Mama Had The Worst Disciplinary Methods

When I was a child I never realised how much of a drama queen my mum was. I realise now exactly how much. I remember this day through a daze of other memories, but I am pretty sure that if I type fast enough the movement of my fingers will hypnotise me enough for me to draw fourth this oh-so-almost-painful-memory, that is such a lie.

I had done something trivial which would embarrass you and me both if I took the liberty to give the full details of this ill fated day. What I do remember is that it involved L and me. Although, how a 12 year old could have been in cohorts with a 6 year old is beyond me, but we had been the Dynamic Duo.

 Ok bad script, scratch that.

I had done something i know but um being one for theatre of sorts, managed to drag L in it. I blame it on her ability to keep all my faults in a little box somewhere at the back of her brain and then open that little box.

Kinda like your mum, and yours and yours and yours.

What i remember about this particular night is how different her choice of payment was, as opposed to all the previous times. Before she would beat me to within an inch of my life and nurse me back to life again. I never felt closer to her.

On this day, mum had us in our little room. And it was little. The double bed all three of us slept on took up most of the space, which left very little room for anyone to wtqnd. You either pushed a pile of clothes to the floor and dove onto the bed, or normally i just stood by the door and asked one of the little ones to “hand me that towel.” “Throw that comb over.”

None of my parents ever came into the room, i suspect it had something to do with the fact that it smelt of dirty clothes and old socks.

I found a pair of grey ones in a corner, they had once been white and i had to break them apart. Something had caked them together.

But i talk too much,let me get to the point.

Mum was furious and she was in there, in that room with us.

“You are the most ungrateful children i have ever had,” by this time she had had four of us so she knew what she was talking about.

“You don’t listen and you do whatever you want, well i am SICK of it,”

She began yelling in earnest,

“I WANT YOU TO LEAVE MY HOUSE AND GO TO YOUR REAL MOTHER BECAUSE JUDGING FROM YOUR ATTITUDE YOU SEEM TO THINK I AM NOT IT.”

After yelling in the same you-are-ungrateful-vein for 5 minutes, during which time i had begun to hope that she would get the thrashing over and done with already. When i thought it would, she changed tack, and changed her tone.

Softly almost carefully like she was talking to idiots, whom I suspect she thought we were,

“I want you out of my house, go.”

L turned to me, I was determined to not let her see how wobbly my chin had become from suppressed tears, i took her hand and turned to leave. When i really wanted to throw myself at mama’s feet and beg her to stay. What stopped me was the giant roach i saw seemingly sniffing her stockinged feet.

“Hold it.” She said, “Now, since you going out there to look for your mother, i want you out of my clothes, take them off.”

“Pardon??” I was baffled, who was this woman who yielded no stick to hit me with, whose words hurt so bad.

“I SAID TAKE MY CLOTHES OFF.”

And we stripped, right there at the door we stripped down to our panties, huddling together.

“Who bought those panties you are wearing?”

“Y-y-you did,” L stammered, i almost kicked her.

“So take them off.”

And we did...this is where the memories stopped. What happened after that is probably so dark my head just will not compute, or i just don’t wanna tell you, I might tomorrow.