Girls

 Many children are fearful of their parents because they discipline them. Sometimes they deserve it and sometimes the parents are wrong. They choose the wrong child to punish because none of the children will tell tales about the other sibling.

I was 8, my sister was 7 and my other sister was 5. The boys slept downstairs, we slept in the third floor attic, all three of us in one double bed. There were 16 steps straight down to the the second floor. There was a door at the bottom of the steps that locked us in the attic from the outside. IT was a hook and eye device, if we slipped a comic book between the door and the frame we could unhook it. There was no bathroom in the attic. Lucky for us none of us wet the bed. We used to carry on constantly when our mother put us to bed at 7pm. We would jump on the bed, hold hands and dance around the room making very loud noises. At least once a night my father would come up the steps and beat us with a belt, a hairbrush or strap. He knew never to hit us in the face because he would have to explain it. This was 1954.

Back then there was no such thing as child abuse. Your parents could do anything to you and no one told. After my father whipped up he would go down stairs and do the same thing to our mother. We could here her cry and scream for him to stop. He never hit the boys. Maybe he hated all females. He was a brute.

When we stopped crying we would start laughing again. We could not go right to sleep after the beatings, we were wide awake. We would get our pillows, sit out butts inside the pillow case on the pillow and ride it pillow down the 16 steps. We would gain momentum and slam into the locked door at the bottom of the steps. We did this over and over every night for years. After us three girls there were 3 boys and we never had too much to do with them unless we were babysitting them while my mother was giving birth to the next child. Every Sunday we walked together, as a family, up the street to the Catholic Church for mass. We were the epitome of the perfect family.

We had an older brother who was worshipped like the God of the Universe. He was the first born grand child and he way a BOY. He had sandy hair, blue eyes and was 5'6" by the time he was 9. He played baseball, ran track, participated in school activities and he was brilliant. The problem is - I was the next in line and I followed him year after year. All of the teachers expected me to be polite, smart, attentive in class, a leader and just like my brother. We both went to Catholic Grade School and we were taught by nuns. They all loved my brother because he would compliment them as often as possible. I am not that smart, at least I was not back then in 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th and 8th grade. He went on to a private boys High School and I went on to the Catholic High School.

Look out here we come!