I want to first start off by stating my deep respect and love for my Mom. My earlier post had a disparaging tone to it. Every word was true, but I am ashamed of the impulse to convey them. Still, I guess it helps to get it all out there, for context.
When I was a kid, I was taught to read at a very young age. Apparently, I behaved like such a freak that during Kindergarten and 1st Grade, the teachers just shoved me off in a corner with a book to read, because I was way beyond Dick, Jane and Sally, a bit impatient and very disruptive in their opinion. I don't recall being obnoxious, but I am willing to believe it. I know I was not a very pleasant kid; I was geeky and ill kempt and not a little spiteful. The arrangement in our family was that I was smart and my sister beautiful, which gave both of us issues. My sister is very bright, I am not ugly, and the distinctions were unnecessary and uncalled for.
I was skipped from 1st to 3rd grade. This would have been just ducky, except that my 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. McDonald clearly loathed me and did not think I should be in her class. I was certainly less mature than my classmates, even if I could read circles around them. In 4th grade, I had the most peculiar teacher, Mrs. Stried, who frightened us daily with tales of urban folklore, persons who had dangled their elbows out of car windows, to have them torn off by passing vehicles, and not even noticing for several miles, deathbed scenes and other lurid stories. I hadn't really assimilated into class yet, but the pack had moved on to more interesting targets than me. Things changed in late fall.
I was at a Girl Scout campout (the same one where we had a seance, urging the ghost of JFK to snap someone's bra strap). Despite a couple of years of ballet lessons, I persisted in being ungainly in my best moments. Playing Pop the Whip, I was tossed across the room, skidded on a sleeping bag and struck my head against the soda machine, sustaining a severe brain concussion.
I might have been hospitalized, but having no insurance for such things, I was put into a recliner at home and placed in a drug induced coma to let the blood clots in my brain dissolve. I guess it was crucial that I not knock them loose and stroke myself out. So, big chunk of missing but accounted for time; about three months. My intellect took a tiny hit, but my eyesight was hosed. So, spectacles.
Fifth grade, I made a real friend, Liz. She went to another school than I did, which probably helped. We had overnighters, wrote letters to each other, and watched Twilight Zone together. I have lost touch with her, and I hope she is faring well. Sixth grade, different school. Seventh grade, another school. This was for the convenience of my Mom, who was having to work full time after the sudden death of my father.
Essentially, besides a little brain damage, I had a decent childhood. Things got weird when I hit puberty. It seemed like everyone wanted to grope me. I will sidle up to that in time, as it is not easy to talk about. I can definitely say that kids need their parents around during that time to give them perspective, advice and guidance. It is not something navigated successfully on your own.
I sort of fell into the Drama Club, and then Debate Club. I had a knack for debate, as I can be very argumentative, and I had very able instructors. My interest in theater arts was limited to finding props and building sets. I have never been able to perform. I was in Choir for four years as a second Alto, but couldn't/wouldn't sing audibly if anyone was looking at me.
I have no idea why I couldn't sing or perform, but I could get up and chew someone's face off over solar energy or world food banks. That is just the way it was for the entirety of high school. I had sex way too early. I was stoned all the time. And I didn't have any notion of what I did well, what I didn't do well and what would pay the bills.
I began college early, age 17, as pre-Med, and took all the basic classes, but decided that I didn't have the staying power to be a doctor. I rage quit Baylor University a couple of times (largely due to a disconnect of temperament and ethos) and worked in a professional dinner theater in Austin. Consequently, I switched to Theater Arts for a semester, then landed finally in the Art Department. I got a Bachelors in Graphic Art with a minor in Art History. I learned about the pyramids and various arches and wonders and sculptures and paintings that involve my current interests.
This did not pay the bills. After a mercifully short stint at hair and runway modeling (I found that while it was interesting, invariably, I was treated like a piece of meat,) and an earlier mentioned trainwreck of a job with a printing firm, I worked in a western wear store, eventually taking on quite a bit of merchandising and purchasing responsibility. At one time or another, I worked in suits, menswear, ladies wear, childrens wear, gifts, jeans, jewelry and hats; all separate departments. They offered me a manager position in Omaha, Nebraska, which I declined. I couldn't see moving there from Austin, as Austin is a lovely arts scene and Omaha is a frozen wasteland. Things began to get unpleasant thereafter at work, and for a number of reasons, I felt I was persona non grata.
At that point, I picked up and perused my friend Amy's book on Civil Procedure. I read a bit of it, got it immediately and marveled that people made good money by reading and understanding this stuff. It seemed pretty straightforward. About a week later, I quit my job and went back to school, this time into an Associate's Degree for legal assistant/paralegal education. THIS I was damn good at. I made straight As, Deans List every semester and was the most insufferable kid in the class, in nearly every subject (provided it wasn't scheduled too early.)
At the time, I was rebounding very hard from a severely broken heart and chose to stuff this all down by doing booking services for an alternative country band. I had lots of fun, drank way too much, and got to know things about the music industry. Mostly, that it is hard work, and people have no idea how grueling and unrewarding it is to tour. The day I graduated, I was offered a job in a downtown and well connected small law firm.
I do love working as a paralegal. I am good at crafting pleadings, I read quickly and with decent comprehension, and after some stupidity on my part regarding decorum, I became a valued member of the firm for several years. My stage fright (or whatever you call it continued to prevent me from appearing in court). There were politics going on behind the scenes that I was barely aware of, but I knew I was a fish out of water, and had just enough sense to keep my mouth shut about it.
When the firm, again due to politics, fell out of favor with a large client, I went to work in the Legal Division of the largest workers comp carrier in Texas, (and perhaps the nation.) I had a boss who valued me and took good care of me, gave me interesting work, sought my opinions, and treated me with cheery and consistent respect. That was absolutely great while it lasted, which was several years.
Something dramatic changed during this period; the SCOTUS ruling in Bush v. Gore. I just could not believe that the High Court could hand down such a craven abomination of a ruling; favoring the intent of Katharine Harris over that of the voter, and then have the temerity to stipulate that the opinion was not intended to be precedent. That is the only business the Supreme Court is in; is precedent setting. If it is not novel or of peculiar jurisdiction, it's not a SCOTUS problem. I lost my respect for the Court, for the institutions that could allow such a disgrace and for the political party that benefited from that corrupt decision. I started losing enthusiasm for the law. This deepened when I finally got around to reading Dickens' Bleak House.
Then one day, my supervising attorney up and quit over some stupidity involving the employees, talk radio, and some dumb kerfuffle over nothing. He either walked, or was asked to resign, I am really not sure which. It really tore our team apart.
He was replaced by a young She-Demon whose method of improving the department involved firing everyone who was near retirement age (usually for lack of computing technical skills), then she went on to those that had tenure and education. This led to me. I had watched her bully employees into making less than truthful affidavits to support termination procedures against other employees. I knew she was suing her own step father. I knew it in advance when she began to try to build a case against me. I had already emptied my desk of personal effects on the day she busted her move, took my handbag to the meeting in HR, and walked out the door.
I had a bit of a savings safety net, which gave me enough time to get into the employment which I enjoy to this day; I am a transcriber for a court reporting firm. This job allowed me to keep an eye on my kids, something I was determined to do, after being such an epic fuckup myself in high school. It doesn't pay well, but every single matter, every hearing, every court case and agency hearing covers new and current matters, and it is a source of endless fascination. Being able to work in my underwear and bunny slippers is just bonus tracks.
This wound up being more about what I know and very little about why I am a head case, although certainly, the basic elements are there. This post is plenty long and self absorbed enough, and probably dull as watching paint dry. I think I will leave the rapey abandonment issues for later.
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