up, and put down, giving little thought to my physical safety or needs.
Determined not to let having a baby interfere with her social life during the carefree sixties, Patty often took me along on dates and to parties. On one occasion, she became so high that she left me in the glove compartment of the car. When she finally came to and realized I was missing, she attacked the man she was with, believing something had happened to me. It wasn’t until she heard my cries from the glove compartment that she remembered putting me inside it. Unfortunately, my mother’s tendency to misplace me became a recurring issue. My aunts and uncles frequently had to search for me. My grandfather believed I would be better off without her, so he reported her for the illegal activities she was involved in. As a result, my mother spent the following year in Girlstown-USA, a reform school for girls. I’m unsure if it was even possible, but I never bonded with my mother as a child.
