Me/1965

“For You have formed my inward parts;

You have covered me in my mother’s womb

I will praise You, for I am fearfully

And wonderfully made;

Marvelous are Your works,

And that my soul knows very well.

My frame was not hidden from You,

When I was made in secret,

And skillfully wrought in the lowest

Parts of the earth.

Your eyes saw my substance, being

Yet unformed.

And in Your book, they all were

Written,

The days fashioned for me,

When as yet, there were no one of them.

(Psalm 139:13-16)

God began to knit me at the end of June, or the beginning of July 1964. From non-existence to existence by God’s command, every forming yet to be born baby is a twinkle in His eye. I didn’t know I was a twinkle in His eyes, floating inside my momma’s womb unconscious of myself. I don’t remember growing inside momma’s womb. But God knew me, knew who I would be, even though I was forming skin, and every part of me was fragile, was tiny, He smiled.There is a serenity inside the womb, God whispered to me, and sang me lullabies.

Momma went into labor on Easter Sunday. I always used to tell momma, “You went through the pain of it all.” The suffering of child birth, the pain that gutted her, I banged on her ribs looking for an escape, and I found it the next day on April 19, 1965. Momma named me Matty after the cartoon serial, “Matty’s Funday Funnies.”

I was the second child, the first daughter, and when you are born, your place is figured out for you, the position you are born in, gives you certain responsibilities, just like finger prints, certain things are already imprinted.

(me in the little car and Boi.)

I was born into a violent world, momma and daddy’s, into their quarreling. The boundaries they marked almost from the beginning they made us take sides.

Momma told me daddy hit her with the handle of the broom when we lived at 1240, she went running down the street with a bleeding head.

Daddy was always sorry then they began all over again.

Despite this, there was a hum in my heart, daddy used to sing to me “Everyone’s Gone to the Moon” by Jonathan King.

Daddy worked in Certified Ads, and used to listen to “Summer in the City” by the Lovin’ Spoonful at work on the radio. Daddy wasn’t a musician but he loved music.

Daddy bought the Beatles’ album “Rubber Soul” when I was 4, he would never stop playing it. He would play “Run for Your life” over and over for me he knew it was my favorite. Daddy would also play the very haunting “It’s only love” which was momma and daddy, two souls that loved each other, yet destroyed each other. I loved the Beatles because daddy loved the Beatles. This belonged only to us. Daddy’s taste in music became imprinted upon me every song he embraced, I did too.

(left to right Jimmy, Boi and me)

For Mother’s Day daddy made recordings of us on the stereo he used to record his music on, to surprise momma. His stereo had the old-fashioned reel to reel audio recording. Jimmy, my younger brother who was 3 at the time said, “Happy Schmiles”. Daddy would call me every Mother’s Day and say, “Happy Schmiles Day.”

Daddy had recorded a lot of music on those reels, Seals and Crofts, “Summer Breeze” and “Diamond Girl.” Bread’s “Make it with you”, the Carpenters, “Close to you”, “Hurting each other”, Billy Paul’s “Me and Mrs. Jones”, “America’s, “A Horse with no name,” “Tin Man,” Harry Nilsson’s “Coconut”, Harry Chapin’s “Taxi,” were some of the ones I remembered.

When I began kindergarten, my soul was already much older than five. Loneliness had already made its home, despair coursed through my veins. There was already that self-loathing.

My kindergarten teacher was Mrs. Poole she was a white lady in her 60’s, whenever she would write on the chalkboard the flesh on her arms would sag. But I loved Mrs. Poole. I loved the doll house she would let us play in if we had been good. That was my escape, the walls of the doll house created for a child, cradled into that world, it was a wonderfully safe place and I cherished every moment I was allowed to play in there.

The first time daddy and momma separated was in 1971, it was the hardest. I died a little every day. Momma was pregnant with Melissa when she left daddy, we would call her Missy. Momma already had four children by that time Ray Jr. we called Boi was almost 7, I was almost 6, James we called Jimmy was almost 3, Monica we called Mo-Mo was almost 2. Momma took us to live in Hanford with her older sister Dalia, who was Sosa at the time, and her husband and four children.

I ostracized myself from this world, choosing to live inside my own bubble, hiding inside this shell. My heart ached for my daddy, but he wasn’t there.

The first cut was the deepest, as many would follow. It was then that I had a premonition of how my life would go. Even though I was only a child, I convinced myself, “I would never marry. I would never have children.” In my mind, I didn’t deserve to.

One sweltering summer day, I was shot with a BB gun by the neighbor’s son. We were playing outside and he began pointing it at everyone, he settled on me and shot me through the wrist. I needed daddy and called out to him, but he wasn’t there. There was a bruise on my wrist for weeks, worse were the bruises on my 5 year-old heart.

Boi ran to the house wailing like a banshee, as if he were the one who got shot. I don’t know if daddy ever knew. Boi was 6 then, I know he missed daddy terribly too.

I was miserable in school, the cafeteria lady made me eat my meat loaf at lunch, I couldn’t hold it down, and threw up in the bathroom. But I was so nauseated I threw up on my cousin Sandy’s dress on the way home on the school bus. But she didn’t get mad, she was kind to me, and put her arm around me the entire bus ride home.

We spent Halloween in Hanford. Before going trick or treating momma and Tia Dalia took all of us, my siblings and cousins to buy ice cream at Fosters Freeze. I saw a green two headed man, standing there if blood could scream I believe mine did. Daddy wasn’t there.

I begged momma in my dreams, in my nightmares to get back together with daddy. Yes, I took on the role of a beggar, even then searching for the crumbs. But they fell so seldom. It wasn’t that momma neglected me, but she had four children already and a baby on the way.

The joy of returning home soon soured as the screaming and the fights began all over again.

For years, I adored daddy. I would bring him his soda, his beer, when none of the other kids would attend to daddy’s needs after he came home from a hard day at work. I didn’t mind bringing him his slippers, the T.V. guide, the remote control. I loved to see daddy happy, it gave me peace it gave the family peace.

In the summer we would go to the drive-in. Daddy and momma would pack all of us into the car. One summer when I was about 8, daddy took us to see a karate movie. The movie he had taken us to see absolutely terrified me, watching steel hands karate chop bodies to death. I covered my eyes for most of the movie, until I slipped my hands away for a moment to see a man violently plunge his hand into the mouth of another man, his hand travelling deep down his gullet, ripping his bloody heart out. The man collapsed to the ground, his mouth torn a corpse. That night I was vigilant, terrorized that that man would find daddy and kill him. I slept in between him and momma that night waking up in a sweat, to make sure daddy was still there. I wanted to protect daddy, I wonder if daddy ever knew?

I was supposed to be Daddy “princess” he said I was, but I never really felt I was; those were only words. There was a man whose love came at a price. The love I could never figure out, or make sense of. I knew daddy never meant to hit momma his wife even when he did. He didn’t mean it, despite what my eyes saw, my heart never believed it. My daddy would never hurt me that way. It wasn’t really him.

Despite that, daddy knew I was his ally, his partner in crime. I kept his secrets when momma went back to night school. I never told her daddy had been on the phone, even when momma told me to make sure he wasn’t on the phone. As soon as momma left, daddy would lock the bed room door. The two boys played ball in the hallway even though they knew they weren’t supposed to but daddy was much too preoccupied to stop them.

Later, momma would come home, and demanded the truth from me. I lied, I had to. Daddy said this was the only way to keep our family together. She knew, what I knew, that daddy was talking to another woman. For years I hated seeing men on pay phones.

When daddy was between jobs, momma would send me on interviews with him, she called it “slithering”. Boi wouldn’t do it, but someone had to spy on daddy. I would sit in lobby’s, sometimes for more than an hour day-dreaming. It was expected of me.

This was a small price to pay year after year daddy, took us to the “Happiest place on earth”, Disneyland every summer. In my mind, this blotted out the parts that were painful. Every Saturday we went to the show. I loved going to the movies. Even though daddy could only afford to pay for three of us. I didn’t mind slipping over to the refreshment stand or pretending to go to the bathroom, until he had paid. I still wouldn’t trade that time for anything on God’s green earth. We were happy as a family in those times. I carried our snacks in a small tote luggage stuffed with hotdogs, cans of soda, and momma’s sunflower seeds. If the line was too long, daddy would start talking to someone at the front of the line. Daddy was so friendly and charming naturally he was able to “cut” in front of the line. After he charmed the person in front of the line, he would signal for us to come to the front. I remember passing everyone in the line, thinking how lucky I was to have a daddy that clever, we saw Grease and Star Wars without having to wait in those around the block lines. Daddy took us to see every 70’s movie with a PG rating. Even when we didn’t have a lot of money, I was amazed how he always found a way. Daddy would sometimes get money from Boi’s newspaper route, collecting the money until we had enough. Momma thought that was terribly irresponsible, yet she would make the hot dogs.

There was a gentle side to daddy, a very loving side. I never forgot the tree house he built us. Nor have I forgotten the rainbow striped swing set he and momma bought us. I still remember the sign daddy painted of Donald Duck, and placed on the back of the fence. “Do not ride over 10 years of age.” which was meant for the neighbor’s children who were too big for the swings.

Every Christmas daddy would paint Santa Claus and the reindeer on the garage door. I felt so normal when daddy would put the Christmas lights along the edges of the roof. Daddy and momma always made Christmas special. These good times are as etched into my heart, as deep as the bad times. On Christmas Eve, we put out the cookies on a plate near the fireplace. Daddy would eat every Christmas cookie we laid underneath the stockings in front of the red bricked fireplace. But, he always left the glass of milk. Daddy hated milk. In the mornings, there were the presents from Santa Claus, and the stockings were stuffed with goodies. Daddy would leave a note, from Santa, with the backward S’s. Daddy and momma made us really believe, daddy never took that piece of childhood away from us.

I remember the year daddy and momma bought me a white canopy bed with a pattern of pink butterflies on it, I felt like a real princess. Daddy was always very generous with all of us, and not selfish. Daddy loved to give. The year I took guitar in high school, he and momma bought me an acoustic guitar from Montgomery Ward’s. He painted my name, “Matty” on it, with yellow paint, “Oh, God, how I felt so special”. There were the times I was daddy’s “little girl”. I never forgot the doll daddy surprised me with, and all of the toys he bought all of us, "kids’ with the account he got at Arthur’s Toy Store. “Lucinda” the beautiful porcelain doll with the pale blue dress, was “dear” to me because it was from my daddy. I remember when momma and daddy bought me an electric guitar for Christmas, even though they couldn’t afford it, even though I never learned to play it. Daddy and momma still bought it for me. Because I was the leader of our make -believe rock band “The Shrimps”. In my heart, I knew daddy was trying to make up for the way things were. And I felt sorry for him.

I’ve wanted to ask for so many years, "Daddy, why did you come home late from work so many nights?” He must have known I dreaded hearing the deafening ticking of time, as it moved away from five o’clock. I wanted to freeze time until he came home. The clock had become my enemy, betraying us both. With every hour that passed, I could see momma’s anger, bubbling, she had the suspicion that daddy was not at work. Then they would begin to scream the same words they always did, “Chinga Su Madre!” “Chinga Su Madre!”

“Didn’t they realize what they were doing to all of us?”

__________________________________________________________

As a kid, I chewed bubble gum a lot, my mouth always felt like a dried piece of fruit, anticipating the worst. I began biting the inside of my cheeks. Every day I shivered needing security. The air needed peace daddy, you’re not being home was only part of it the other part was that you were.