Along with Catholic school, and all that it entailed, came other pressures. My mother saw fit to enroll me into a slew of extracurricular activities. With the help of my grandmother, I took swimming, piano, and ballet lessons, simultaneously. These, compounded with the increasing complexities of my education, and family dysfunction, was too large a load for me to bear. So, my nervous ticks started up again. I thought that they were gone forever, but they came back, worse than before. However, this time around, being a little older, I didn't squinch about in public. Subsequently, there was an endless litany from my mother, around the house. "Quit that blinking! Stop biting your lip! Quit scrunching you nose! Stop shrugging your shoulders . . . that’s a new one!"
To be quite honest, I didn't know who terrified me the most ~ my mother, the nuns, the priests, or the devil. I prayed that if I did everything correctly, and didn't look to the left or the right, that none of them could get me. Even then, that might not be enough to ensure my safety. I slowly figured out, that one way to ingratiate myself, was to excel in sports. Like everything else, I threw myself into them with vigor. I was quite surprised to learn that I had a highly competitive spirit and was naturally athletic. This was a real eye opener to me, not to mention, a godsend. I mastered any sport that came my way: first, four square, then, kickball, dodgeball, and on to volleyball, baseball, basketball, racquetball; and even, football with the boys.
I became quite a little celebrity, in my own right and took to showing off. People, seemed to like my court antics. Though this, not being exactly an exercise in humility; even the nuns, saw the advantageous edge it gave to our home teams. Actually, sports became my saving grace, and since I had to practice after school, I didn't have to go home. Still, no matter how hard I tried, the nuns never fawned over me like they did with Irene Desmond, or Kathy O'Mara. I eventually figured it all out. I realized that it wasn’t just my parent’s lack of piety, which was setting me apart from the others, it was their lack of money. So, it really didn’t matter how much I tried. I was screwed before I had even started. I belonged to a very rich parish and many of the families donated large amounts to the Church. Of course, our parish never bothered to share anything with the less fortunate parishes that were in Silver Lake and Echo Park.
But, before understanding all this, I would spend long, arduous hours, collecting money for the poor Pagan Babies, in hopes of pleasing. I was always trying to find an angle. Maybe, if everyone learned about my private sufferings, my sacrifices, and and endless rosaries, which I offered up to the help the poor souls in purgatory, and to Jesus for his suffering; because of my sins . . . maybe, that would help. This was always on my mind, behind all of my other functions in life. How would I finally feel good and accepted. In which other ways could I suffer. Suffering was the way or so, I was being taught.
Then, when I least expected it, a situation entered my life that devastated me and overruled all my concerns. In a way, one could say it was an answer to my prayer.
Paula, I am really drawn to what you write and the way you bring all the events to life..I have to tell you I developed the same nervous tics , the blinking of eyes, shoulder hunching,etc. I noticed in the last two years they have returned a touch if I get vedry upset..wtf. Keep on writing..you are truly a beautiful, articulate women..I am blessed to have met you..... Jen Jen
Man, it's a wonder you didn't go psycho. I'm loving your writing though, it's spellbinding. What Jennie said! You are a beautiful, articulate woman with a beautiful spirit.
I'm a little hesitant about putting this here...your story reminded me of something, which your stories usually do. Grade school memorys, the sixth grade...one of my best friends back then was Patty, and she loved to play baseball. Patty lived about a block and a half from me. I was never that good at sports because of hay fever bordering on asthma, but I was playing catch and she was the batter. She decided to take her shirt off. Remember, this is the sixth grade...my friend Mark Himpler yells out "look at the pimples!" and Patty just grins, shaking that bat like she means business. Then our teacher told her to put her shirt on and Patty says, "the boys can do it, why can't I?" I can still see her grinning and holding that bat...it's making me grin right now. She knew exactly what she was doing. My sixth grade teacher was one of my favorties, I was lucky to have her. She started talking about sex education soon after that, which would probably get her in trouble today. It was around 1964, I think, in a public school on liberal long island.
EASY TO BE HARD
Often, there was the question of how, when or where. What matters most is why...
They say there is but five degrees of separation between all of us.
This is my story and observations about growing up under the infamous Hollywood Sign, in the 50's 60' and 70's. This is also a story of my entering the fast lane, and finding that if I wanted to survive, I had to get off it, but... it wasn't that easy.
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