My mother was chronically making fun of me with one liners like “your teeth are so gross you could eat corn through a fence” “tub of guts” “knees like a moose” and it goes in and on. She always said these things in a joking tone most of the time like a giggle “awwww, look how’s tits are bigger than mommies slapping my breasts in a flicking motion. I was a chubby kid, my mother never bought me proper clothing, always no bra and way to revealing. Like let’s put s tube top on a chubby kid and have every one make fun of me. See for the most part that gut ringing feeling of being a joke, laughed at. I still feel deeply that she did all those things to make me a target, sad a fuck that is I know it’s true. Like she shaved one side of my head in grade 5, just before pictures, I have very thick massive curly wild hair never brushed just knots and one side bald, walking target to grade 5 kids like I felt betrayed and unprotected in every way. Like I said most of these jabs were done Joni g and you know it was mean but she’s laughing so??? Awkward on the inside my poor heart felt pain.
Every now and then the jokes would become hateful. It’s hard to explain how faces of people change when the dirty streak flares, like a shift on facial muscles and eyes they seem to get darker, I’ve seen the ugly in a few people up close and personal and every time the face just changes the a bulletin board flips advertisements. When this happened with my mother she felt uncontrollably rage filled but hate rage, it was filled with just a dark direct stab at my core female foundation. She would tower over me screaming in my face, often she would pinch the sides of my fade together so my inner cheeks touched, holding my face up at her, I always looked down and she’d make sure I knew in my fibres she meant it. That cheek hold would hurt for days later often my teeth cut the cheeks and that hurt, always kept biting it because it would swell, I really hated that. “Look at me your fucking whore!!! Look at me!! Because of you.. ” insert anything wrong with her. I felt at these times so scared, so so scared mom seemed at that time at any second it could get worse, my tummy always hurt, still does. I remember one day in particular I was playing or learning about the cosmetic/hairstyle world, very attracted to all things girly, still can’t help myself I’m so feminine. So I had curled my bangs, that birds nest bang from the eighties early nineties. As I said I had incredibly big hair to begin with so it was very big and I felt so cool. I had eyeshadow, liner, mascara on my eyelids and this bright orange lipstick. See I believe strongly that pretty is a feeling not a ideal and that day after my mad cosmetic experiments I felt cool, really cool like fresh prince had nothing on my ass. I did all this at the big black piano we had, used the music notes holder for my Polly pocket mirror. I used that piano for years as a place to get ready. I’ve used small mirrors my whole like till recently to apply makeup because seeing more than one feature at a time is overwhelming. Soooo many ugly things wrong. So sad. I ran to get my book bag it was a school day and this rebel feeling pretty and cool was trying to leave unseen by her. Well she was standing at the kitchen sink smoking and I like a rat along a hostile wall scurried past hoping not to attract her attention. She began to laugh hysterically. Then instantly with hatred she grabbed my upper arm. “Who do you think you are tramping up and down this river flashing your young beaver for sale”. She just lost it, just gone. “You look just like your stupid ducking father”. ” that fat scowls face, moron”. “Just like him”. ” I hate you as she began slapping at me, I head the bus brakes and knew if I didn’t get out of there that morning she was going to hurt me. As I flew over the stairs down the driveway she was on the front step half naked smoke in hand raging at me. ” you have to come home you stupid cunt”.
See I look like my dad, no doubting he’s my dad. I’ve learned as I ages that I am so much like my father it’s cruel, so different but so similar. I can’t change my face, my teeth, my posture I just can’t. So looking in any mirror I only saw my father’s face for years, as if that’s some hideous disgrace of a face. Well now I see my dad and see my grandmothers face, my cousins faces, so many people I adore have this round face.
I love my round face now, I will always look younger with puffy cheeks.
There is or was never anything wrong with me.