California Dreamin’

“More often than not, the belief that you are bad contributes to the “bad” behavior. Change and learning occur most readily when you (a) recognize that an error has occurred and (b) develop a strategy for correcting the problem. An attitude of self-love and relaxation facilitates this, whereas guilt often interferes.” ~ David D. Burns

“The end result of positively reinforcing bad behavior is that you get more of it. The culmination of a failure to punish predators is a debased, dissolute, slum-dog society in which, by legal decree, the righteous suffer and the wicked prosper.” ~ Ilana Mercer

You cannot “love” a dog out of her bad behavior, just as you can’t “love” a criminal into stopping his crimes.” ~ Cesar Millan

As you may have realized, I like adding quotes that pertain to the subject of the blog. I am going to explain why I chose the three listed above to give you an idea of how they relate to the subject I will be discussing today.

FALL 1979

My mother came to my school to pick my brother and I up early. I was ten years old and I knew what her early retrieval meant for the family. Mom was attempting to leave dad, for the 100th time. When we did try to escape, it was often in the mid day when my father thought my mother would be working. My mother would leave him and eventually go back to him. Her children were never consulted on the decision. Understandably, we were children but our lives were at stake as well. So, when my mother rushed us home and ordered us to pack, I refused. My mother was frantically shoving clothing for my younger siblings into a bag or suitcase, I can’t remember. What I do remember was the look on her face when I refused for the second time and shouted “Why do I need to pack my clothes, we only wind up coming back.” I was angry because of the many times we had fled from my father, only for my mother to fall for his bullshit and take us back “home”. This often resulted in a ghastly beating for my mother to “teach her a lesson” about who she belong to and who ran the show. With my refusal came tears from both my mother and myself. My tears were from hopelessness. Hers were from anger. In her mind she had a plan and I was waylaying that plan. She slapped me, hard, and ordered me to gather my things. I was in shock. She had never “put hands on” me and I could see in her eyes that she was instantly remorseful but in that moment, my ten year old self could believe that she was now turning into my dad. A child’s thought process to be sure, however, the fear was still there. I do not remember packing anything, maybe my mom threw some of my things in the bag, but I did not.

We headed to San Jose, California via AMTRAK train. A young mother with five children, fleeing from an abusive marriage, hoping to find salvation in a different state. The trip was 1700 miles and two days by train. I have a memory of an older man sharing some snacks with us and my mother thanking him profusely as we snuggled together in the uncomfortable seats. We were going to live with my father’s eldest sister. My Tia Terri is a force to be reckoned with. She is outspoken and she always made sure my father knew that she did not agree with the way he treated his wife or his children.

Here’s where quote number three from Cesar Millan comes into play. My mother believed and perhaps still believes that if she loves my father hard enough, she can love the bad out of him. But she can’t. Because my father needs professional help to deal with his own demons. Again, let me stress that he does not physically harm my mother anymore, nor does he physically abuse me or brother. His abuse is verbal and it continues to this day. He can make the most celebrated event feel like a nightmare with one sentence. We were in California for five months. Five happy months. We were safe. We were loved. We were thriving. My tia opened her home to us and took us under her wing. I was finally feeling like this time, this time was for real. My father had not managed to “find us” and we were becoming secure in the knowledge that we were far away from the person that hurt us so badly, all the while claiming to care about us.

There is no such thing as fairy tells, no matter how much we wish them into fruition. The second quote I posted reminded me of that, especially the last part of the last sentence “the righteous suffer and the wicked prosper.” My siblings and I suffered. My mother suffered. My mother’s family that dared to help us, suffered. But my father? He walked around like a strutting peacock, knowing that all he had to do was wait patiently and my mother would give in and believe his “I am so sorry, I am going to do better. I promise not to hurt you again.” He never came to get us in California. He didn’t have to. He used his Jedi mind tricks on my mother and we were on a bus to Austin. Again, the children were not consulted. We were told “your dad misses us and we are going home.” In my mind, we were home. We were in a place where there was laughter and love. Where we mattered and people cared about us. We were SAFE from the bad man or so we thought.

I do not remember the trip home on the Greyhound bus. I do remember the paralyzing fear I had in my heart, knowing that my father would extract revenge on his family for leaving him and making a life where he was not welcomed. The first quote I used stated “recognize that an error has occurred and (b) develop a strategy for correcting the problem. ” The error was that my father was an abusive husband with an addiction that controlled my mother like a puppet on a string. The “strategy developed” was a quixotic plan to run away and live happily ever after knowing that Little Red Riding Hood had enabled the BIG BAD WOLF to find her at Grandmother’s house moments after arriving.

California was my happy place for what seemed like a very long time, but in reality, it was but a blip in time. Kids do not have proper concepts of time. A week may seem like a month and a month may seem like a year. I cherish that brief moment because I was convinced that this time my mother had been successful in cutting the ties that bound her to my father. I was sadly mistaken and we all paid the price for being gone so long. The instant we arrived at the bus station my father was there, waiting. The look on his face was unmistakable. He was livid. So much for missing us, right? The beating started as soon as he got us in the car. He showed my mom just how much he missed her and began yelling at us for trying to defend her. Years later when I was pregnant with my first child, I had a nightmare about that day. When I awoke my face was wet with tears and I was angry as hell. There was a human growing inside me that I had not yet met but I knew with every fiber of being that NO ONE would ever be allowed to purposely hurt them. I would be my child’s California. I would be the be beacon of hope and the lighthouse of love that every child deserves. I never realized how hard it would be to keep that promise. Struggling financially, maintaining a household, working two jobs and trying to raise children free of the horrors I experienced was difficult.

My oldest child read my blog. He never told me he read it, I just knew by the text I received the morning after posting a particular truth. My heart experienced a tremendous pain at the image of him hearing my story. My baby boy is my California. He made me a better person and paved the way to be a better human for the two that followed him. Our time in Cali was not wasted. My take away from the experience was “Remember California”. Remember the feelings of tranquility and the feeling of security. Be California even when someone wants you to be something else.