It is September 1968. My mentally ill mother has been hospitalized - again - and she is having hallucinations and hearing voices. I would learn about that forty years later. I have come home from school, sometime in July or August, without any idea that a storm had been brewing. I am ambushed by my father who is in my bedroom, wildly and insanely tossing all my belongings into a suitcase.
All my belongings.
I say "Where's mum?" and he turns to face me and curtly, sharply spits at me:
"In hospital. She needs a rest".
"Why? What's going on? Why?"
"Just...just...just don't ask questions. I'm taking you to your aunt. Hurry up and grab your things".
My father is dumping me on the youngest sister of my mother, a woman who is a farmer's wife with three stepsons between the ages of 16-22, and a husband to cook, clean and wash for. She also works part-time as a cook in one of the country hotels. She is an alcoholic. She has buried two sons of her own: one a still-birth, the other a cot-death. She cannot have any more children.
My father has dumped his wife into the local asylum for the insane. He is preparing to dump his only child who is seven-and-a-half years old with an over-whelmed psychotic aunt who has crawled into a bottle and lives 285km away. That is four hours as the crow flies.
Spot the hidden agenda between the lines of this letter my alcoholic aunt writes. *Names have been changed to reflect my sardonic perspective as this level of breath-taking abject stupidity on the part of so-called grown-ups can only be integrated with a solid dose of humour.
Tuesday, 17th September 68
Dear *Sister-Who-Tried-To-Kill-Yourself,
Writing to let you know that as soon as we get to barbeque on Sunday, *Trophy Child met a few of her class-mates from school. She settled down OK, within seconds she asked could she have a barbequed sausage and a bottle of soft drink. Then she went to look at Uncle Don's pigs; one sow had a litter of young ones, were feeding. Then she went with other children and gathered tadpoles, then she had a chop. All in all she had time of her life covered in mud same as we use to get when we use to go catching yabbies. She brought tadpoles home to keep for *Her-Father-Who-Is-Standing-In-The-Way-Of-Me-Keeping-Your-Kid, for fishing bait.
[the letter continues a week later]
Wednesday, 25th September 68
Dear *How-Dare-You-Think-Something-Is-Fishy, Sister,
I have been kept on my toes with visitors in one way and another since you was here; as result I haven't posted *Trusting Child's letter she wrote to you and her father. Also I have had flu. *L. went to Melbourne Show yesterday to buy a couple of stud pigs, which he will be going to collect in Melbourne on Sunday in his trailer. So if it suits you and *Her-Father-Who-Accused-L-Of-Being-Cold-and-Unfeeling-Towards-His-Daughter, to let us bring *Vulnerable & At-Risk Child home Sunday and save *Her-Deadbeat-Father an unnecessary trip up here Saturday when *L has to go to Melbourne on Sunday.
Both of us think you are doing wrong thing by taking her back until you are 100% well as she is so happy at school and everything in general up here. It is a pity I hadn't posted her letters to you, as having been in bed for nearly a week myself, boys have been battling - anyhow I ended up having to go to doctors yesterday and I have pleurisy as well as flu.
*Your-Daughter-Who-I-Have-Been-Exceedingly-Cruel-and-Nasty-to had her sports yesterday and her team came second. Make sure you get *Your-Loser-Husband to let me know for sure if he intends *The-Child-He-Said-You-Got-Pregnant-With-On-Purpose-To-Trap-Him-Into-Staying-With-You to go home on weekend so I can ring headmaster and get her transfer fixed up.
If I am OK by Sunday I will be going down for trip as *L's sister E. is suppose to be coming up for a holiday.
Your loving sister,
*Barfly
PS: I haven't told her she is to go home on weekend: in case you may change your minds.
PPS: Please excuse *Dutiful Daughter's letter as she is at school and I don't know which is correct letter.
This aunt would dictate what to write in my letters to my parents. You know...the same way that terrorists tell their hostages what to write. I survived the sheer insanity, utter stupidity and pig ignorance of my parents, their friends and my mother's siblings.
I am not so sure I am going to survive the therapy ~
at least, not without a lot of comedic help because
I just cannot believe what a
fucking cliché my life has turned out
to be.
I was an only child too.
Epic suck!
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