I never really got to believe in Santa Clause. I can barely remember the one Christmas I did though, and we saw the little Santa tracker on the news. That meant it was time for us kids to get to bed. I remember looking out my window and hoping to see Santa fly by with his reindeer to bring us presents...
This was crushed when I was 6 or 7, maybe younger. My mom decided she had to tell us the truth because she didn't think she was going to be able to get us anything for Christmas. That's actually very sad, and she did work and everything, but I personally would have waited until I knew for sure that I couldn't buy even a single gift for each child! We never would have even known if we celebrated a day or a few days late- we were really little kids! But, I guess that's what my mom felt she had to do.
Now, even though my kids are starting to get older and figure out there is no Santa, I still go along with it... it's just fun to pretend and believe in something!
Life wasn't so bad until my parents got divorced. Of course, by the time it finally happened I was so afraid of my dad that I wanted him gone. But once he was gone, it was like all the anger was taken out on us- on ME.
I remember when I first knew that black people existed, I was just so fascinated! I wanted a black baby doll SO BAD but my dad wouldn't allow it. He said it would make me grow up to actually have a black baby (which I did!) Actually I had 2, so maybe he was right. Or maybe I just wanted what I wanted no matter what color dolls I had.
One Christmas morning I woke up and was opening presents... lots of Barbie dolls... and... a BLACK baby doll! I was so excited! I started yelling "A BLACK BABY!! LOOK I GOT A BLACK BABY!" I was going on about it for a few minutes before my mom said to me "That's not for you! That's for your sister!"... I had to give my black baby, the only thing I really wanted, to my sister who never even mentioned a black doll. I loved the doll. When my sister got her, she just sat her on the floor... not even impressed with it. If the doll really was supposed to be for my sister, why wouldn't she have also gotten me one- I was the one who asked for it. If that situation happened with my kids, one opened the others gift and loved it while the one it belonged to didn't even look twice, I wouldn't even say anything.
I know that my mom got that baby for my sister and put my name on it hurt me. She wanted me to be jealous and I know that's the reason...
I can only remember one Easter. I remember a few bits and pieces from a 2nd. one too, but this particular Easter memory has stuck with me the strongest...
Me and my sisters and brother were hunting for eggs. I found one that was too high for me to reach, so I asked my older sister to help me get it. When I showed her where the egg was, she took it and put it in her own basket. She said to me "You don't need this, you just want the extra fat!" And when I told my mom, she didn't say a word... She wanted my siblings to make fun of me. In fact, she encouraged it.
We never had holiday traditions when I was a kid. I always wanted them, and tried to present them to my mom but was always shot down. They all made fun of me for wanting the family to say something they were thankful for on Thanksgiving, my mom didn't bake so there were no Christmas cookies- we didn't even leave Santa milk and cookies that I can remember.
So many holiday traditions, and we didn't have any! So now that I have kids, I do all of the things I wanted to do... we decorate our tree together while listening to Christmas music or watching a Christmas show, the kids are allowed to stay up past bedtime to watch Christmas specials, we bake cookies for Santa... everything.
I really only remember a little bit about Halloween also... I remember dressing as a witch and my bag ripped while we were trick or treating. My brother and sisters and my dad (I think my mom might have been driving so we could get in when we got tired) were all way ahead of me. When I stopped to pick up my candy, I was lost from them. It was pretty scary to me, I don't even remember catching up to them but I obviously must have.
I often wondered as a kid, and while growing up and even still, if treating me like shit was the plan or what reason it happened. I remember thinking I must be a bad person, or I must have done something really bad, maybe I was a bad person in a past life, but for whatever reason, I always felt like God was punishing me. Now who knows if I'm being punished for being a bad person- if I ever was- or the reason my life has turned out the way it has because of the choices I made... which is the most likely scenario, but one thing for sure is I turned out the way I am today because of the way I was treated and how I was raised.
In a lot of ways, being treated so bad has helped me but it has also hurt me. It has made me a good mother in some ways and a terrible one in other ways.
All of that will be explained here later...
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