Greatest Show on Earth
I'm watching "The Greatest Show on Earth" on Netflix, a favorite of mine.
I remember going to the circus twice - the earliest one was when I was 9 years old. I went with my grandmother. I remember a lot of the acts but I remember most of all was buying a balloon, a tiger balloon.
I bought it so Mom could see something strong and beautiful when she woke up in the hospital. I was being sent to my aunt and uncle's place in L.A. the next morning for a week (that turned into 2 or 3). I remember walking to Community hospital (you could do that then - 1967 or 1968?). I was scared and worried.
That was a pretty normal state of living for me since age 5. I'm surprised I didn't develop ulcers, my "nerves" went a bit lower and I've had problems to this day.
Mom had nearly died. I wasn't told it was that serious but I saw how thin she was after her hysterectomy. She had barely gotten home from that when THEY got into a fight. Raised voices soon turned to things being thrown and then fists being used. That wasn't new either.
Grabbing a motorcycle boot with a built up boot heel was new. Hitting Mom in the lower back with that boot was new. I vaguely remember jumping in for the first time. I don't remember being backhanded into the wall. I think I remember the screams and the blood. There was so much blood. Mom was wearing a long paisely dress and blood began to seep through it marring the pattern. Harley wouldn't take her to the hospital. I don't remember what he was doing. I think I remember Mr. Roger driving up in his pickup. He was a neighbor that had several kids and I practically lived there.
Mom took a blanket out to the pickup with her so she wouldn't ruin his seats and he took he to the hospital.
The boot had ripped open the stitches inside. She almost died. I don't think the cops even took a report. I don't know if Mom lied and said she fell or something. Hard to explain life threatening falls but hospitals in those days merely wrote down what the patient said happened. Cops weren't called, neighbors "minded their own business" and there were no 911 operators or paramedics. Cops hated being called for domestic fights and always blamed the woman - if he is so horrible, why does she stay? He's calm and rational and she's hysterical, who are you gonna believe?
I remember that tiger. Mom kept it even when it wouldn't blow up anymore.
I was sent to my aunt and uncle's place. I was confused but happy, they didn't fight and throw punches or ash trays at each other. My uncle stayed in his bedroom at night and I could play with my cousins.
When I got back Mom was better, she was able to walk and stand for short periods of time.
Then the shocker - she told Harley to get out. She had never done that before. Whenever she tried to get out we would go to grandma's and he'd drive over, knock on the door and wait as we got in the car. Why did we always get in the car? Because Mom was afraid for her parents. Harley was dangerous. She thought he was an adequate step-father because bills got paid, we weren't hungry and they were buying the house.
She told him to get out and I remember how he....shrunk. He wasn't a tall man but now he seemed almost my height. He looked confused and...damn, can't find the word. He said it would take him a couple of days to pack his things.
To pack his things? She told him what to do and he was going to do it?! I could tell he was trying to buy time, so could Mom.
All those times when he'd throw something at her when she walked in the house because she got caught at a train and took too long going to the grocery store (sometimes it was a knife that would slam into the door jam next to her head or chest). All those times and now he was small and contrite?
Mom went outside and pulled the green 1965 Ford Mustang onto the lawn. Despite being a mechanic I don't remember a car ever on the lawn. They were buying that lawn, after all. I would walk a grid pattern to pick up any stray trash blown in. I'd walk a grid because I was terrified as to what might happen if I failed. Come time for him to come home and my mind would quickl scan down a mental check-list and I would tremble.
Yeah, I now know it was PTSD inducing terror.
Mom opened the doors to the mustang and began throwing his things into the back and passenger seat and the trunk. She was so mad and she wasn't careful with his stuff and he said nothing. Nothing! I remember feeling numb, my mind wouldn't work. This was totally outside of my experiences. We had moved a lot of times, I had been moved from Texas where we lived with my father to California and we were now living with Grandma and Grandpa, then Harley showed up and it was just a given that we would now live with him.
I never understood the divorce or how Mom ever hooked up with that little psychotic bastard.
Mom told me to say goodbye to him and I remember wondering what I should say or feel. Was I supposed to be sad? He wouldn't hurt Mom or me anymore. Could he really be leaving? What would that mean?
Maybe I could sleep.
I said goodbye and that was it. I was in the hallway with him. He looked so small.
And then he was gone.
Mom told me years later she found the strength not because he almost killed her but it was because he had backhanded me into the wall when I tried to save her. It wasn't because he almost killed her, that wasn't what caused her to snap. It was me being hurt.
I remember the tiger. Maybe I was more insightful as a kid than I thought. Mama tiger had roared into action because her cub had been hurt.
I wonder what happened to that tiger? Did she toss it during one of the moves (how many of them were there?), years after my memories had faded and disappeared behind protective walls? Most of my childhood had retreated behind those walls.
But I remember the tiger.
I remember going to the circus twice - the earliest one was when I was 9 years old. I went with my grandmother. I remember a lot of the acts but I remember most of all was buying a balloon, a tiger balloon.
I bought it so Mom could see something strong and beautiful when she woke up in the hospital. I was being sent to my aunt and uncle's place in L.A. the next morning for a week (that turned into 2 or 3). I remember walking to Community hospital (you could do that then - 1967 or 1968?). I was scared and worried.
That was a pretty normal state of living for me since age 5. I'm surprised I didn't develop ulcers, my "nerves" went a bit lower and I've had problems to this day.
Mom had nearly died. I wasn't told it was that serious but I saw how thin she was after her hysterectomy. She had barely gotten home from that when THEY got into a fight. Raised voices soon turned to things being thrown and then fists being used. That wasn't new either.
Grabbing a motorcycle boot with a built up boot heel was new. Hitting Mom in the lower back with that boot was new. I vaguely remember jumping in for the first time. I don't remember being backhanded into the wall. I think I remember the screams and the blood. There was so much blood. Mom was wearing a long paisely dress and blood began to seep through it marring the pattern. Harley wouldn't take her to the hospital. I don't remember what he was doing. I think I remember Mr. Roger driving up in his pickup. He was a neighbor that had several kids and I practically lived there.
Mom took a blanket out to the pickup with her so she wouldn't ruin his seats and he took he to the hospital.
The boot had ripped open the stitches inside. She almost died. I don't think the cops even took a report. I don't know if Mom lied and said she fell or something. Hard to explain life threatening falls but hospitals in those days merely wrote down what the patient said happened. Cops weren't called, neighbors "minded their own business" and there were no 911 operators or paramedics. Cops hated being called for domestic fights and always blamed the woman - if he is so horrible, why does she stay? He's calm and rational and she's hysterical, who are you gonna believe?
I remember that tiger. Mom kept it even when it wouldn't blow up anymore.
I was sent to my aunt and uncle's place. I was confused but happy, they didn't fight and throw punches or ash trays at each other. My uncle stayed in his bedroom at night and I could play with my cousins.
When I got back Mom was better, she was able to walk and stand for short periods of time.
Then the shocker - she told Harley to get out. She had never done that before. Whenever she tried to get out we would go to grandma's and he'd drive over, knock on the door and wait as we got in the car. Why did we always get in the car? Because Mom was afraid for her parents. Harley was dangerous. She thought he was an adequate step-father because bills got paid, we weren't hungry and they were buying the house.
She told him to get out and I remember how he....shrunk. He wasn't a tall man but now he seemed almost my height. He looked confused and...damn, can't find the word. He said it would take him a couple of days to pack his things.
To pack his things? She told him what to do and he was going to do it?! I could tell he was trying to buy time, so could Mom.
All those times when he'd throw something at her when she walked in the house because she got caught at a train and took too long going to the grocery store (sometimes it was a knife that would slam into the door jam next to her head or chest). All those times and now he was small and contrite?
Mom went outside and pulled the green 1965 Ford Mustang onto the lawn. Despite being a mechanic I don't remember a car ever on the lawn. They were buying that lawn, after all. I would walk a grid pattern to pick up any stray trash blown in. I'd walk a grid because I was terrified as to what might happen if I failed. Come time for him to come home and my mind would quickl scan down a mental check-list and I would tremble.
Yeah, I now know it was PTSD inducing terror.
Mom opened the doors to the mustang and began throwing his things into the back and passenger seat and the trunk. She was so mad and she wasn't careful with his stuff and he said nothing. Nothing! I remember feeling numb, my mind wouldn't work. This was totally outside of my experiences. We had moved a lot of times, I had been moved from Texas where we lived with my father to California and we were now living with Grandma and Grandpa, then Harley showed up and it was just a given that we would now live with him.
I never understood the divorce or how Mom ever hooked up with that little psychotic bastard.
Mom told me to say goodbye to him and I remember wondering what I should say or feel. Was I supposed to be sad? He wouldn't hurt Mom or me anymore. Could he really be leaving? What would that mean?
Maybe I could sleep.
I said goodbye and that was it. I was in the hallway with him. He looked so small.
And then he was gone.
Mom told me years later she found the strength not because he almost killed her but it was because he had backhanded me into the wall when I tried to save her. It wasn't because he almost killed her, that wasn't what caused her to snap. It was me being hurt.
I remember the tiger. Maybe I was more insightful as a kid than I thought. Mama tiger had roared into action because her cub had been hurt.
I wonder what happened to that tiger? Did she toss it during one of the moves (how many of them were there?), years after my memories had faded and disappeared behind protective walls? Most of my childhood had retreated behind those walls.
But I remember the tiger.
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