Freak

We had the kids over new years. I knew it wouldn’t be as great as last year. I expected it. It was fun, but ended badly.  We picked up the kids on Friday…after having them Wednesday and Thursday nights too. We had them through Monday at dinner time. We have them tonight. I’m not sure I can do it.

I am dreading going home today. Yesterday did not go well. At breakfast while trying to open their Disney closed little eyes and explain that yes they could ask a boy to the dance if they wanted to go to the dance with said boy that badly. Their father then asked, had I ever asked a boy out and I said yes. To that the girls called me a “weirdo” and “freak.”

Freak.

I spun. And spun, and spun and spun. Like a top that never quits. I spun back to elementary school where I was teased. Mercilessly.

Freak

Their favorite word. Freak. A word that caused dread. It was used instead of my name. It was whispered, yelled, spoke, screamed. All so I could hear it. So I would know I was a freak. The cruelness in the sound of the word. The way it was said. Spit through the teeth. Lips curled in an evil snarl. Eyes sparkling at the obvious discomfort it caused.

Freak

I’ve worked hard to create the person I want to be. I learned in my junior year of high school that you needed to fake being the confident person you want to be if you don’t have inner confidence. (How else could a freak have confidence if it was not faked?) I’ve faked it enough that I have some and can turn on and off a little extra when I need it. I know when I need that layer of extra inner confidence and I get it. It’s like a bullet proof vest. Nothing gets to me when I have it on.

Freak

But when I’m sitting at breakfast with my family I shouldn’t need it. I’m amazed at how often I do need it though, especially with them. But that vest gets heavy and I can’t wear it all the time. It is like they can sense when I take it off. When I’m vulnerable.

FREAK

And out it comes. The silent sleeping viper. The nasty snake I thought was dead. Out to bite me again. It bit and ice shot through my veins. I physically curled up. My head almost touching the table top. My husband’s touch was what brought me out, asking me what was wrong. I looked at him. Stunned. Had he not heard that? Had he checked out during this? Or was he condoning their behavior?

Freak

I explained that it hurt my feelings when they called me these names and that I was not going to do dishes, they could. I was going to my sewing room and I was going to sew. They were to leave me alone. He asked them to apologize, which they did in between laughs. Unless I totally lost it, they were not going to understand how hurtful they were. I didn’t have the energy to lose it though.

Freak

Instead I gathered up my diet coke and I walked upstairs and closed my door. I turned on my movie, my sewing machine, and iron. Safe actions. Quiet actions. I was safe. I would not be judged or called names in that room. I was away from all of them.

They were taken back to their mother’s early. And I’m glad for it. There are moments that I love them and moments that I despise them. They are mean, cruel little people. Part of me knows that if we were to have a baby, it would be different than these impolite little shits. It would have morals, an internal compass, empathy, kindness, compassion. It would be raised to wait to eat until all are seated and have their meals. It would know how to set a table. It would understand that disrespect would not be tolerated.

Or would it? These two nasty little girls would be around for its first very formative years. They could “ruin” it. I believe they act as they do because they were allowed to and saw their bother get away with it.

But what if its genetic? What if nasty is in their genes? What if the baby is nasty too? Worse yet, what if the baby is a freak?

Like Mom.