Moved to a town that was right for me

Throughout the 1970s, I tried to break free of my parents. The first time was in 1974. My mother overdosed on sinequan and I tried to call the ambulance--but my dad hung up. He didn't want to be embarrassed, so I called the doctor. The doctor just said, "Get her up and walking. If she won't walk, you'll have to go to the ER."

My dad and I dragged my mother out of bed and began walking her around. Luckily either there weren't enough pills in the bottle or they just didn't affect my mother the way she thought they might. She began to wake up and eventually came to herself. By then, I was a nervous wreck.

I called the pastor of the Deaf church, told him what was going on and was relieved to hear him say, "Pack a bag and get the hell out of there. Come to the church."

I threw some clothes and all my journals into my suitcase. I told my mother I had to go away for a while. She nodded sadly and said she understood.

The pastor was surprised at how heavy the suitcase was. When he found out it was full of journals, he busted out laughing. Still they were of more value to me than anything else I owned. I stayed with the pastor, his wife and mother for the weekend and got some pretty intensive crisis counseling.

They found a place for me to stay. It was a boardinghouse run by the Methodist Church. I had a room of my own and shared the bathroom and eating facilities with all the other women. There was a couple of large rooms with TVs. Breakfast and dinner was included and I could easily afford it. I was happy!

My dad came down to try and talk me into moving back home and I said, no thanks.

That experience in the boarding house helped me break out of my shell. I made some casual friends and we'd go out to eat or to the movies. For the first time, I could sleep at night without feeling like I needed to be on guard for noises in the night which could be my parents drinking or fighting.

Eventually I saved enough money from my job and moved into an apartment with a co-worker. We began to socialize with other people at work and from the church. We had parties. That's when I began to drink and unfortunately, that did get to be out of control. Still, I felt free for the first time.

I was on my own for 3 years. Meanwhile, my parents moved from Baltimore to Laurel, which was closer to Washington DC where my dad worked. My brother had also moved out by then and my parents didn't see any point in staying in a big townhouse by themselves.

Then I was recommended by my boss (who became a good friend over the years) to the director of the National Center for Law & the Deaf in Washington DC. I would be making a lot more money and it was a big jump up for me. I decided to take it and reluctantly arranged to live with my parents until I could find my own place. Big mistake.

The night before I was to move, my mother showed up at the apartment. She was covered with bruises and said she'd left my father. One of the advantages (heh)of growing up the way I did was that I learned to think fast on my feet. I called my soon-to-be former boss and said I needed a place in Washington near Gallaudet--right away.

She had gone to Gallaudet for the masters program and so she knew A LOT of people. She hooked me up with two guys renting a house right across the street from the college who were looking for 2 roommates. So when I went to my new job, I was living in that new, strange house and I'd taken my mother and cat with me.

The two guys, involved in the drama department, were Deaf and gay and pretty cool. It looked like it would be all right.

And then my father found us a week later. First he showed up at my new job and I went to lunch with him to get rid of him. After work, he must have followed me home because the following day he came back and said everything was fine and my mom had gone "home" with him and that I was welcome to go too.

I was shocked and pissed. I drove to my parents' place after my dad went to work and found my mother lying on the couch. She could barely move and was having trouble breathing. What's wrong? I asked. She told me she'd fallen on the stairs at the new house. Living here would be safer because there were no stairs for her to fall on.

Uh. Right.

She looked terrible and I told her I was calling an ambulance. She argued with me but I did it anyway and off we went to the ER. The doctor told me my mother had some broken ribs and that one of them had punctured her lung. It was partially collapsed. My mother was being admitted to the ICU.

Well...I felt like I had to move back with them to protect my mother. If I was there, maybe I could prevent the violence.

So that time I lived with my parents two years.

One night my mother had been drinking and became totally irrational. That particular night, my brother and his best friend were there. They were staying for the weekend or something and she started off trying to pick a fight with them. They wisely left and went out and I retreated to my room and locked the door.

My mother opened the door with an ice pick and came in wielding it. Enough was too much and I ran out of the apartment. I drove to a friend's and stayed overnight.

At that point, I was finally getting counseling for the panic attacks I was suffering. I called the doctor and he made an emergency appointment to see me. When I told him what happened, he said I needed to convince my father to have my mother committed to the hospital.

Hmph. I already knew that wasn't going to happen. I also decided I needed to move out again. My temporary stay with my friend became six months until I could find my own place. Once again, it was a relief and a big burden off my shoulders when I moved out. Now I was working as an interpreter for the Deaf and made a whole new group of friends.

Things were great for 2 years and then my car engine seized at both ends. I couldn't get to work and couldn't pay any bills. My parents said, oh, we're buying a mobile home. Come and live with us, you'll save lots of money. You can use our car!

Again, big mistake. That was 1979 and I was totally miserable there. The panic attacks, which had abated, were back in full force and I was filled with rage. I began attending Al-Anon and ACOA (adult children of alcoholics) meetings.

In 1980, it was this song that moved me:

Funky Town by Lipps, Inc.

Gotta make a move to a
Town that's right for me
Town to keep me movin'
Keep me groovin' with some energy

Well, I talk about it
Talk about it
Talk about it
Talk about it
Talk about, Talk about
Talk about movin

Gotta move on
Gotta move on
Gotta move on

Won't you take me to
Funkytown
Won't you take me to
Funkytown
Won't you take me to
Funkytown
Won't you take me to
Funkytown

Gotta make a move to a
Town that's right for me
Town to keep me movin'
Keep me groovin' with some energy

Well, I talk about it
Talk about it
Talk about it
Talk about it
Talk about, Talk about
Talk about movin

Gotta move on
Gotta move on
Gotta move on

Won't you take me to
Funkytown
Won't you take me to
Funkytown
Won't you take me to
Funkytown
Won't you take me to
Funkytown


I had to get away or I would lose my mind.

My beloved grandmother died in May, 1980. We went to Long Island for the funeral and my mother and I stayed behind in Grandma's cottage to help my aunt and uncles sort through everything.

I was surrounded by my cousins, aunts and uncles again and hit with strong nostalgia for the town in which I'd grown up. I began to think of Long Island as my Funky Town. What if I just stayed? What if I didn't go back with my mother?

I approached my uncles. They wanted to sell my grandmother's cottage but needed to have it fixed up first. It was a buyer's market then and might stand empty awhile and they didn't like the idea. I suggested they rent it to me. What a great idea! Even better, my cousin saw this as an opportunity to become independent too and said she'd like to share the cottage with me.

Free at last, free at last, Thank God Almighty, I was free at last!

I did leave Long Island again--but not to go live with my parents! When I married my first husband, Rich, we realized we wouldn't be able to afford Long Island if we wanted both a house and family. And so we moved back to Maryland--at least an hour's drive from my parents! But that is another story.

Usually I like to keep it light and do some cat blogging on Fridays but I didn't have any new pictures or stories. I did find this, however. I wish I'd been at their wedding.