Little Blacksheep Beginnings
I was one of those kids that threw a fit in the grocery store. You've seen them. Most people wonder why the kid's mother doesn't DO SOMETHING! If you have one of your own, it's embarrassing. I didn't throw a kicking and screaming tantrum on the floor. According to my mother, I collapsed into a boneless puddle, usually just as she reached for me so that it looked like she had knocked me there.
I don't remember any of this. But I know all about it because I've been told about it over and over again all my life.
And then there's the story of how I smacked my little brother in his crib (several times, mind you) and he woke up crying. She never saw this happen nor were there ever any marks on him. But she heard me do – all the way down on the first floor. I don't remember this either and I don't believe it. His crying hurt my ears/nerves; why would I want to make him cry?
And then there's the story of – well, you get the picture. Stories of the cute things my brothers did were told, but not of me. Every story told about me made me sound like I was a malicious, spiteful, jealous little brat. All this before I was 5 years old. Is it any wonder that I knew before I was 5 that my mother didn't like me?
My mother wanted a girl, I just wasn't the girl she had in mind. It appears I wasn't affectionate enough. I didn't like dolls. In fact, she couldn't figure out what I did like. I didn't like the frilly girl clothes, they scratched (it was the 50s). I was stubborn, etc.
Little wonder that my younger brother caught on that everything I did was wrong. He lied and got me in trouble. He only did it once cause (after steaming all day) I beat him up. That didn't stop him from pulling other things to get me in trouble while we were growing up. But the opportunity to beat him up didn't always present itself.
By the time I was six and in school I pretty much had the “outta sight, outta mind” motto down pretty well. It wasn't totally successful, but it cut down on the stories.