the asking-for-it stare
The asking-for-it stare
I have this vivid memory of my mother throwing my baby sister on the baby cot. She was crying inconsolably and my mother was carrying her back and forth in the bedroom. It must have been the crying that woke me up from my sleep. By calculation, it was the year I turned four. Another recollection is that I was feeding my sister conge when she was sitting in her baby walker.
Years later, my mother had this explanation that she wasn’t well right after the birth of my sister. Maybe she was suffering from post-partum. As for my sister, it was unlucky for her to have crying spells in her early months. It is possible she was a colicky baby.
My grandpa frequently told the baby she was unwanted child while he rocked her in the cradle. Later she accepted that along with the beatings as part and parcel of her little life.
My sister had this kind of stony expression whenever my mother picked on her. She would keep quiet and just give her the kind of stare that would invite more anger from my mother. Even my father who was uninvolved as he had always been would come out of his shell to give her a beating occasionally.
I remember my brothers running around happily and doing their stuff. Occasionally, their rowdiness was the cause for my mother to give them a mild scolding or beating. It just shows even when siblings live in the same environment, they don’t necessarily experience the same things. We are the way we are, is how we are moulded by events and the interactions with people especially our parents.
During our growing up years my father was a remote figure. He was hardly at home during our waking hours. If he considered his children as part of the furniture we did the same to him. One of my earliest memories is that I did run out joyously upon hearing the sound of his car at the driveway. It’s like hoorah, Dad’s home. Even a dumb kid could sense she was being ignored, with that realization in mind the welcome home gesture came to a stop. I noticed when my brothers were below three they did get a little attention from him. Maybe he wasn’t good with older kids.
I started off as an exuberant kid, talkative, a little cheeky and playful. By the time I was six years old I was a loner. I remember I was friendless in kindy. I was just a wound-up robot who was programmed to go to school. While I was there I was just a silent observer, watching people and kids. Happy kids, loving parents; I could sense it was lacking in my life.
I have this vivid memory of my mother throwing my baby sister on the baby cot. She was crying inconsolably and my mother was carrying her back and forth in the bedroom. It must have been the crying that woke me up from my sleep. By calculation, it was the year I turned four. Another recollection is that I was feeding my sister conge when she was sitting in her baby walker.
Years later, my mother had this explanation that she wasn’t well right after the birth of my sister. Maybe she was suffering from post-partum. As for my sister, it was unlucky for her to have crying spells in her early months. It is possible she was a colicky baby.
My grandpa frequently told the baby she was unwanted child while he rocked her in the cradle. Later she accepted that along with the beatings as part and parcel of her little life.
My sister had this kind of stony expression whenever my mother picked on her. She would keep quiet and just give her the kind of stare that would invite more anger from my mother. Even my father who was uninvolved as he had always been would come out of his shell to give her a beating occasionally.
I remember my brothers running around happily and doing their stuff. Occasionally, their rowdiness was the cause for my mother to give them a mild scolding or beating. It just shows even when siblings live in the same environment, they don’t necessarily experience the same things. We are the way we are, is how we are moulded by events and the interactions with people especially our parents.
During our growing up years my father was a remote figure. He was hardly at home during our waking hours. If he considered his children as part of the furniture we did the same to him. One of my earliest memories is that I did run out joyously upon hearing the sound of his car at the driveway. It’s like hoorah, Dad’s home. Even a dumb kid could sense she was being ignored, with that realization in mind the welcome home gesture came to a stop. I noticed when my brothers were below three they did get a little attention from him. Maybe he wasn’t good with older kids.
I started off as an exuberant kid, talkative, a little cheeky and playful. By the time I was six years old I was a loner. I remember I was friendless in kindy. I was just a wound-up robot who was programmed to go to school. While I was there I was just a silent observer, watching people and kids. Happy kids, loving parents; I could sense it was lacking in my life.
posted by Colourful Jade at
12:10 AM
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