Humor Saved My Sanity

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  I have always suspected that my sense of humor is the reason that I have never been to therapy. In a round about way, it has probably kept me out of jail as well. This became even more apparent the other day when my sister and I were discussing some of the huge battles that our oldest sister and our mother used to have. We always laugh to the point of tears when recalling the day that there wasn't a bite of food in the house and our mother had been gone when we awoke that morning. We were ages 8 (me) and 11 (her). Our older sister (18), her newborn baby, and our 3 year old brother, were also at home. We waited all day, knowing she would pull up at any moment with food for us. Finally, at the edge of dark, her car pulled in the drive. She had no food when she walked in but did have a new hair cut and color. We could have cried...

Our Sister ~ "Did you bring food?"

Mom ~ "No..."

Our Sister ~ "Why not?!"

Mom ~ "It took every dime I had  to get my hair done!" ( She didn't even seem apologetic)

Our Sister ~ "Well, I guess I'll cut off your damn head and feed it to these kids for dinner!"

  I am sure that no other person can see the humor in this. But, if you knew how entitled my mother acted all the time.  If you knew how often she told us kids that it was her turn to be happy and how selfish we were to ever complain about being hungry, or home alone, or never having any decent clothes to wear. How she would burst into tears and swear she was doing the best she could ( all the while, blowing the money we received from our dead father's Social Security on drunks and bringing strange men home to her room day after day) and tell us we were being mean to her. If you had ever saw the beatings she gave our older sister... You would understand how funny it was to see the look on her face when our sister told her that. We literally heard her teeth click! She was afraid. She deserved to be.

  There were many battles like that. But they never resulted in any change in our circumstances. Being kids, the best we could do was watch silently, then go to bed and whisper reenactments of what we had just witnessed. Giggling and deciding who we thought had "won". Then we would weave tales of how it would be when we grew up and had our own children. How our kids would always have plenty to eat,  nice clothes,  and a safe place to live. We would have a huge candy jar, filled to the brim,  and allow each of the kids to take one piece a day. Those stories, those dreams, lulled us to sleep and gave us the courage to face the next day.

  Somewhere along that time, I realized that saying something funny could stop a fight in it's tracks. Could bring a smile to the face of my sad sisters and brothers. Could help me pretend that it was all just one big T.V. show where everything could be brought back to normal, if I could find the right punchline. Could help me hide that I was terrified, or hungry, or cold. You didn't break me, Mom. I'm still laughing...

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