Daughter cried herself to sleep more than a few times after that. Father always liked to be in control. He was “The King” and everyone treated him as such. They catered to his every whim and demand. She used to brag about him to her friends…”My dad said this…My dad did that…My dad thinks…etc…”
In high school friends would say, “Yes, Martha, Your father’s a god we all know that!”
Another friend would say, “Your father is a tiny white mouse with little red eyes.” And they would continue that way until they had gone through most of the lines from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolfe?
But Eldest Daughter really did idolize him even though he kept her rich pubescent body and whims at bay by issuing unreasonable restrictions and curfews. She was on restriction for practically everything. She could never figure out if they (he) really meant for her to be restricted or if they (he) just wanted a cheap babysitter for her younger brothers.
She was on restriction for the rest of her life so many times that she still wouldn’t be off if she hadn’t turned eighteen and moved out to free herself. She was on restriction for biting her nails, for having an ingrown toenail, for gaining weight, for not doing the program of exercises Father had demanded, for getting anything less than a B on her report card, for seemingly any minor infraction of any law he decided to lay down.
Finally, since she was in trouble anyway, she just decided to rebel. She was an expert at rebellion. She decided to just do what she wanted to do. Looking back on what was considered “bad” in those days would bring a smile to the faces of teenagers today.
She waited until she was sixteen. She wanted to have sex, so she did. She screwed who she wanted…mostly nice guys, boyfriends, who were thoroughly surprised and appreciative of her affection. She also started smoking cigarettes and drinking on weekends when she could get out of the house. If she was lucky enough to get to go out, she would purposely break her curfew because she never knew when she might be able to go out again.
She had a couple of boyfriends who challenged her dad on unreasonable curfews and restrictions. He respected this and those boys were allowed to take her out. But, of course, she liked the boys he didn’t approve of the best. It was the sixties. Affirmative action and free love… She did her part… She liked Black guys.
It didn’t start out as rebellion. In fact, she had never even met a Black person before except her girlfriend’s housekeeper. A certain young man was running for sophomore class president and he was shaking hands and campaigning in the quad during lunch. She went up to him with a group of friends and said,”Hi, my name is Pooh. What’s yours?”
He answered with, “Well, I’m Christopher Robin.” That was it . She was in love, enchanted, and charmed. She knew she would never be able to be with him publicly. Even in the late sixties a mixed couple was tabu. They began a secret romance filled with secret midnight telephone calls. They talked about philosophy, religion, science fiction, politics…. She read him poetry and he read her passages out of Ray Bradbury novels.
She really loved his mind. He had an IQ of 165 and already had a job promised with IBM. They were both fifteen and still innocently idealistic. They met in the park behind the school for quick embraces and kisses laced with the milk they drank for lunch.
They took a chance and met at the local movie house to see Romeo and Juliet. They were seen by a neighbor who felt it was his duty to inform her father about the color of her friend’s skin. Of course, she was immediately put on restriction for life until she broke up with him which she refused to do even if she died.
This was the point when they (he) decided that Eldest Daughter needed to see a psychologist. What was the matter with her anyway? It was the world that was fucked up as far as she was concerned. It was a waste of money (theirs) and a waste of time (hers). The psychologist was always trying to get her to toe the line, straighten up, act right… All she wanted to do was stomp on the line, screw around, and make a run for it!
She was beginning to feel her own power. She used to sit in that psyc weasel’s office and make up the most outlandish tales. None of them was true. None of them was false. She was mad all of the time, but she couldn’t act on her anger. She was still bound by age to live with her parents.
(First published 11/3/12)
