The little town in Spain that we lived in was great from a child’s perspective. There was sort of a pack of us kids that wandered around and had fun together. We were good kids, the biggest trouble we got into was when we stepped on the grass in the park. The grounds keeper was very protective of his grass. Most of our weekends were spent hanging out at the ice skating rink, where the boys practiced their hockey and their girls practiced their figure skating. When we were not skating we were getting topas off of the topa bar and playing video games. Even our school bus was fantastic compared to the school buses we have here, it was a tourist bus, nice soft seats, a bathroom, and was very big. We could walk to the movie theaters on our own, they did not sell refreshments at the movie theater so we would stop at the corner candy store and load up. I saw real gypsies in the court yard of the local church. For the most part, I have good memories of living there.
Next to the park we used to play at, there was an old abandoned mansion that the kids loved to hang out in. There was a huge flag pole that had a long rope hanging down. It had been tied in a loop at the bottom, and we would sit inside the loop and swing, each of us taking turns pushing each other. Sometimes a few of the mothers would get together and all of us kids with the mother’s would go to the park together. On one of these a outings, as usual we all decided to head over to the mansion and swing and hang out. When we got there we saw an older man near where we liked to swing. As much as I had traveled, I was a very naive girl in a lot of ways. Nothing about the scene appeared the least little bit wrong to me.
The older man started talking to all of us kids, we talked back, he seemed very nice. He offered to push us as we swung. I must have been the first or one of the first kids to go. When he pushed me, he started touching me in places that adults should never touch children. I knew that was wrong, so I got off of the rope, tried to get the other kids to leave with me, only my brother did and went to where my mother was. I can remember not really knowing what words to use to express to my mother what happened to me, but I finally was able to tell her. She did not believe me. She flat did not believe what I told her happened was true. I was more devastated by that than some strange old guy touching me inappropriately. It was not until another child came and told his mother that the same thing happened to him that she realized I was telling the truth. I was never upset that no police were called, or that nothing happened to the old guy. We were living in a foreign country, in a place that had an active terrorist group, none of us were fluent in the language, and even though being felt up by an old guy is completely wrong, it really could have been worse. I strongly believe that my mother not believing me when I told her about what happened was sort of a turning point for me. I felt betrayed. Things in my mind and behavior started to go downhill from there.
I remember it being the first time I got in trouble for my school work not being the best I could do. This was when I also started staying by myself during recess and reading instead of playing with the other kids. This is when I remember the self isolating behavior started.
At some point the terrorist group, ETA, got a little upset with the Americans being over there. The situation became dangerous for us there. When we came back to the states and was staying at my grandparents house for Christmas break, my parents made the decision that only my father would go back to Spain, and my mother and me and my brother would stay in the States. This was a very stressful time for me. I am sure it was for my brother and mother as well. I was worried about my father going back to some place that was not safe, I was worried about starting school in the middle of the year, I was missing my friends, and I was missing living in Spain.
Because we did not have a house when the decision was made for us to stay in Georgia, we stayed with my grandparents. They lived in a very small house. My grandfather’s personality made things tense while we were there. I think the stress of everything got to my mother a great deal. She was very harsh during that time. By the time school started, I think my parents had found a house, but we could not move in right away because the people we were buying the house from still had to move out. That meant my mother had to drive us to and from school everyday. My grades were awful, I do not recall caring about my school work much. Some days those car rides were a living hell. My mother would yell, scream and insult me the whole time we were in the car, and that would be punctuated by the periodic slap across the face. Once or twice she told me not to say anything to my grandparents. It was about this time in my life when I developed extremely low self esteem and began to fill as if I was very stupid, beliefs that have stayed with me.
The kids in school were tough. Because of living over seas, we wore clothes that were not the fashion in the States, yet. About six months after we got back to the States the clothes were “in”. The kids were cruel, and I am sure that with all I had going on at home I did not have the best attitude towards other people. There were days where it felt like I was surrounded by cruel and mean people, both at school, and at my grandparents house, when my mother was around. I felt that I had no one I could go to. The self isolating behavior continued.
To be continued…
Beginnings – Part III will come out tomorrow
