Wired Shut

While I was White Water Rafting down the middle of the Colorado River, my mother was getting surgery on her jaw. I wasn't there for the surgery so I don't know what the rest of the family was going through - only what happened once I got back. It's a memory I had forgotten long ago until my memory was jogged while writing my story about the White Water Weggie.

Dad had to do all the cooking in the house for a while. Mom was on some incredibly strong pain killers. Her jaw had been broken in two places and moved forward a quarter of an inch on both sides. The doctors said her lower jaw had stopped growing when she was about 7 years old. The surgery was necessary.

She was on a liquid diet while the wires held her jaws clamped together. She could barely mumble out the words she wanted to say, and for the first few days upon my return she had to write everything down on a notebook and have us read it. This was more than unpleasant for her. She was miserable. Even her liquid diet had to be taken with a syringe. I won't go into details about how it operated, but everything had to somehow end up behind her wired teeth.

Laughing, or even smiling, was incredibly painful for her. She smiled quite often when I was young. She still loves to laugh. This was one of the hardest tasks bestowed upon the family, not to say or do anything funny around her for a total of 6 weeks. When a family is as strange and funny as mine is, I'm sure you can imagine how often we had to walk away from her in order to stop from causing her pain at something we had thought of or wanted to say.

We all pitched in around the house. My brother and I did the laundry (except the unmentionables they hid in the bedroom until Dad had a chance to take care of them), we would cook on the occasion Dad was gone and it was just us taking care of her, but most of the time he did the cooking while she was laid up. We would get her books from the book shelf, fetch the TV remote, grab fresh pillows and blankets and just take care of her the best we could. After all, she had always done that for us when we were sick.

Mom was in the living room one day when I started to hear this gurgling scream coming from the back of her throat. I was standing in the kitchen at the time getting her a drink. I had no idea what was going on, but I went charging into the living room, full steam ahead. She sat there with tears rolling down her face holding her jaw on both sides.

"TRN IT UFF!" She screamed at me behind clenched jaws. "Trn it uff! Trn it uff!" She screamed over and over, trying to kick the TV remote over to me. She was sobbing!

Without even noticing what it was she had been watching, I switched the TV off as quickly as possible and sat down at her feet, wanting more than anything to make her feel better. She was obviously in agony.

Suddenly her eyes lit up and she giggled. That made her scream again and the tears once more rolled down her cheeks. Then she giggled again, which made her cry again. It was a wicked cycle she went through for a good ten minutes. It wasn't funny, and I hated seeing my mother in pain, but her occasional giggles made me want to giggle, which I knew would be even worse because everyone knows giggles are infectious. Finally I had to excuse myself and walk back into the other room. There, I burried my face in a hand towel and giggled to my hearts content. By the time I went back into the room, she was doing much better. She looked up at me and whimpered "I'm sorry," as best she could through the mesh in her teeth.

"What happened?" I asked innocently enough. I shouldn't have. At the mere thought of whatever it was, she giggled again and the whole viscious cycle repeated once more.

Weeks after the brutal mess was taken out of her mouth, she told me what had made her laugh so hard that day.

"Manda, you know how I don't like vulgar comedians?"

"Yeah," I said, knowing even the "S" word or using the word Hell too often would drive her insane.

"What I was watching that day was by accident. I was flipping through the channels and I came across this comedian talking about how he once knew a guy who had all of his fingers on both hands cut off in a saw mill accident."

"Well that doesn't sound funny at all!"

"He said that the guy took up being a thief because he couldn't find a job since all he had were two thumbs. He said the guy would steal donuts all the time." She mimicked the action he would have needed to use by holding her thumb up in the air, stabbing through the center hole of an imaginary donut and holding it proudly over her head." Finally he stole donuts from a shop that all the cops ate at all the time, and it made them all mad so they arrested him.

"Well, he decided later on that he was going to clean up his act and go straight. The problem was that he still couldn't find work with only two thumbs. He couldn't dig ditches or type or do anything for anyone without fingers. Frustrated, he decided he'd start over in another town. Without fingers though, he couldn't grab a steering wheel and so he couldn't drive. Instead, he decided to take up hitchiking."

At this point I was already grinning ear to ear over her hand movements describing the donut thief. While continuing the story, she had carefully folded all of her fingers inward, making sure to poke ther thumbs out as far as possible. She looked like Fonzy from Happy Days. Suddenly she started laughing hysterically.

"Hitchiking?" I asked.

"Yeah - he was great at flagging down the cars with that thumb sticking out" she waved her hand through the air again mimicking the actions needed, including stabbing at an imaginary door handle with her thumb, "but once they got pulled over he couldn't get the car doors open! Finally he got frustrated and yelled at them 'Oh Hell, just go on!'"

My mother roared, and her laughter made me light up as bright as a Christmas tree. I laughed right along beside her. I always loved to hear her laugh.

She swore that day she would find out who that comedian was so she could watch the show again, but try as I might I can't seem to find it anywhere on the internet, to purchase or watch on Youtube. I can't help but think that would have been a great birthday gift for her this year.

If anyone out there has any
information on the comedian
I'm talking about, please
contact me with a link - either
on facebook or by leaving a
comment below. Any and all
help is greatly appreciated.

The Miller Miles

The first time I ran away with Byron Miller, he snuck me into his Grandparents house without their knowledge.

Byron Miller went to the "Alternative" school with me. We met one day in our Math class, I think. He was a cowboy, and back then I had a weakness for wranglers and Stetson hats. He was adorable at 5'10 and 175lbs. His dark hair and eyes were a sharp contrast to his fair skin pigment. His ancestry was Scottish, and anyone who's ever known me would know I've had a weakness for the Scottish blood lines and pride my whole life. Even my last name (Blackwood) is a Scottish name, though it's not my actual last name at all.

So few of my friends had cars that when I discovered Byron had his own car, he suddenly became a God in my eyes. He had it all; Wranglers, a Stetson, Scottish blood, a license and a car. He was a dream come true! I flirted mercilessly.

For some odd reason, Byron liked me right off the bat. Perhaps it was because I showed an interest in him while he was still new to Washington High. He was scared, much as I was the first few days I spent there. The school had many suspected Gang members in it, and each looked scarier than the next, but what Byron didn't realize was that we were all equals. Even the gang members were respected and were respectful of others. They even made sure to pay attention in class, lest a teacher get upset with them. They treated everyone like family and were even protective of the kids that would have normally been picked on in any other school. We were the Misfit Toys.

Byron's car was a little 1989 Honda CRX. It was white with black details, and before then I never even noticed them before. After I saw Byron drive into the parking lot one day before school, I noticed them everywhere I went. I even ditched my wonderful English "Business Writing" class one day to sit out in his car, claiming I wasn't feeling well. A few of the kids tried to pressure me into driving it, but I'd never driven a car before. I put the key in and turned it. The car lurched forward and jerked to a stop just before smashing into a light pole. It died instantly. All the kids laughed at me. They chanted something about a stick shift, but I didn't get the joke. I just closed the doors, rolled up the windows and took a nap.

By the time Byron came outside after class, the battery to his car was dead. Since the car had died, I didn't realize I had to turn off the car all the way and pull the keys out. Once more I had to endure an onslaught of laughter. It was a different laughter than I had been used to at Bonneville, though. They weren't laughing at me to be mean, but rather because the whole thing was quite funny. One of the kids with a big truck pulled around to give Byron's battery a jump start, and Byron kissed me on the cheek sweetly, telling me that it was ok. I confessed to him what I had done and why the key was in place to begin with, and he smiled ear to ear.

"You don't know how to drive?"

"No," I said, ashamed of myself. I was 17 years old that past December and I wasn't allowed to learn how to drive due to my grades.

"I'll teach you," he said to me, kissing me on the cheek again. "But in return, you have to promise not to steal my car." The kids around us laughed again and I smiled broadly. Byron held my hand in his, and suddenly I went from being a friend of his to being his girlfriend. That was automatically what it meant when a boy held a girls hand in front of everyone like that.

I got in trouble for skipping that class when I got home that evening. I was yelled at and screamed at. I stood there and took it, never once shedding a tear, never once breaking down or giving in. They had taken away everything but the mattress on the floor - what more could they do to me?

I bottled up my anger and frustration that night and let it all out when I saw Byron the next day. Even then I had very alternative ways of showing anger and frustration, though. Instead of crying or whining, I explained the situation in a matter-of-fact way. I even laughed at the cruelest of details, like the reason I wore the same clothes each day and why I chose to walk 4 miles each day in the snow and rain to reach a bus stop rather than catch the one by my house, because I wanted to get out of the house before my parents woke up. I told him about Tirzah Tolman and Steve; the two times I ran away from home. I laughed when I told him about my parents taking away everything I owned, thinking they could control me that way. What more could they take away from me? They would never control me, I wasn't the kind of person to be controlled by anyone, especially through acts of cruelty. Byron listened. He asked questions. When all was said and done, he asked what I would be leaving behind if I left.

"Only my dog." I didn't want to loose Cookie, but I knew that my mother loved her as much as I did. In the back of my mind, I knew she would never get rid of her just to punish me. Taking away everything I owned was one thing. Gambling with another living thing was something even my parent's wouldn't dare do. Would they?

"You're not going home tonight," he said. "You're coming home with me."

I protested, but only a little. After all, being the manipulative teen that I was, this was exactly what I wanted. Byron pulled me close and held on to me. I let him think I was in pain and that the hug was helping me, but in the reality of my mind and heart, I was once more getting exactly what I wanted. I found a place to stay other than with my parents. An evil grin spread across my face as I hugged him back gently with a weakening, sad grip.

He smuggled me into his Grandparents house and I stayed there the next several days. It wasn't easy coming and going. They didn't know I was there. I had virtually no freedom, but I was ok with that. Byron brought me food from the kitchen, and I lived the life of luxury, sleeping under a quilt and watching TV in the bedroom. I had soft pillows, there was a computer to play on and I could finally stretch out and touch something with the tips of my fingers no matter where I stood. The room didn't echo like my own did. What a wonderful feeling that was.

Three days went by before my parents showed up at the front door. Since Byron's grandparents didn't know I was there, I watched from the bedroom window as they knocked on the door. Byron's grandmother answered, told my parents that they didn't even know who I was, and watched them walk back down the steps to Mom's car. As they drove away I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I heard the footsteps coming down the hall.

I shimmied under the bed and grabbed my shoes to pull under with me. As I had predicted, they entered the room, looked around, turned off the television and walked back out. Unfortunately, they forgot to close the door behind them. I was trapped under the bed for the rest of the afternoon.

When Byron came back that evening, the look of panic on his face was as broad as a search light. He grabbed the door handle to his room and looked around wildly, obviously wanting to know what happened to me. His grandparents called him to the living room and I could tell he thought the world had just ended. They had surely found me.

They asked Byron who this Amanda girl was, because her parents had come looking for her. He told them that I was his girlfriend and that I hadn't been in school for a few days. He also embellished, and told them that he thought my dad beat me every night. He told them that he was worried about me, that maybe the reason I hadn't been in school was because my dad had beaten me so badly that I couldn't walk. His grandparents gasped in astonishment and told him that if he heard from me to please let them know. I slapped a hand over my mouth and sat there, stunned.

"Did you go in my room," he asked them both.

"Yes, why?"

"I just remember closing the door this morning before I left," he explained. "Did you need something?"

"We were just checking to see if maybe you had smuggled someone into your room. We didn't see anything so we just turned off the TV and left again. We didn't disturb anything else."

Byron came back to his room and closed the door. He sat down on the bed, trying to sort things out in his mind. I reached out and grabbed his ankle - probably not the smartest thing to do if we were trying to be quiet. He yelped.

"Byron? Are you ok?" His grandfather called out to him.

"Yeah," he said, obviously through a smile, "I just," he paused, searching, "stubbed my toe."

He jumped up from the bed and got on his hands and knees to peer under the bed at me.

"I'm so glad you're still here! I thought for sure when I saw the door open..."

"I've been here all day long," I told him. "I heard them coming down the hall and I just found a spot to hide. It was either under here or in the closet, and I thought they might look in the closet."

"That was smart."

"Yeah, but when they left the door open, I knew I'd be here for a while. I probably wont sleep much tonight. I've been sleeping almost all day. There was nothing else to do."

The next day we decided it would be best if I snuck out through the window and we both went to school. We would look around and ask friends throughout the day to see if any of them were willing to take me in for a while. About half way through the day, the Police showed up at the school. All the kids faces were pressed to the windows, wondering what was going on. They came straight into my classroom and asked the teacher which one I was. Then they had me get in the car with them and they took me directly to the Police Station where my parents picked me up. I was humiliated. I felt betrayed. I had trusted Byron to take care of me and yet I was being sent home.

I forgave him the next day.

There really wasn't much my parents could do to me, though they threatened even more. Physical pain only lasted so long. I was numb to it all. They said that they were going to pick me up from school each day and drop me off in the mornings. I scoffed.

"I'll get up before you and be gone. I'll skip my last class of the day and disappear. The only way you'll know where I am at any time is to be handcuffed to me all day." I kept a straight face, numb and devoid of emotion. I spoke calmly and rationally. It infuriated them. The threats and ideas continued, each one a weak attempt of gaining control over me and crushing my spirit. None of it worked.

That was the moment when I discovered that no person of the face of the Earth can force another to do their bidding. The human spirit is too strong for that. Even with a gun to our heads, we still have a choice.

"So what happened," Byron asked me. I told him everything, not skipping a single detail. I told him about the fresh bruises I expected to see in various places. I explained how they had planned to control my every move even more. I told him everything just as calmly as I had replied to my parents the night before. He hugged me tightly again and I knew I had him where I wanted him. He's surely find me a permanent place to stay now.

"Look," he said, "my Dad lives in Arizona. I wanted to go down there this summer to stay with him. I was going to drive. My little sister lives with her mom over in Clearfield right now. I was going to take her with me. Why don't we go now? We'll plan the whole thing out and I'll take you with us. School is almost out anyway, we'll only miss the last week."

And so it was planned. We would scrape together every cent we could between the three of us, eventually growing the group into four people. We piled up into Byron's two-seater car and we began the long journey to Arizona, three fugitives and a free spirit.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Bronson File

Eventually I was taken out of my High School and enrolled in the school for "troubled" kids because of my running away as a teenager. I was in the second semester of the 11th grade when this took place. My attendance was terrible, my grades were even worse. I had given up on school, friends, grades and everything in general other than taking care of myself. Some would say I was depressed - but in a secret reality, I was going through withdrawals.



I was put on ritalin against the Doctors orders at the age of four and a half. By the time I was fifteen, I knew that I didn't like how it made me feel. I stopped taking them all together. Mom started counting the pills every day, so I started flushing them down the toilet. I didn't know what withdrawals were, but I felt like wearing black every day. I went through terrible mood swings where I would lash out for no apparent reason. I would often get angry and scream at my parents for the smallest things. I never got away with that, though.



Convinced I was on drugs (when really I had taken myself off of drugs) my parents started taking me to shrinks on the military base. They prescribed Klonopin, Paxil, Prozac and a myriad of other mind and emotion numbing drugs. I refused to take those, too. I flushed them down the toilet every day, right along side the Ritalin.



One night I got into trouble for something. I don't even remember what it was. I was told to go down to my room while my parents discussed the punishment. Wanting desperately to show them exactly what the drugs would do to me if I ever actually took them, I took only one tablet of Klonopin. Even I didn't know what the effects would be. By the time I was to report upstairs for the punishment, my eyes were fully dialated. The suspicions only grew. They had me pegged as being a dope fiend and searched my bedroom that night for any illegal narcotics. The only things they found were the things they were trying to force me into taking. It worked just as I had wanted to. They got off of my case about drugs. They still wanted me to take my prescriptions just before bedtime so nobody saw my dialated eyes, but I still refused. I continued to flush them down each day, or grind them into dust and sprinkle them in the yard. There were a few happy birds flitting around for a while when I did that.



At the alternative school I started to run into people I hadn't seen in a few years. I had gone to school with some kids in Jr High that suddenly disappeared, much the way I did in the 11th grade. Of course I had few friends the entire time I lived in Utah, so I was used to spending my time alone. That suddenly changed at my new school. All of the Social Outcast kids banned together. We didn't pick on one another no matter what our ailments were. The kid with Coke Bottle glasses was treated with equal dignity as the girl with head gear (me) and the former Football player, kicked out of his school for trying Steroids. We were all equals, standing on equal turf. Nobody was better than anyone else. I was in heaven.



At Washington High, I was voted "Sweetest Girl" in the school, and my dear friend Trent Heckman was voted "Sweetest Guy" so our photo was taken for the year book. I had friends who talked to me in each class. I had teachers that would treat me like an equal instead of like a plague. I didn't realize for a long time what the core difference was between Washington and Bonneville, but when it dawned on me, it hit like a ton of bricks. We weren't Mormon.



We came from all walks of life. We were a collection of Catholics, Methodist, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim and a variety of other religions. The teachers were as well. We were Military kids, mostly - brought together in the middle of Ogden, Utah because of the simple reason that we were of a different religion.



I've always been a part of the Majority. To have suddenly been thrust into a Minority group because of the church my family went to (or rather, didn't go to) didn't make sense to me. I learned how to cope with it quickly enough though. I made friends all over my school and became one of the most popular kids there. Nobody made fun of me anymore, people asked me for help on English assignments, teachers praised me and my attendance became legendary.



I ended up making friends with a Bronson Babbit after a couple of months. I had known Bronson for a little while in the 7th grade, but like so many I knew, he suddenly disappeared. It turned out that they had moved, and later on was forced to go to Washington like all the rest. He had been a bit of a nerd boy when I knew him before, but I didn't even know who he was when he called out my name in the hallway one day.



"Amanda," he said, "is that you?"



"Yeah, do I know you?"



"It's me. Bronson."



"Bronson who?"



"Bronson Babbit. 7th grade."



He brushed his long hair out of his face, curled his upper lip into a snarling smile, and squinted slightly. Instantly I knew who he was, even with the eye liner and sweat band bracelets.



The very next time I ran away from home after being violently attacked by my mother in the parking lot of the school, I went to Bronson's house. That time I had decided to take my dog Cookie with me. She was such a lovely dog, I couldn't just leave her behind. My parents had threatened to get rid of her if I ran away again. I refused to let anything happen to her. I smuggled her on the city bus by sticking her inside a duffle bag and carrying her like I would a suitcase full of clothes. She never made a sound.



Bronson's family were kind to me. They lived in a small trailer in a Mobile Home court and were fine with me bringing Cookie with me. She got along with Bronson's mother very well and becamse a member of the family very quickly.



The family lived off of Hamburger Helper at almost every meal. They were all fairly heavy set, including Bronson, but their hearts were good and they took care of me. I was free to come and go as I pleased and continued going to school each day. My attendance remained steady, never missing a class.



Finally, and quite suddenly, Bronson's family had to move and I was forced to move on alone. Without anywhere else to go, I finally made the long trek home to my mother and father. I hated no having options.



Cookie was happy to see my mother, but I certainly wasn't. They had cleaned out my room, getting rid of everything I owned except for a mattress on the floor and the clothes I was wearing. I didn't even have a door on my bedroom anymore.



That started another jouney for me - one that would take me over a state border and over 600 miles from home... but that's another story. That's the story of Byron Miller, a story I've never told to another living soul. I'm not proud of it and I did a terrible thing, but I'm ready to tell the truth.



Stay tuned.

First Date

I was a teen run away.

I started at 16 years old and never really stopped until a few years ago. Finally, after spending almost half of my life running from the monster under the bed, I got tired of it. I ended the pattern with a new approach to life in general. It was a gradual change, I suppose. Though to me it seems to have happened almost over night, almost like I simply... woke up.

The first time I ran away, I was only 15 years old. My parents were coming down on me really hard and accusing me of things I had never even thought of doing. I had been accused of being on drugs since I was 13 years old and didn't even know what marijuana looked like. By the time I was 15 all of my parents friends thought I was sleeping around with anyone and everyone. In reality, I was still a virgin. More than once my mother threatened to take me to the doctors to verify that fact, but my parents never followed through with that threat. I wish they had.

I stayed with a male friend of mine the first time I ran away. He lived just down the street and his mom was out of town for a couple of weeks. I stayed in his room and he slept on the couch during that time. I always thought that was very kind of him. I had a huge crush on him at the time, but that never became an issue. We never so much as held hands. I knew what people would say and think if it became common knowledge, so we did what we had to in order to prevent people from finding out. That was the moment I knew I could trust Steve with my life.

I was working at Wendy's in Roy, Utah at the time. It was easily 3 miles from Steve's house, and I walked to work every single day while I stayed with him. I would work my entire shift, then turn around and walk back down the hill toward my temporary home. For the first time in my life, I felt a taste of freedom and I loved it. I couldn't imagine life any other way, and from that moment on, that was all I wanted. I wanted to have a chance to go to work and go home, to take care of myself, come and go as I pleased and know that I never once had to sacrifice my morals in order to accomplish my day to day life.

One night while working the change window at the Wendy's drive thru, a guy from school came in to the restaurant. He knew that I looked familiar and asked which school I went to. Right off the bat I knew who he was. I was amazed he even looked my direction. The Libby's were popular kids in school, and I was scum in the bottom of the tank of small fish in the big school. When he asked for my phone number and invited me to go play miniature golf, I thought it must be a joke!

We had a glorious time that night. We played miniature golf for the first time in my life. We stayed out until around 9:30 at night and then went over to his cousins house, where we sat in a group of 5, watching a favorite Disney movie. I was tired from work though and ended up falling asleep on the couch, my head leaned back against a very soft pillow. When Andrew woke me up later on to drive me home, I was incredibly embarrassed that I had fallen asleep in the first place.

I kissed Andrew on the cheek and for some reason I expected a call from him the next day. The call didn't come that day or the next. Nor did it come the next week, and by the time I had gone back home to my parents, I had all but forgotten about Andrew. I could only think that perhaps he didn't have fun with me, or he simply didn't like me.

When school started back up, I passed Andrew in the hallway one day. I said hello, he looked in my direction and simply nodded. He didn't say hello, he didn't smile. He didn't even really seem to recognize me at all! I was crushed. I had actually had a lot of fun, and Andrew Libby was my first date.

There's a strange unspoken rule still very much alive in the small town in which I lived. I wasn't a part of the religion, and I wasn't willing to convert. To many people (not all, but many) that was like having a swastika tattooed on my forehead. Andrew Libby found out somehow that I wasn't a member of the same religion, and because of that simple fact, was told not to speak to me again.

Steve remained my best friend for many years. When the world turned its back on me, he was my brother. When things went well for me, he was there to pat me on the back. There were times that Steve was more of a family to me than my own family was. I'll always love Steve for that.

Steve's little brother was another story though... Dan and I were involved in Breaking and Entering a private property. But that's another story.

My Religion

Mom started dating my father after a blind date (where she was 5th pick, the others bailed out,) and she was only 15 at the time. My father was a 20 year old Military guy. She'd always lived in the country woods, so this New Yorker was just different. There was an instant attraction. It just so happened that they were both the same religion; Methodist. Mom's parents hated the thought of their little girl getting married at 17, but knew that if they made her wait the 3 months before turning 18 to get married, they would not be invited to the wedding, so they conceded defeat. Mom and Dad were married in a Methodist church on June 7th, 1975.

It wasn't long after that my mom discovered she was pregnant. My brother was born on July 25, 1976. My parents never had a Honeymoon (btw - neither have I). Instead, my dad left the Air Force and moved her, while still pregnant, to upstate New York where he got a job in a grocery store and they lived with my Dad's Step-Dad, my Grandpa Frank. That's the way I understand the story, anyway.

They went to church with grandpa Frank all the time. He was the kind that would swear like a sailor and then repent on a Sunday. Eventually I think my mother got tired of it and decided that the church had too many hypocrites in it. That's when they stopped going.

Sometime after that, Dad joined back up with the Air Force. In the summer of 1979, Mom was pregnant with me and Dad got stationed in Germany. Mom said that the last thing she wanted was for her last child to be born somewhere other than the states. She wanted an all American baby. (LOL! And here I'm so proud of my Irish heritage...) So, Mom moved back to Arkansas with my brother to be with her mom to have me. I guess she was about 8 months along when she decided she couldn't take it anymore and moved to Germany to be with my Dad. Then I came along in December that year, 2 weeks to the day before Christmas.

Got a little off track there ... sorry.

Anyway, My brother and I knew basically nothing of the church for many years because my mother didn't want us getting "Confused". The only kind of church they had on the military bases were non-denominational churches. Mom and Dad thought that it would only add to the confusion if we went to these churches that Mom thought was full of only more hypocrites. She's got many strange beliefs, most of which I do not agree with in the slightest.

My brother and I used to sneak out of the house early on a Sunday morning and ride our bikes the 3 miles to get to the church for the service. There was rarely a service we missed. Mom and Dad just always thought we were out playing, or sleeping in. They never really knew.

Finally, once we moved to Utah and my brother moved away, there were no churches close by but the LDS church, and my mom would not have stood for me to go to an LDS church. It's the rebel in her, I guess. She doesn't ever want to "follow the pack" if you know what I mean. No offense to the Mormon religion, but Mom didn't want any of us to be what everyone else was. Besides, she was raised Methodist and firmly believed in the religion - just not the hypocrites.

I finally found a Methodist Church on Laker Way in Washington Terrace and somehow I talked them into going to church with me. We had a grand time, actually. Mom and Dad dressed up to go with me, and for the first time in years, my grades started to do better in school. I felt like I had their support finally. Then it came. The letter.

I started my first job at the Wendy's in Roy in the summer of 1996. I think it was Andrew Libby who actually asked me on a date while I was working there. He took me to play Mini Golf - the first time I had ever played. And the last. We had a blast. When school started back up again, he didn't know who I was.

Anyway - getting off the point again.

I wasn't making much money at Wendy's, and it was saving what I could for school clothes and supplies for when school started back up. One day I went to the mail box to get the mail and found something for me in it from the Methodist Church.
The letter said roughly that they appreciated my donations every week. They understood that I now had a new job. They outlined for me how much I made, how much was taken out for taxes and various purposes, and then told me how much I SHOULD be donating every week.

I never went back.

I tried a church here and there for a while and even became friends with a pastor once who was quite good. He expected nothing from me but kindness... but still my heart wasn't in it. It was too late and I was jaded at that point. It's been years now since I've set foot in a church. I imagine it will be yet a few more before I'm even tempted, if ever.

Ode to the Cinedome, Riverdale UT

When we first moved to Utah, I remember coming over the hill and hitting Riverdale road. Off to the right of the main road was a theater we instantly nicknamed the Dolly Parton theater. Cars were parked around its perimeter for a Sunday afternoon showing of Aladdin that November. Snow was visible on the mountains in the distance, and it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.


I was only 12 years old the first time I saw the Cinedome. I knew instantly that I would eventually see a movie there, and the following year Jurassic Park was released. We went as a family. It was the first time we had all seen a movie together in many years. I'll never forget seeing the teeth of T-Rex closing in around me on the curved screen. I jumped a little and grabbed my mothers arm as she sat next to me. I remember her smiling and almost chiding me a bit.


"Oh Honey, it's just a movie," she said. This came from the woman who knew Gremlins gave me nightmares for weeks when I was younger. I was tough for her though. I didn't let her know it scared me as much as it did. I tried to keep the incident with Frankenstein in mind whenever I was scared. I knew it was "just a movie" and kept my startled jumpiness to a minimum.


I always thought I would end up going to the Cinedome on a date, but sadly that never happened. My parents didn't like the idea of me dating really, and the only guy they ever approved of was 8 years older than me when I was 16 years old. To their credit, Eric had lied and told them he was only 5 years older than I was, the exact age difference between my Mom and Dad.

Eric wasn't much of a "going out" person. His idea of a good time was riding a bull named Yellow Dog and drinking Coors Light at home. Eric gave me my first full beer. It was horrible, but I drank it because I didn't want him to think I was just a little girl. I hated it.


There was a house over behind the Cinedome where a photographer lived. He used to do the portraits for all the High School seniors in the area. He had the most amazing lawn I think I had ever seen, but his view was of the back side of the Cinedome. I can't imagine he ever had any true love for the place.


Behind his house though was a hillside covered in lush trees that led down a sewage drain we all called "the creek" and straight to a park. I spent about 80% of my free time at the park, climbing the hill up behind the Cinedome and pretending to climb the bricks that jutted out from the joints of the building.


I remember once I had a couple of friends come over to 'hang out' with me, since we were getting to old to 'play' outside. I had been grounded for something; it seems like I rarely had any free time because I spent most of my time being grounded. Mom told them I couldn't come outside, but she said it was ok for me to tell them that myself. I went out and told them to meet me at the park, I would be there shortly.


"No," Trent said, "You'll get in trouble, won't you?"


"Who cares," was my response. "I'm always in trouble anyway. What does it matter anymore? I don't care. What else can they do to me at this point?"


"Are you sure," Doug asked.


"Yeah, I'm fine."


"Ok," they said in unison, sounding doubtful.


"See you later," I shouted loudly for my mother's benefit.


They headed straight for the park and I headed straight for the back door. They weren't 200 yards away when I caught up to them. We walked straight to the park.


We were sitting on a bench when I saw a familiar little blue Dodge car turn the corner. My mother had known instinctively where to look for me. I darted into the nearby woods and started to make my way up the creek. The boys were right behind me.


"Hey," my mother shouted. "Where's Manda?"


"I don't know," Trent said from the other side of the tree where I was hiding. "You said she couldn't come out."


"Don't you lie to me," she shouted back at him. He stood defiantly looking at her. I could feel the tension in the air. He knew we were in trouble. We had been found. Trent turned to look at Doug who stood a few feet away. Doug looked at Trent. Audible swallows of salivating mouths could be heard. They gulped in unison. Trent looked back at my mother. Finally, knowing she wasn't going to get anywhere with them, she pulled away and drove off around the corner.


The boys and I made a mad dash up the hill, running over the muddy bank as quickly as we could. We had planned on finding refuge inside the Cinedome. The boys both had money and were going to take me to a movie. I couldn't wait! We came over the top and burst through the foliage straight into my mothers waiting car. I knew I was in trouble.


I got into the passenger seat after facing her grinding teeth and icy glare. As we pulled away she let fly with one of her physical tantrums all over the top of my head. At one point she popped me in the nose and it began to spew blood profusely. She didn't even slow down. She just aimed at the top of my head and my stomach again. The boys, having seen this from the back view, called the cops as soon as they got home.


We got a visit from the cops that night. I had been grounded even more severely and was being forced to go to bed at 8:30 that night. I was dressed for bed and ready to hit the sack when the doorbell rang. My Dad answered the door and shouted down to me.

"Manda!" he called out. He sounded amused. "You have a visitor."

I walked the steps up to the front door, puzzled. Dad had NEVER let me have a visitor if I was in trouble before, and even if I wasn't in trouble I couldn't have visitors after dark - even at 16 years old. I peeked around the door and saw two uniformed Officers standing there.

"Young lady, are you ok?" One of them asked me. "You have a couple of concerned friends out there who were afraid you were in trouble."

"Tell them what you did," my Dad urged me.

"I snuck out of the house when I was grounded," I told them quietly.

"But you look ok."

"Yeah, I'm ok. But I'm even more grounded now."

"You'd be worse than that if you were my kid," he answered. My father gathered a deep-down belly laugh at that. They said good night and closed the door. Nothing more came of the incident.

I never did end up going to the Cinedome with Trent or Doug, or indeed anyone but my own family that one time to see Jurassic Park. I always wanted to have that chance, but collectively since I moved away at 18 years old, I've only been back for a total of 2.5 months in the past 13 years.

Now the curtain closes for the Cinedome for the last time. They plan to tear it down soon. I know that I don't have as many memories there as so many other people, but the fact that it was one of the few constants in my life durring my time in Utah has always stood out like a beacon, reminding me that some things are solid enough to stick around forever.

It's unfortunate that it won't be around forever though. Then again, nothing really is.

Cinedome, you will be missed.

Despite All Odds

Each day I live with the knowledge that my parents are ashamed of me. Each day that passes I know they claim that they do not judge me, but rather disagree with the life I live. Each day I wake up, I know that there is so little they know about me and how I live. And - what is judgement if it's not a disagreement with how someone lives or what choices they make?

I'm a strong, powerful, self sufficient woman these days. Maybe I haven't always been that way, but things change. Even though I live each day knowing they judge me and 'disagree' with my choices, I don't dwell on it or think about it each day.

I live my life with purpose. I've tried to find meaning in my life, and though most of the time I can't find it, I know it's there. Yes, I look towards the future, and yes, I remember the past. I even share stories of my childhood - but I live in the moment.

For the first time in my life, I live alone. I have no roommates except for the cat. I watch what I want on TV, I eat what I like, I go where I choose and I fully support myself. I pay my bills on time, I parallel park my car on the street and I go for long walks when I'm having a bad day. More than that, I'm a good person.

My parents were convinced that I was sexually active when I was very young. I didn't loose my virginity until I was 17, and even then it was to someone they knew. My mother was at one time convinced I would marry the guy. She never knew about us. They were also convinced that I was addicted to drugs at about 13 or 14 I believe. I actually took myself off of Ritalin at 15 years old after an 11 year addiction. I imagine my unusual behavior symptoms at that time could be contributed to having withdrawals after being on a highly addictive drug for so long. I flushed the Ritalin daily. When they noticed the signs, I was taken to a shrink and put on Paxil, Prozac and Klonopin, which I flushed down the toilet each day. One night when they were angry at me for something (something I undoubtedly deserved their anger for) I went down stairs and FINALLY took the medicines I had been prescribed by the military head doctor. When they called me up to 'talk' to me, my eyes were dilated. They didn't believe that the only thing I had taken were the medicines I was told to take daily because they didn't know that I hadn't been taking them thus far.

Once or twice my mom would make me take the medicine in front of her. I tried to hide them under my tongue to spit them out later on, but she found them. I tucked them into my cheeks, but that failed too. On the days I actually took the medicines, I nearly passed out on the bus to school. I couldn't focus all day. I would grow paranoid and became highly reclusive. I skipped school because I couldn't stand the noise of people talking around me. I grew fearful of everything and everyone. On the days that I flushed the pills, I felt like a normal kid.

I lost a lot of friends during the time I was going through all of this. I also lost all of my possessions, having them taken away one at a time. A lot of people don't know the true story of what happened to me back then. I was living in a daily Hell and fought back every second. I knew I was strong enough to make it and I was Hell bent to prove it to myself.

Eventually I was taken out of my High School and put into the school for troubled kids. I focused on my art and writing, finding an escape in every day activities. I never sacrificed my own morals or beliefs in order to survive during the times I ran away, despite what my own parents believed and told others about me.

I was beaten and abused by a boyfriend at 18. They never believed me.

I was kidnapped at 19. They never knew.

My ex-husband was controlling and manipulative, depressing, appalling. They wouldn't listen.

I nearly starved to death once and got down to about 96 lbs., showing every one of my ribs. Anyone could count my spine beneath a T-shirt. I asked for help in order to survive and they said no. They wanted me to return to the abusive relationship.

I stopped asking for help or telling them what I was going through because I knew it didn't do any good. Likewise, I didn't tell them how well I was doing. I just decided not to tell them anything of importance from then on. Last year, I decided to try again and was disappointed.

Three years ago, the day Pete proposed to me, I didn't want to tell my parents because I dreaded their reaction. Something about that is incredibly sad. It should be a happy moment. I told my Dad and he grew very morose. He said something to the effect of knowing it was doomed to fail before it started. When I told my mother later on, her response was simple.

"Promise me you'll give the ring back when you break up."

There has never been much faith from either of them, and yet I've worked my entire life to prove them wrong. I've worked hard to prove myself right - that I can survive and be happy. Perhaps they have hope - but they have NO faith in either of their children.

More than a year ago now when I called them to let them know that Pete and I had broken up, they told me "we knew it was coming" when I expected just to hear "I'm so sorry to hear that." When I had my hair done for Extreme Makeover, the first words out of my mother's mouth after years of not seeing her were "Your hair is too dark" instead of "you look lovely" or "Hi". When I moved out 2 days after I turned 18 and they couldn't understand it, my father said that my mother gave me 6 months before I came crawling back to them. My father gave me 3 months. When I went to stay with them last year, my father told me "You had a good run of it, Kiddo - but you remember what I said. We always knew you'd be back." It's no bloody wonder I left again in such a damned hurry. There was no way in Hell I was staying there for a full year. The breaking point was when they threatened to kill Oliver or turn him out into the streets because he had gotten out of my room while I was gone.

I left in July of last year. I called for birthdays, I called on Thanksgiving - but something was amiss. Something was wrong. Something was broken and I couldn't fix it. Then my 30th birthday came and went without a phone call, without a card. It was then I realized that they had no faith in me, and equally no hope. Truly, they were that disconnected from me.

I've done better since that exact moment than I've ever done in my life. I have the highest salary I've ever gotten right now. I have a job where the people respect and love me. I have 9 people working for me that would do almost anything for me that I asked of them and a boss that speaks frankly with me out of respect and understanding. I have more at this exact moment than I've ever had before in my life... Self respect, dignity, humility and a loving understanding of the world around me. I have my cat. I have furniture, groceries in the fridge, a reason to wake up in the mornings and a passion for all things in life; past, present and future.

It's been a release for me, knowing finally, once and for all, that I do not have the approval, respect or understanding of my parents. I never will. That's not something I'm looking for anymore. For 11 years, that was my greatest mistake. I wasn't trying to figure out who I was - I was trying to be who everyone else around me wanted me to be. I wanted more than anything to be a success so that they would FINALLY be proud of me. Knowing now that it's something I will never achieve has made me open my eyes to new possibilities. Now, I am finally proud of MYSELF.

I have people who read my blogs, who listen to my thoughts and stories, who respect and love me and want more than anything for me to succeed. As much as I love each of you for that part of you, I have to tell you that the only person I have anything to prove to anymore is myself.

I don't know if I'll be the hero of my own story or if I'll perish as an unknown at the end of the final chapter, but I wish the world to know that I have truly lived a wonderful life full of happy and wonderful moments, love, laughter and LIFE, despite all odds.

Without You - song from My Fair Lady

Eliza (singing):
What a fool I was, what dominated fool,
to think that you were the earth and the sky,
What a fool I was, What an elevated fool,
What a mutton-headed dote was I!
No, my reverberated friend,
you are not the beginning and the end.

Professor Higgins (speaking):
You impetant hussy! There's not an idea in your head or a word in your mouth that I haven't put there.

Eliza (singing):
There'll be spring every year without you. England still will be here without you.
There'll be fruit on the tree.
And a shore by the sea.
There'll be crumpets and tea without you.

Art and music will thrive without you. Somehow Keats will survive without you.
And there still will be rain on that plain down in Spain,
even that will remain without you.
I can do without you.

You, dear friend, who taught so well,
You can go to Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire.

They can still rule with land without you.
Windsor Castle will stand without you.
And without much ado we can all muddle through without you.

Professor Higgins:
You brazen hussy,

Eliza (singing):
Wihtout pulling it the tide comes in,
without your twirling it the Earth can spin,
Without your pulling it, the tide comes in
Without your twirling it, the earth can spin
Without your pushing them, the clouds roll by,
If they can do without you, ducky, so can I
I shall not feel alone without you
I can stand on my own without you
So go back in your shell
I can do bloody well
Without...

Professor Higging (singing) interupts:
By George, I really did it,
I did it, I did it,
I said I'd make a woman and indeed I did,
I knew that I could do it,
I knew it, I knew it,
I said I'd make a woman and succeed I did!

(speaking)
Eliza you are wonderful

(Eliza)

Goodbye Professor Higgins. You shall not be seeing me again.