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STILL STANDING. M.G. Crisci
Читать онлайн.Название STILL STANDING
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781456634414
Автор произведения M.G. Crisci
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство Ingram
“I could pay tribute to Vicki’s many gifts—her appearance, her charm, and her caring attitude towards others,” he said, “but I’m sure most of you know about those.
“I’d like to recognize her outstanding academic achievements at school and her first-class reports since starting technical college.
“In addition to her studies, Vicki has undertaken part-time jobs, and her employers have all spoken very highly of her.
“Finally, I’d like to wish her well and success in her ambitions and aspirations for university, which she will start later this year.
“Please raise a toast to my dear sweet granddaughter!”
That autumn (fall), I became the first person in the family to go to university. I packed my belongings, left home, said a tearful goodbye, and entered an exciting new life chapter.
As he and I hugged, he whispered, “Make Gramps proud.” We both had tears in our eyes. All I ever wanted to do was to make him proud, and I did for a very long time. God, I idolized him!
Sadly, Gramps passed away in 2010 at the age of 72, after a short, sudden illness. He deserved to live far longer. Both Auntie Sandra and Uncle Reg had died during my childhood, but I did not recall how it felt. Losing Gramps was an entirely different matter. It was traumatic. It felt as though someone had punched a fist through my chest and torn my heart out with their bare hands. That was the first time my body and mind was consumed by grief and despair. I’d lost a part of me and life would never ever be the same again.
One of the biggest regrets in my life to date is I never got to dance at my wedding with Gramps. If only I could go back in time and relieve that night; Waltz as we’d done in the past. His early departure had a traumatic effect on my life for years to come. I’m still angry and bitter with the angels who stole my Gramps from me. I’ll never get over it.
Gramps’ early demise taught me that sometimes life just happens. We cannot change fate. So, when we lose those we love and cherish long before their time, some of us learn to weather life’s inevitable storms, while some of us get terribly lost in the very same storms.
4.
MY PORKY PIE
“The real history of consciousness starts with one’s first lie.”
― Joseph Brodsky
1988…
My first porky pie (innocent fib) was never intended to hurt anyone’s feelings. I was just the new girl at a new school, and I wanted to be liked.
It was more like Shelly’s and my “little secret.” Ironically, it was the first of many lies to come!
Becket Primary had a non-school-uniform policy. We could wear whatever we wanted. Cool, hey? Except Mum dressed us identically. Don’t get me wrong; we were the best-dressed kids, in posh embroidery Anglaise dresses with satin ribbon bows around our waists.
You name it, we wore it, and yes, we looked beautiful, but we hated being matching. Shelly, two years older, was more annoyed than me. One day she came up with a rather creative solution: “It’s simple,” explained Shelly, “we just tuck some spare clothes into our bags and change in the garages before we head to school!”
“What, the block of public garages behind other people’s homes?”
“Yeah!”
“Suppose someone sees us changing? Or Mum walks past during break time and notices we have changed?” I worried.
“It will be fine,” responded Shelly. “Plus, Mum never walks past the school!”
It was naughty betraying Mum, but I wanted to look cool in class. Imagine, I could wear what I wanted. My first selection was a pair of baby blue callots shorts (ones that look like a skirt) and a matching top that tied in the front. Since I was worried Mum would notice a lot of clothes were missing, I wore the same outfit every day that first week. I’m sure the teachers noticed, but they never said a thing.
As a kid, there would be many more fibs and cover-ups: spilling nail polish on the sofa, breaking a china basket ornament and gluing it back together with toothpaste, and searching the house top to bottom in the weeks before Christmas to find our presents.
As a teen, the Porky Pies grew larger: bowling nights with friends meant underage drinking at local discos and sneaking out on holiday in Turkey to meet up with a hot boy—I’ll come to that little escapade later.
I became pretty good at justifying my little lies. I rationalized they didn’t really hurt anybody, and my friends were doing the same thing!
As I was to learn painfully, lies do matter. When someone you love lies to you, it hurts. Equally, when you lie and it hurts someone you love, it’s sickening. It might even make you a little irrational, which is what happened to me.
~
Primary school flew by. I loved to read and quickly worked my way through to higher levels. My favorite books were Roald Dahl’s and Frances Hodgson Burnett’s, The Secret Garden.
I formed a love of both writing and reading and even created a newspaper, The Gazette. I’d sit for hours writing articles.
The only bad memory occurred when I was about 11. An Ouija board had been taken to school by a scary shaggy-haired girl who claimed the board allowed her to contact the spirit world.
I told her she was full of you-know-what. “Watch,” she said, “I have asked an evil spirit to place a curse on anyone with a surname that begins with the letter F.” She then pointed at my two friends and me. “That means you, you, and you.”
We were terrified! I remember going home and shaking like a leaf while crying against Mum’s chest. It was a different type of fear because I couldn’t control what wasn’t there; ghosts. I feared I’d be haunted by demons forever. Maybe I am and that’s what has led to poor, regrettable life choices. Who knows?
~
Secondary school was daunting. I was small and thin as a stick. My sister Shelly told her friends that Mum and Dad named me Cauli Flower (cauliflower). My maiden surname was Flowers!).
The kids would always find ways to tease me. One looked at me and said, “Vicki, what’s that string hanging from your skirt?” Another would respond, “Oh, that’s your legs!” Such comments hurt and messed with my self-esteem. They left invisible bruises on my skin which have stayed on me into adulthood. I began to realise that our own actions, and that of others, can be traumatizing.
Summer camp arrived; it was humiliating. I was 11-years-old, but I hadn’t developed like the other girls. We’d been asked to undress and use communal showers. I’d never taken my clothes off in front of anyone other than my mum! I was a prude and very self-conscious. I simply did not want to do it but was made to face the indignity, which in turn, crushed any confidence I had left.
“Vicki has no boobs or pubes!” Becky declared loudly on the school bus, mocking my figure to the boys while proudly showing off her push-up bra, as though she was the Queen Bee.
I slid down in my chair, cringing, and cried all the way home. I wanted the floor to crumble and swallow me up whole. It was the first time I’d ever felt humiliation and it broke me.
After that, I became timid and feared further hurtful comments. They came, of course; people can be cruel. One memory, that sticks above all others, was being told I was fat. (I weighed 5 kilos and was pencil thin.) The boy was joking, but I went home and swallowed laxatives to make myself thinner!
Despite my shyness, I was welcomed into the cool circle. People found me humorous, and I was invited to everything.
Boys and girls started to date; well, hanging out with each other on their bikes after school if that’s what you would class