Can't make this stuff up. So now we laugh!

Birthdays are tough and they can be made tougher by childhood memories.

"We went out to a show and saw your friends back stage, and we were surprised that they like you!" "Happy Birthday, we went out to eat on your birthday, we celebrated. Did we tell you?" 

It's hard to describe when your parents act like children in middle school deliberately being vindictive. You don't expect this from the adults. So now I have my own rituals and celebrations. I swim my age in pool lengths on my birthday. Talk about empowerment! I work up to it, training in advance so it will be fun.

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I'm remembering my brother cutting his wrist while cleaning the ten gallon glass hamster tank in the yellow bathtub. My mother called the police for an escort and drove 90 MPH from Mamaroneck to Rye hospital. I was holding his wrist in the air wrapped in a towel, hoping she wouldn't kill us with her driving.

At age 17 I was left in the country house for the summer. I was told that I could return home but every weekend my mother said no, next weekend. This went on for 10 weeks until it was time to go back to school. My best friend Karen came to visit one weekend and drove up with my mother. She remembers me being scolded in front of guests for once accidentally not flushing the toilet. My mother, the wicked witch of Westchester, always found ways to punish me and exclude me from family vacations and holidays. I never understood it, but eventually I walked away and never returned.

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My step father was in the airport with the whole blended family and buying tickets for the family honeymoon to Jamaica. They just got married. He explained to the clerk that I am  three, under the age of five so I'm free. I shout, I'm five!

The weekend following the trip my mother haphazardly packed a suitcase for visiting our bio-dad in Hartsdale. He went crazy when he opened the suitcase and found mens undershirts instead of nightgowns, and no proper change of clothes. Then he saw that we were reading racy comic books my mother had purchased at the airport for us. We were ages 5 and 7 and didn't really understand why this 6 foot 4 very tall man was so angry. His loud deep voice terrified us!

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Later in elementary school I became obsessed with nail polish, the little shiny bottles with little brushes and glitter and bright colors. My grandfather saw me once with lipstick and nail polish and told me, "Only whores wear lipstick and nail polish." 

"What's a whore?"

"A streetwalker. After my mother died my father married the local whore. She made cakes and never let us eat them."  Grandpa grew up during The Depression on the lower east side of Manhattan. He was the youngest male in a family of nine. He was in charge of his 3 sisters, Rebecca, Charlotte, Gloria, so this was a big deal.

It seemed like all of the adults were against nail polish. I spent a weekend at bio-dad's again, and this time I hid my fingers. Our nanny had just painted them with silver glitter nail polish. I even managed to hide my nails while eating pretzel rods! Nobody noticed!