Trapped In Between. Marilyn Elaine Lundberg Lundberg
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of my favorite things to do with my dad was to play catch with a softball or league ball. He would throw me fast grounders, high fly balls and all sorts of difficult balls to catch, and I loved it. When I practiced with him it improved my catching and throwing skills. I was quicker and better at playing softball in gym class when I practiced with Dad.
One day, after a rousing game of catch, I said to him, “Do you wish that you would have had a boy instead of me?” I thought he would say, of course not, but what he said was surprising and very distressing for me. He said, “Yes, I wished that you would have been a boy to carry on the family name.” That was what he said. He could have added, but I love you just the same, or anything to make me feel better, but he didn’t add anything else, and that broke my heart.
I also recall during this same time period, maybe it happened in the past, but I don’t remember, that my dad would leave the bathroom door open when he was using the toilet. He would call to me so our eyes met as I sat in the tan rocker, and he would do something to his private parts all the while staring at me and giggling. I was uncomfortable, and would look away, or stand up and shut his bathroom door, because it should not have been open. He also made a daily habit to walk from his bedroom to the bathroom naked. I had a robe and always wondered why he didn’t use his. My mom was never in sight when he acted this way. It was disturbing to me and made me uncomfortable.
Dad and Mom never argued with each other in our home, except for one week a year. The loud discussion would begin when we were making plans to go visit my dads’ side of the family in Story City, Iowa. We would visit Grandma Ana, Grandpa Ed, Auntie Lou and Uncle Robert for a weekend. I would hear my mom cry and say things about Grandma Ana not liking her. It did seem like Grandma would say unkind things to her and my dad never stepped in to defend her, and Mom felt picked on.
I personally loved going down there, I was the center of attention. Auntie Lou would always have fun little projects for the two of us to do, and I really liked Uncle Robert, he was my favorite.
Grandpa Ed never said much to me. He just sat in his rocker in the dining room and rocked. When I would walk by, he would reach out and try to grab me. That always scared me; he was my least favorite person in the house.
Uncle Robert was my dads’ baby brother. He and his sister Lou never moved away from home and he was now working a full-time job. I paid a lot of attention to Uncle Robert because I felt sorry for him. Robert was a grown man that barely spoke; he was so shy and inward. He was probably in his thirties but he looked eighty. He walked with his head bent down and kind of stooped over so that he didn’t have to make any eye contact. His bedroom was upstairs, and when we visited, we too slept upstairs in a bedroom down the hall from his room.
At night I would hear very loud screams coming from his room; I believe that he was having nightmares, just like me. I would try to cover my ears to block out the screams, but to no avail. We visited Uncle Robert two times a year every year, and I never remember a night that he didn’t scream from his bedroom.
Uncle Robert worked five days a week, but he told my dad that he didn’t want to work anymore; he just wanted to stay at home and take photographs. I could identify with Robert so much. I felt his pain and knew that something had happened to him. I would cry for him when I heard him screaming. When I looked at Robert, I saw myself. Nobody in the family every talked about Uncle Roberts’ problems. There was never any mention of the loud screams in the middle of the night, even though I knew he woke everyone up. Why weren’t the adults gathering around him to make a plan to remedy the problem? Why did the family just look the other way? I wanted someone to help Robert and to also help me.
I overheard my dad say that my grandpa Ed, his dad, had spent some time in a mental institution. That was all I heard. There were lots of secrets in our family, and many subjects we were just not supposed to talk about. I just observed what was going on around me, but didn’t say anything to anyone.
In the sixth grade I was very fortunate to have a super sweet teacher that was kindhearted to all of us. My situation was the same, but it was nice to have a loving and compassionate person for a teacher. We read numerous books in her class too, and we were told to sign-up for oral book reports. I never signed up and she noticed that. One day she called on me and asked me if I had read a certain book, I lied and said, “No.” She questioned me a little more on another book, but again I deceived her and said that I hadn’t read it. She knew what was going on, but she never pushed it and I never spoke in front of the class that year. I was very grateful that she didn’t force me.
I really liked Mrs. Peterson; she had a beautiful smile, tiny waist and wore stunning pastel dresses. I kind of wished that she had been my mom at times. She loved us kids, you could easily feel that, and she loved to teach.
One really hot day she threw open all the windows in our classroom so the winds could drift in and make us more comfortable. We had no air conditioners back in those days. The female principal poked her head in the door and called Mrs. Peterson out into the hall. My teacher came back in and shut all the windows, I could tell that she had been crying and I felt bad for her. She had just been trying to make the temperature bearable for us kids. We were all soaked with sweat.
One day as I was getting up to sharpen my pencil, I looked out the school window and saw the side door open on our garage. I asked her if I could quickly run home and close it because my kitty was in the garage, and I didn’t want her to run away. She said lunchtime was just around the corner and I could leave then. In my mind I said, “Please, please, please let kitty be okay.”
I arrived at home a short time later to find kitty safe in the garage all snuggled up in her bed. I gave her a few loving kisses, secured the door, ate lunch and headed back to school. I wished that my dad would be more careful when he left for work, and would lock up the garage. After all, he had lots of tools and other things in there too.
There was only one occasion that made me sad concerning Mrs. Peterson, and it happened on the last day of school. Towards the end of the day, we had a picnic, and I was sitting on the ground next to her, I just adored her. She looked at me and said, “You’re an ugly duckling now, but in the future you will grow into a beautiful swan.” I am sure that she had no intention of hurting my feelings, but I was crushed. I wish she would have kept that bit of information to herself.
I thought about a saying that my mom had taught me, “If you can’t say something nice about a person, don’t say anything at all.” Words can hurt a person so much and we need to select our words carefully when we speak to others. Always encourage people, don’t discourage them. Oh well, I needed to forgive Mrs. Peterson, because I adored her.
Every single day I was an avid people watcher. I observed my schoolmates, and they were laughing and having fun and really seemed to be enjoying life. I went to birthday parties and I invited kids to mine, but I always felt tense and never relaxed. I was continually on the lookout for someone that might bully or embarrass me. I never felt at ease in my own skin.
I definitely knew without a doubt at the age of twelve that there was strangeness about me compared to the other kids. I felt odd and flawed.
Looking back at the end of elementary school, I had a laundry list of problems beginning with fear. I had a fear of the dark, I would stand at the top of the stairs and want to go to the basement, but I found it so difficult unless I had my kitty with me. Also closets bothered me and the darkness under my bed terrified me. I had fear of abandonment regarding my mom, fear of rejection concerning the kids at school and fear of any sort of change in my life. I needed no surprises at all. There was a fear of being vulnerable to people, a fear of people in general and lastly, a fear that something bad was waiting to happen to me around every single corner.
My body was always tense along with an unexplained sick tummy. I hated mirrors and felt ugly all the time. I wanted to control people and the situations around me, but I couldn’t and that upset me.
I wanted dominion over my thoughts so I wasn’t worried all the time about those stupid oral book reports and crummy summersaults. I also desired control at home regarding the insanity that was happening regarding my mom. I loved Mom, but at the same time I was afraid of her. She was acting differently than the other moms that I saw.