ONE

Always had a bit of a troublemaking streak. Mother always said things like "thank god you’re not twins", and that someday I’d have a kid "just like me".

Funny thing, I remember being mostly pretty good. Stubborn, definitely. Scared to death of mother, ABSOLUTELY.

It’s not easy living with a mommy who’s an undiagnosed mommy dearest. But I guess I did the best I could with that.

All the usual pranks of a teenager in the 70’s.. that’s a whole nother story for a whole nother book, maybe.

But in THIS lifetime, well, I’ve just tried to make nice, not fight, share the toys, you know, the usual stuff that gets your ass kicked every time.

Had a lot of hard times like most people do. Sure as hell could have been worse, see that in the news every freaking day.

BUT, our troubles are OURS, and they’re HORRID when we’re in the middle of em.

My troubles, well, they probably began when I slid out of that poor woman’s womb. But for SURE they started not long after I crossed the threshold of shitty hall.

Now, shitty hall could be ANYWHERE on the planet. The names are changed to avoid lawsuits from the litigious bastards.

But, with a family to support, and the bank account running towards empty, Plan B kicked into action.

Plan A? Well, that was staying home, baking cookies, making babies, maybe a little light volunteer work when the young uns were older....

Doesn’t matter that I suck at housekeeping, I was really good at the rest of it.

I know that people wondered why I would want to devote myself to being a "homemaker" Very politically incorrect, especially in view of my rabid activism within the community, and the grooming for political life that I was an unsuspecting party to. Yep. Me. Mouthy, smart, quick with the comeback me.

A far cry from the shy little scardy cat who was (according to mom) "as useless as tits on a bull". (Charming thing to say to your child...)

But, I was a smartie, likely from Dad bringing home those boxes of delectable chocolate pills on those nights when he worked late.

Gee, I wonder why dad was working late? We never seemed to have any extra money to show for it, and well, OK, that’s enough... there’s another book right there, too!

Still, I WAS a little smartie... spontaneous reader at age three... I have NO IDEA as to HOW people actually LEARN to read.. I just could.

Guess that made me some kind of savant... but the reading, along with the memory, well, it made me quite a little party favour. I remember being gotten out of bed to show off for company in the middle of the night.

Yeah, THAT was GREAT!..If I’d had my glasses, maybe I’d know who the hell I was showing off for...

But, all that reading savant stuff meant that I got slapped into grade one half-way thru kindergarten.

So, the social outcast persona began to take shape.

And the teachers (Sisters of Perpetual Disappointment, I believe..), well they really helped my popularity when they told the rest of the class that "Ellen can do the work and she’s an entire year YOUNGER THAN THE REST OF YOU!" Yeah, baby... popularity contest sewn right up with THAT ONE!.
But rebellion kicked in, subtly at first, but definitely there.

The first real inking of myself as a separate entity came when my brother ratted me out for getting the strap.

OF COURSE I didn’t tell the folks I’d gotten the strap... the promise ALWAYS was that if you get it at school, you’ll get it twice as bad at home.
And of COURSE nuns are never WRONG!

So, when I got the strap for coughing in class after being off a month with bronchitis, well I didn’t tell.

How the hell is a third-grader supposed to know that one of the other kids in class liked to mimic people when they coughed or sneezed, and that the whole class was on high alert?

Well, when I got home that dreadful nite one year later and they asked about me getting the strap, the waterworks went on full force.

But strangely enough, they told me that if I HAD let them know, they would have stood up for me.
Hmmm.
Brother was pretty disappointed. I didn’t get reamed out like he expected.
I was pretty puzzled.
They SAID one thing, and they ended up saying something else.
I was still alive and breathing.
Hmmmm.
Brother usually ALWAYS managed to get MY ass kicked for something by side-tracking them from HIS ass-kicking.

(Ellen did it too, Ellen did it first, Ellen TOLD ME to do it....man, he was a good little liar)
But I was still standing. Un-ass-kicked. Un-whipped.
Interesting.
I pondered that for quite a while before I took a chance to see if I could get away with something again.

That something was the speech. To be delivered in front of the class. The hateful tormentors who had been groomed to resent me by those loving Sisters.

Now, in the past, NOT doing schoolwork was right up there in my terrified mind on the same shelf as drinking poison or talking to strangers as a leading cause of my imminent death.

The report cards with 6 A’s and two B’s were always met with "what happened with the B’s? " 98 out of 100... what happened to the other two marks?
BUT, this speech thing was even SCARIER than ANYTHING they might do to me at home.
So, I didn’t do it.
Nope, just didn’t do it. Didn’t get up when my name was called. When Sister Mary Humourless asked me if my speech was ready I croaked out a "no" without raising my head.
And NOTHING HAPPENED.
No hellfire. No brimstone. Not even purgatory.
No notes to the parents. No strapping.
And when I fearfully received my final report card, I had STILL passed the class with a respectable 90 percent.
(What happened to the other 10%, Ellen? I dunno...)
AH-HA...
The veil began to lift.
I COULD get away with SOME THINGS. God didn’t automatically strike me down, hell, even kid brother didn’t rat me out! Interesting.
I was beginning my L-O-N-G metamorphosis.