Warm Tears and Cold Rutabaga Don't Mix
(or Ma, Was it Me or You?)
by
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One early summer morning I was up and Ma was still in bed asleep. I was probably around four or five. I went out to the back yard to find something to do and saw Dickie in his yard. I asked him to climb over the fence and come play, but told him he had to be very very quiet because Ma didn’t want any kids in our yard. He did as I asked. We were playing as quietly as we could for a while and then he told me that he had to go to the bathroom. He said that he would go in the bushes, but I told him not to because we had a bathroom off the kitchen in our house.
We very quietly entered the kitchen and went into the bathroom. I had to go too so to expedite things I pulled down my panties and slid back on the toilet stool. Dickie lowered his pants and took aim at the front of the stool. We thought that was a neat arrangement. We could pee at the same time and get back outside before Ma got up and heard us. Just as we were about to finish and go back and play, we heard Ma’s loud voice at the open door of the bathroom. ‘”Just what in hell do you think you are doing?” She came into the bathroom and grabbed Dickie by his collar and carried him outside, then took him to the fence and dropped him over into his own yard. I followed her out trying to explain that we were trying to be quiet and didn’t mean to wake her up and that we were sorry if she heard us. Ma got that glazed look in her eyes. She picked me up by the head of my hair and carried me back into the house. “You little sonofabitch, if I ever see you doing anything like that again, I’ll kill both of you. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” I asked her “doing what?” She slapped me across the face and went back to bed not answering my question. At the time I thought I got hit for making noise. Sometime later Sis told me that she heard Ma telling Dad that I let Dickie go to the bathroom with me. I didn’t know what was wrong with that. It was actually quite efficient in my view. It would only take one flush and we could both go out and play right away. I thought it was neat how God had made Dickie so we could pee at the same time. I thought of telling Ma about it later just in case she didn’t know, but Sis warned me that I best not bring it up again.
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About the Book
The author takes us on a journey across several years sharing her experiences while growing up in family that appears void of any feelings of love. Dominated by a forceful mother who involves her daughter in her own extra marital affairs, she proves that children may not be the best secret keepers. The trip, oft times funny as well as cruel reveals a little girl seeking approval and recognition from her adult caretakers, but instead ultimately finds herself in trouble. Convinced that even God has turned away from her, she sometimes causes the reader to laugh and sometimes to cry.
In the writing, the author shares her experiences for the lessons they offer that may be useful to others who have been taught to think they are not of value to the world. There is a message here for parents, Social Workers, Psychologists and Psychiatrists and victims of childhood cruelty and suppression. The ultimate message in her story seems to be the importance of forgiveness. Warm Tears and Cold Rutabaga is written simply and honestly from the author’s vivid memories. It is well worth the read.
About the Author
In this book the author lets us look through the eyes of an adopted child growing up in a less than ideal environment. With both heartfelt tears and wonderful good humor, she describes her amazing experiences and subsequent psychological scars. This is a glimpse of what life was like for a free spirited child growing up under the domination of an oft times cruel and seemingly uncaring mother.
After retiring from a career in telecommunications, Barbara Patton found that she was still haunted by memories of her childhood that she had tried to keep hidden. In this writing she examines what she had been taught to believe about herself. She shares with us a childhood adventure that is not always happy, but in the writing of it, she has achieved some freedom from the past.
Now a resident of