Friday, May 6, 2011

It takes all kinds....

It's been a crazy few days with lots of rushing around-- I decided to stop all the rushing and just sit down and think...think about what I wanted to 'blog' about-- I started thinking about who I am today...and then that led me to think about the process that led up to me being who I am today.....Memories...I can remember some of the oddest experiences...like the time....

“Mom! David is naked again!” I yelled, bending my twelve year old head further down into the book I was reading. Out from the kitchen dashed my mother waving a spatula over her head. David took off with his six foot tall, muscular frame and streaked across the porch and down the driveway. The race was on.

The neighbors always seemed to know when David was at it again and they rushed out to the fence and grabbed their favorite spots.

“He went that way, Auntie!” They yelled as they pointed down the road.

“Down towards Rosyth School.”

My mom’s stern voice drowned out all the other voices. “David, stop right where you are!” He stopped and meekly followed my mother home.

David was a twenty four year old American trying to start a business in Singapore. A colleague found him with his wrists slit and begged my parents to help him. When he arrived at our home he was almost catatonic. After a few weeks he started responding to us, but he still wasn’t himself. At least I hope that running around in the nude wasn’t his normal behavior.

The first time we realized he was coming out of his shell was when a friendly neighbor alerted us to the fact that David was naked in our front yard. Sure enough, there he sat in a lotus position. Quite an audience had gathered to take in his performance.

Some people have a tendency to bring home stray cats; my mom brought home stray people. Most of them had serious mental and emotional problems. David was actually one of the milder cases. One girl tried to kill her sister. When she came to live with us she insisted on repeating the phrase “Hey Gurl, I go kill you gurl!” Her voice sounded deep and raspy, sending shivers up and down my spine.

Despite the general insanity that reigned in our home we lived quite a fulfilling life. The people who came to us emotionally broken would end up leaving patched up and put back together. It is no wonder that when I grew up I adopted my mother’s habit of bringing people into my home. When I got married it never dawned on me that my husband wouldn’t be thrilled to have interesting people come and stay with us.

”Honey, look who I brought home…oh by the way, we need to take turns watching her at night because she is a bit suicidal, darling.”

“What do you mean, a ‘bit’ suicidal??!!”

That was just the beginning. There were others who followed, but of them all Theresa stands out the most.

“Sweetheart, it might be a good idea if we hide the knives. Just a precaution, you know in case the voices in her head…”

My husband’s face said it all.

I assured him it would only be for a couple of days; just until the City Hall could locate a relative. We were living in Japan at the time and she was a Filipino, so I’m sure you realize that it took far longer than a couple days to find her missing family members.

She used to stand at our back door and talk to ‘someone’ outside. “No you can’t come in. No, they won’t allow you to come in.” She had these conversations with this imaginary person several times a day. My husband finally asked her who she was talking to.

“My sister Amy.” She replied.

“Why do you think we won't let her in the house?” He pushed.

“She’s dead.” she answered.

Okay! I think we had to draw the line somewhere, and stray dead people would definitely have to be where it was drawn.

Hmmmm....after going down that path of memory lane- things are clearer now- no wonder I'm such a crazy person myself! 

*Retrieved from an old journal entry of mine

2 comments:

  1. Ha ha ha....
    Bring some more from memory line pls. :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. @ Nisha- I took your advice and brought up some more memories of the interesting people in my life.

    ReplyDelete

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