Don't Tell Mama
by
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INTRODUCTION
Profanity and alcohol all became a way of life in our home. Abuse and betrayal also was well-known due to the excessive use of alcohol. Alcohol caused fighting, sexual abuse and even death as it still does today. It was a way of life that many people chose for their enjoyment. Many called it having fun. To some it was their way of dealing with problems. Alcohol was the drug of choice for many during that time. I never heard of marajuana and cocaine during that time. People would look forward to the weekend so they could drink after a week of working. People would seem to be elated whenever they were drinking alcohol. I observed people’s behavior patterns whenever they were intoxicated. Many would drink so much that they could barely stand up and walk. I’ve seen many people literally crawling on their hands and knees. Some would drink so much, they would become phyisically sick, yet they could barely wait until they could have that next drink of alcohol. Many called their usage of alcohol helping them to get away from their problems. The use of alcohol caused some people to become more envolved with sex. By being sexually permiscuous, many people contracted venereal diseases like gonorhea and syphilis. These diseases were transmitted from one sexual partner to another through sex. There were many times when just a simple night out with friends became tragic. Tempers flared during a heated argument or disagreement. This would sometimes lead to murder. I remember my stepfather telling me a story about himself. When he was a younger man, he and some friends went out for a night of fun. Sometimes, they would get into a dice game. This is a game played for money. As they gambled, an argument occured over the fact that my stepfather accused someone of cheating. My stepfather pulled out a weapon and killed the man. The worse thing about this was that it was all over one dime. My stepfather had to spend five years of hard labor in the Brushy Mountain Prison. He never got over what he did for many years. This never stopped him from gambling though. He enjoyed gambling. It seemed to be a habit that he simply couldn’t quit. I remember when I was a child listening to my stepfather and his friends in our kitchen as they gambled. They would scream and yell so loud that I thought they were fighting. Even then they would accuse each other of cheating. My stepfather would never allow me to see them gamble. They tried to make sure that I was far from the kitchen. I never understood why they didn’t want me to see this, yet they didn’t mind me seeing them drink and listen to all the things they talked about when they drinked. The noise and the constant traffic in our home would become unbearable for me. These things happened the whole time that I lived at home with my parents and there was nothing I could do about it. The noise would be so great that I could hardly sleep at night. Alcohol effected me more than it probably would effect other children my age. I let it allow me to become a constant worrier. I loved my mother very much and in my mind I thought that she might get hurt by someone since she was a very outspoken person. After I became an adult and had my own family, this all continued in my parents home. I never stopped worrying about them even though I no longer lived there. After all the years of worrying about them, I felt that I needed to be there to protect them from harm, especially my mother. I never stopped trying to protect her. I recieved many telephone calls from someone telling me to come and see about my mother because she had been beaten up by either my stepfather or sometimes the men that she got involved with. I continued to feel this way even until her death. It was as if she were my child and I had to take care of her. The way that I felt proved to be true as two psychiatrist told me that I was living a reversed roll and that I had become my own mother’s mother. They said that I would more likely prefer to live as a hermit someday which also was true. I didn’t
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About the Book
This book tells about a little girl life growing up in a home where abuse and alcoholism became a part of everyday life. It talks about how she overcame the problems around her.
She grew up watching her parents sell liquor which was called a bootleg house which was a common business in that town among the poor. This town was called a dry county meaning that it was illegal to sell alcohol in that county.
Growing up in a bootleg liquor house was not a good life for a little girl watching over herself.
She got a hard beginning into life from the day she was born. Her father was already a heavy drinker when he met and married this child’s mother. He was an abusive man especially when he drank. Even just a little alcohol made him violent.
Her mother endured this abusive relationship until she could take no more.
After finally leaving him, she was faced with having to earn money to support us. She was told by a new friend to start a bootlegging business which she did. This lead her into a world of alcoholism. Being at home day after day selling liquor to her customer she begin to join them in their drinking.It wasn’t too long before she started to neglect me, her own child. I was left to take care of myself. Usually hiding from the customers to avoid harm to myself.
I saw many things that no child should have seen or heard.
I was three years old when the bootlegging started. It continued until my mothers death twelve years’ agio. I saw a lot of anger in my mother when she drank as well as some joy. I would never tell her anything that might be happening to me such as the touching and come ons by her customers whenever she wasn’t looking. I suppose it might have been mental, but I knew anger and I knew in my heart that she might kill or get killed had she known someone touched me in that way. I saw her behind jail bars too many times to have her go to jail for me.
There was no way for me to escape the things that were happening around me and to me
I watched as the customers that came there would sit and drink for hours or until they go so drunk they could hardly speak. Some would speak very loudly. They had no respect for me and they all knew that I was there.
My mother would be in a far part of the house listening to her blues music with was turned up very loudly. There was no way she could hear me should I call for her.
I seemed to be a handicap or nuisance to her. Kind of in the way of her having some fun.
People around me were literally dying from alcoholism and these were people I had grown to know all my life since they came in and out of our home everyday..
My hope is that others will read this book and maybe establish a pattern in their own lives and stop it before things get out of hand.
This book also talks about how alcohol was made and its effects on people.
About the Author
I was born on February 9, 1949 in a small town called Lebanon. This was a town where everybody knew everybody and where gossip came with it told in many different ways. Many times I would become very embarrassed by some of the things that were said about my parents.
I usually heard things from other children at school, things that they heard from their parents. Some of the things were true. Never-the-less I suffered great pain and heartache from some of the things that they would say, usually about my mother.
I begin to write when I was 9 yeas old.
Writing made me happy and it put me into a world that I desperately. I could be someone else
instead of who I was. I didn’t seem to be a child at all.without my writing.
At age 13, I began writing short stories for my teenage friends, especially girls.
These were stories letting them fantasize about themselves putting them into character in their very own book. This was mostly about teenage romance. The girls loved it. They often ask me to write more for them. It gave the joy reading about themselves. I enjoyed doing that.
I wrote other short stories and books just for myself. I also wrote for school book reports.
In order to graduate my Senior year in high school, a teacher whom demanded the very best from her students had us to submit two book reports before graduating. I used two of my own books
to do the reports, which turned out to be the best in the class, which got me a passing grade.
I received such praise from my teacher for these reports, but she never knew they were something that I had written.
I continued to write books, non of which became published.
I did write a small 30 page booklet on self help techniques for underprivileged families. I published them on my own and distributed them among people of need through a public health department free of charge. I was also happy about that project and gained more satisfaction than any amount of money that I could receive from doing that.