Roll of Toilet Paper

     The older I get the more I realize we are all damaged people. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. But as children, we expect our parents to be these perfect storybook characters. You know the ones who tuck you into bed at night, and plant a big kiss on your forehead. The ones that speak softly to you and hold you when you cry. Speaking words of encouragement, love, and light. Those parents make Mickey Mouse pancakes for breakfast and rub VapoRub on your chest when you’re sick. These are the parents of Hallmark movies.

     The fact is most of us did not have this storybook upbringing especially if we were raised during the 80’s. We were being raised by damaged people. We were left to fend for ourselves often in charge of our younger siblings. We spent our days outdoors until the street lights came on. We drank from water hoses, poured hydrogen peroxide on our skinned knees while flicking rocks out of the cut, and ate government cheese. The 80’s were the best of times and the worst of times.

     Some of us, however, were raised by more damaged people than others, but still they were all damaged in some way. And perhaps they were just doing the best they could at the time. They likely had their own demons they were fighting. But as children, we did not know or comprehend this. We just thought they were mean or that they hated us. We couldn’t wait to “grow up” and move out. How’s that going for you? Anyone else wish to turn in their membership of being an adult?

     For most of my childhood I was oblivious to the fact that not all families functioned like mine. I thought it was normal for parents to fight. I thought all dads drank. It was probably around middle school when I realized that my family was not the norm. But It wasn’t like I was going to tell anyone that. I had friends who had similar home lives. And the ones who didn’t I just thought they were privileged. 

     There are two very distinct memories that stick out to me that caused me to build a lot of hate and mistrust in my heart. Overall, I was a good kid. I loved going to school, I did what I was told, and I got good grades. To most parents I would have been a dream child. But growing up in my household, it was always a gamble on what might tick someone off. It was this constant feeling of walking on eggshells. 

     I am sure there were many times as a child that I was disciplined. But not many stick out to me. One time my sister and I made a “cake” on our toy box out of condiments. We got in trouble for that but rightly so. The punishment “fit the crime” so to speak. The time I was spanked with a piece of 2x4 however was not one of those times. I was in middle school. As most young girls in middle school, I was very self conscious about my looks and changing body. The division of “cool” kids and the rest of us also became very distinct in middle school. Many of my former elementary friends were no longer my friends. I could never come to their skating parties or spend the night at their house. So, they slowly stopped asking. My friend circle became much smaller and I was picked on a lot. 

     One day a friend of mine asked if I could go to the mall with her after school. I was very excited about this and couldn’t wait to get home to ask. See I told my friend yes under the assumption my parents wouldn’t mind. This is what happens when you grow up during a time with a lot of independence. Anyways, I got home and my parents were not there. This was way before the time of cell phones. So, I wrote a note saying where I would be and who I would be with and hung it on the fridge. This was a friend my parents knew and I had spent time with her before. So in my mind this was no big deal.

     When I got home from the mall I was in such good spirits until I walked in the door. I was in trouble. Big trouble. In true daddy fashion, I had to look into his eye (he always said eye and not eyes which was really hard not to laugh about) and listen to him talk about how I was not to go anywhere without permission. My note was not acceptable as I had thought it would be. Being a parent now myself, I can see how this might worry a parent. But this was not about worry. It was about control. A worried parent explains to a kid why their actions were not acceptable and hands down a responsible punishment. I received a “talking to” followed by being asked to bend over daddy’s knee with my pants pulled down. Mommy said nothing. I was expecting her to say something…anything. I had no choice but to do as I was told. Bent over daddy’s knee as the piece of 2x4 met my bare cheeks all I felt was pure embarrassment. A part of my body I now felt was private was on display. I hadn’t done anything to deserve this level of punishment. Afterwards, I likely went to my room and prayed to God. I used to pray to him all the time. I didn’t understand how a loving God could allow for a child of his to live in such an environment. I didn’t realize it then, but this moment took a small piece of me.

     The second time I was punished in a way that seemed unreasonable happened later in middle school or early high school. I cannot quite remember. I have a horrible memory. Things come in bits and pieces. Our family consisted of two adults and six children. Of us kids, five are girls. That is a lot of hormones, body changes, periods, etc. As you can imagine, that many humans would require a good amount of toilet paper. For some unknown reason to me, daddy had determined that we were going through too much toilet paper and this was not acceptable. He further determined that it was I alone who was “wasting” said toilet paper. So, the solution was to assign me my own roll of toilet paper. I was to ask for my roll when I needed to use the bathroom and then return the roll after I was done. To this day, I do not know why it was me that was singled out from everyone else. 

     I just remember being so embarrassed. I was a young female who had extremely heavy periods which I did not discuss with mommy because I did not feel comfortable telling her. Looking back now, this may have been early warning signs of endometriosis or other health issues. I likely was using a lot of toilet paper because I wanted to be clean. But come on…there were eight of us peeing and shitting each day. That is a lot of toilet paper! At the time I also did not realize the lasting damage this punishment would inflict. To this day, I pay close attention to the amount of toilet paper I use even in public restrooms. Eventually daddy forgot about the toilet paper and I am sure moved on to a new focus. I felt so much rage towards daddy for this. I sometimes wish he had lived long enough for me to talk about these things with him. But now that I know more about alcoholism and the other demons he was fighting he likely wouldn’t have remembered or known why. 

     I do not share my stories to make anyone feel bad for me or to place any blame. I simply share them as a way for me to continue healing from the things in my life that caused trauma. I find that when we look our trauma in the face we can begin to let it go so it no longer has a hold on us.