Tag Archives: relationship

The Peter Pan Syndrome: When Grown Men Refuse to Grow Up

1 Corinthians 13:11, which states, “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”

The boy-man charmer. Peter Pan at 60 isn’t nearly as adorable as at 20.

Ever notice some guys who act like eternal boys—charming, fun, but allergic to responsibility? That’s Peter Pan syndrome in a nutshell: Adult men stuck in Neverland, dodging commitment, chores, or emotional maturity. They want the perks of adulthood (freedom, fun) without the grown-up parts (bills, accountability, sacrifice).

In my family, I have a couple of brothers who fit the Peter Pan syndrome. I love them dearly, but I can’t hang out with them for extended periods of time.

In relationships, it’s toxic. The “Peter” expects you to be Wendy—nurturing, cleaning up messes—while he plays hooky from life. I see echoes in past relationships: All control, zero emotional growth. Red flags? Avoidance of tough talks, financial irresponsibility, blaming others, or bailing when things get real. They unknowingly tend to prioritize personal desires over the needs of others. With the Peter Pans in my past, their main escape was going out with the boys. They often drank excessively.

If you’re in a relationship, ladies, don’t treat a man like a child. Healthy love requires two adults. Encourage growth gently, but set boundaries: “I need a partner, not a project.” Therapy helps Peters fly toward maturity. For us? Choose Tink—sprinkle pixie dust on your own wings and soar solo if needed. Independence isn’t scary; it’s a matter of freedom.

Now, I am not suggesting there’s anything wrong if you are a big kid at heart. I am suggesting embracing the importance of adult responsibilities. Develop self-awareness. If you’re in the trenches, know this: Healing comes. Courage builds. True love respects you first. What’s your fairy tale twist? Share below—I’d love to hear. For more on how fairy tale fantasies can mask emotional dysfunction, read my earlier reflection:

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Filed under Personal reflections

Happy Birthday to Mama in Heaven

Dear Mama,

It’s been three years since you’ve been gone from us … you would have turned 91 years old today. I know you are celebrating the best birthday ever. On this day, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday in heaven.

I hope you know you are sorely missed. It’s no secret we’ve been through some hard times together. Although you weren’t the perfect mother, I wasn’t the perfect daughter. Perhaps, we were perfect for each other. I pretty much miss everything about you! Never thought I’d say, even your bickering over something or about someone. I miss buying you trinkets, pretty blouses, and taking you to a nice restaurant. It was good to help you forget problems and enjoy your special day. Making you smile meant everything to me.

In the end, it hurt to let you go, but seeing you suffer in pain was worse. I asked the Lord that you’d still be around on Mother’s Day. And God called you home in time; it was on Mother’s Day at 3 pm. You are totally healed now. You have no more pain. There is no discomfort, or tears, or worry. You are with your Savior and loved ones who have gone on before you. Please send them all my love.

I will never forget you. Sending you kisses and all my love, Mama.

Always your Little Girl.

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Understanding Co-dependency: A Path to Healing

Co-dependent. Such a complex word.

Have you ever realized how wrong you were in trying to do right?

My former husband was in love with himself. His needs, desires, and wants came before all else. I thought I’d make him happy if I did everything he wanted. I believed I needed to agree with his every comment. I thought fulfilling his every wish was the only way to gain some measure of sanity. I tried making peace by letting him have his way with me. I hoped this would make him show me tenderness. Then, he’d show me love. Surely, he’d prefer me over his need for others—hobbies, friends, or conquests.

But I was merely fooling myself.

I received no respect, and he continued his ill-treatment toward me. Silently, I resented what he was doing to me, but not enough to do anything different. I was allowing the offenses. This meant I was giving him permission to continue doing me wrong. It was as if I had signed away all my rights and life. I was slowly dying inside. I felt undone and unloved, with low self-esteem and zero self-worth. I felt lonelier with him than without him. Yet I still wanted him around. I yearned for his approval and acceptance. I lived in constant fear of him. I also feared losing him.

We think we will find peace and tranquility if we can control our environment. But in reality, serenity is often miles away. You have a false sense of peace, and trust me when I say it isn’t lasting. And oh, the price it comes with!

I’m no psychologist, nor am I a psychiatrist. But, I also believe there is another side to this spectrum. Sometimes, a person can love deeply. They’ll do everything for the other. This behavior often stagnates and handicaps the loved one from taking care of themselves. That person then becomes dependent on you for their needs and outlook. They are hindered from growth and maturity in making wise decisions or choices.  They are emotionally immature and can stay psychologically traumatized.

For example, in the situation with my mom. From her childhood, Mama was an introvert and extremely shy. Grandma loved her so much that she felt sorry for her. She tended to overcompensate in trying to help Mama by doing everything for her. Mama naturally depended on others to do things for her throughout her years. Then, in my early childhood days, I looked out for Mama. I did everything I knew to do to protect her. Most of the time, my help was unwarranted. She sought and relied on her significant others to fulfill that need.

Co-dependency can be a vicious circle. If left untreated, it can fester like a chronic wound in a relationship. This is especially true in a relationship that refuses to heal. Both individuals struggle with low self-worth. They have difficulty setting boundaries, and the relationship involves control and manipulation.

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Here are some examples of what it means to be co-dependent:

• The need to be needed
• People pleasing
• Trying to control others (aggressively or passively)
• Focusing on helping others before working on your own issues
• Being consumed with other people’s problems
• Rescuing
• Self-doubt
• Unclear boundaries in friendships and relationships
• The tendency to date (or marry) alcoholics or addicts
• Perfectionism
• Workaholism (or always being busy)
• Exhaustion

Let’s break the cycle!

Your turn. What does co-dependency mean to you?

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Filed under Behavior, Co-dependent, Relationships

How Misunderstanding Love Can Impact Relationships

Gary Chapman is a well-known author, counselor, and radio talk show host on human relationships. According to him, there are 5 Love Languages. Each love language describes how we receive love from others. They are:

Words of Affirmation – Saying supportive things to your partner

Acts of Service – Doing helpful things for your partner

Receiving Gifts – Giving your partner gifts that tell them you were thinking about them

Quality Time – Spending meaningful time with your partner

Physical Touch – Being close to and caressed by your partner

While reading “The 5 Love Languages” by Gary Chapman, he explains how the concept of love can be very confusing. We love activities, objects, animals, nature, and people. We even fall in love with love. He points out that we use love to explain behavior. “‘I did it because I love her,’ says a man who is involved in an adulterous relationship. God calls it sin, but he calls it love. The wife of an alcoholic picks up the pieces after her husband’s latest episode. The psychologist calls it co-dependency, but she calls it love. The parent indulges all the child’s wishes. The family therapist calls it irresponsible parenthood, but the parent calls it love.”

Now I’m not by any means of the imagination, a psychologist, a professor, a clergywoman, or a counselor. I am just an ordinary woman. I’m a wife, mother, daughter, sister, cousin, grandma, aunt, friend, neighbor, coworker, and recently a great-grandma. But, like many, I think we often speak the wrong love language. I definitely have.

In my youth, I did some stupid things out of “love” for a guy. And because I loved him, I thought, surely he will come to my way of thinking. He would love me in return, enough to change his behavior and better himself. After all, hadn’t I bent over backward for him? Worshiped the ground he walked on? Become his doormat? In order to gain his undivided attention, I forgot who I was.

In my teens, I covered my former husband’s transgressions. I hid his secret, sin, and shame. My way of thinking was: This is why I exist, right? It’s my job, isn’t it? His wish was my command. Barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen – if only I knew how to cook then! My smile hid the pain in my heart, and makeup hid the bruises on my face. I hid the grocery money and emptied the liquor bottles, refilling half with water, hoping he’d never notice. I’d called his boss to say he was sick in bed after another blackout episode. I told myself: I protect my interests. I do it all in the name of “love.”

I was tired. Burned out. But because I loved my children, I eventually allowed them the freedom of choice. They started listening to the “hip” music their friends were listening to and watching certain types of movies. Oh, sure, I just knew they were old enough and wise enough not to repeat negative behaviors. And yes, I was inconsistent, worn-out, and haggard. I even practiced tough love. I attended church activities and adhered to rules and schedules. Then I lost the victory in my own personal life. I tossed responsibility to the wind. I got lazy. It became every person for himself. I started doing my own thing. I felt defeated. Cold-hearted. Bitter. I had lost the battle as a wife. For a moment, I forgot there was still a war to fight. That war was called MOTHERHOOD.

That was many moons ago. I have moved on—my children are adults, and I am in my second marriage, 31 years now. I continue to strive to communicate this language in a healthy manner. It is far from perfect, but I continue to improve. I aim for a method that allows me to love, if even from a distance, without being overly legalistic.

These are my rambling thoughts as I reflect on Gary Chapman’s perspective on the language of love.

What are your thoughts?

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Filed under Gary Chapman, Love Language

Forever, For Always in my Heart

Soft, velvety cheeks. A round rosy nose. Dark hair like mine, but curly. Eyes, blue that sparkled like the ocean I’d seen in storybooks. I kissed her sweet-smelling face. Her soft, pudgy hand with tiny fingers, curled inside mine.

My sister, Anna, melted my heart. I won’t be alone anymore. I caressed her cheeks and whispered, “I’ll stay by your side for always.”

Soon left with the responsibility of caring for Anna, I became her substitute mother. I loved her and took care of her as best as a seven-year-old could.

Before I knew it, my baby sister turned two. Whatever we did, doing it together was more fun than being alone.

One particular evening, as I gazed into my sister’s baby blues, a sudden feeling of sorrow swept over me. Tears clouded my eyes. Something burned within my chest. I cried out, “Please God, don’t let nothing bad happen to her!”

Anna gazed at me with her gentle, trusting eyes.

“I’ll protect you,” I whispered to her. “For always.”

Before bedtime, we repeated a child’s prayer Grandma taught me, one that hung on the wall:

“. . . I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep . . .”

That night I clung to my sister and kept the strange premonition to myself.

My legs trembled as I crept to her room and peered through the glass-pane door on my tiptoes. I saw a blinking monitor. Then I saw her—my baby sister—with soiled feet, still in her little, green denim dress, tattered and torn. She lay motionless on her back, her curly, brown hair matted with blood. Her face was bruised and swollen; her baby blues closed tight.

I felt light-headed as I slumped on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, crying.

At the funeral, I held my breath and willed my feet toward the small white casket.

Grandma squeezed my hand. I took my finger and stroked my sister’s face, which reminded me of a plastic doll’s, stiff and cold to the touch. Heavy makeup could not conceal her bruises. Her little head—now swollen from the blow of the car that hit her—was cradled by a bonnet, much too small. She wore a new green dress, cleaned and pressed, without stains. Nor traces of blood.

I glanced up at Grandma. “Your sister’s in a better place now,” she choked. Then I placed a small cross under Anna’s tiny, rigid hands. My tears blinded me.

“. . . If I should die before I wake, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to take.”

Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace

Each year as her birthday approaches, I think about how special my baby sister has always been to me. But those memories turn bittersweet, as it is difficult for me to separate how quickly we had to say goodbye to her, just a month after celebrating her 2nd birthday. Her memory will forever live in my heart, and for that I am grateful.

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Filed under Memoir, sibling loss

Vacationing in Weston, Colorado

Hi y’all! Hola Amigos!

The mountains were calling and we went!

We recently returned from a glorious two-week getaway in God’s Country in good ole’ Colorado, with a couple of wonderful friends of ours!

And as promised, here are a few photos taken from my !phone (sorry…! Haha!)

Found this perfect quote to a perfect scenery:

“Heaven is a little bit closer in the mountains.”

Introducing our traveling buddies, Ed & Sandy Brockhausen.

Now having the pleasure to hang around with this couple is anything but a trip in itself!

They are delightful, and animated and know how to have fun, fun, fun!

Hubby and I.

And this is the Brockhausen’s little hideaway up in the mountains; took a while to drive up there.

Yes, these are wild turkeys! Some neighbors feed them; not sure if they’re pets or fatten up for consumption.

But no hunting is allowed in these parts.

See the beautiful Spanish Peaks in the background?

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Wouldn’t you know it? It started snowing the day after we arrived and my hubby was the first one out exploring!

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And then he got me to join him cuz he needed some warmth!

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Frolicking in the snow 🙂

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

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Meet Bailey & Dakota. They love going out in the snow – they’re in their element and they’ve worked up an appetite.

Another breathtaking view from the deck.

So peaceful.

Haaaaaaay!

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Let me take you on a little tour inside …
Upstairs loft/TV room

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A view from the loft looking down on this gorgeous kitchen.

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Notice the beautiful hand-crafted cabinetry.

Looking down at the Southwestern décor, colorful den.

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Check out the antler lighting.

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So cozy, comfy, and inviting.

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Enjoying some warmth near the fireplace.

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Yes, the perfect kitchen!

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Look at all the details. Their builder was truly a craftsman.

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Home away from home.

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The master suite.

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The guest room where we slept – not bad, eh?

The next day, it had stopped snowing, so we hopped in the buggy and cruised.

A wee bit chilly riding in the wind!

My mountain man – such a natural in the outdoors.

A couple of days later, the four of us took a road trip into town.

We saw lots of wildlife and deer are everywhere!

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I’ve known this precious friend–who is like a sister to me–for a loooong time! She be way crazier than me, y’all!

Taking this majestic view all in.

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A little disconcerting with some of the wiggly road signs!

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Oh, Lord! This reminded me of a scene in the movie, “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure”… LOL

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A quick view of Stonewall.

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Girls just wanna shop until we drop!

Red River, NM – elevation 10,350’. Between my tender back and needing to breathe in all this altitude, I needed to rest!

I guess I be more of a city gal. LOL

Good morning all! Are you hungry? Best biscuit and gravy I’ve ever eaten made by Sandy’s hands!

Man talk!

Horsing around in Trinidad, CO.

We met and made new friends, Mike & Debra Messemer.

Debra’s creation: One-Pot Cheesy Italian Pasta & Chicken was delish!

She’s also a great baker and makes a variety of homemade preserves.

Our last night in Colorado.

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Well, I hope you enjoy the journey of my vacation to a little piece of heaven.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

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No Guts, No Glory

When he drank, my husband became an overwhelming monstrosity. One drink was one too many, ten never enough. The more I tried to be supportive, the more he was in denial, declaring, “I can quit anytime I want.”

Emotions carved a hole in me like the machete Donny used to slice at the shrubs, vines, and lurking snakes. I hated seeing my husband in a drunken stupor, losing touch with reality. But when he was sober and in his right frame of mind, I became goo-goo eyed, in love with him all over again.

The paradox of my heart.

One foot in front of the other—that’s how I kept my sanity intact. Much too encumbered to mull over my plight, I tended to my girls and even began thinking about babysitting other children for extra income.

By then, Donny threatened much, delivered less. I tried to ignore his childish ways whenever he became too tipsy to do anything but slur and stumble about.

Except for maybe once . . . or twice.

I opened the door and knew full well what to expect. Glassy-eyed, with his newly grown mustache over a silky smirk, Donny was swaying back and forth. My Prince Charming had turned into a frog. He mumbled and staggered in. His pores reeked of booze and a sour odor permeated the air.

“Where have you been all night?”

A snicker and a sneer were his only response.

“You’re drunk as a skunk,” I said in disgust. I watched him trip over his own feet and throw himself on the sofa. “Do you know what time it is?” I persisted.

“Shut up, woman!” he slurred, rolled over, and sprawled on the couch, out cold.

Enough is enough. I’ll show him. I’ll teach him if it’s the last thing I do! 

I went into the bathroom. Donny’s shaving kit beckoned.

Images of a masterpiece ran wild in my head. With purpose in mind and a razor in hand, I stood over my prince-turned-toad, still snoring. Most likely, he dreamt he was a young Nimrod, back in Antigua chasing skirts, for all I knew.

Ever so cautiously, I leaned forward and began to give him a wee bit of a trim . . .

Come morning, I sat across the kitchen table from Donny, my gaze fixed on his slouched frame, forehead glistening, eyes bloodshot, hands trembling with white knuckles as he gripped the coffee pot. Suffering from another painful hangover, I observed while he poured.

I glared, poker-faced, amazed by my own bravado. Suspense was killing me.

“How’s your mustache?” I asked.

Nonchalantly, he brushed his fingers over his lip and started to rise. “It’s fine,” he croaked and downed his coffee. He refilled his cup and headed out, slamming the door behind him.

Oh well . . . I did try to clue him in. I went into the kitchen to make breakfast.

An hour later, I answered the phone to the anticipated call. “Hello?”

“I’ll give you this one,” my husband retorted. “You’re getting to be a gutsy broad. I’m getting picked on here by all the guys at work.”

I snickered to myself. “Kinda surprised you didn’t notice anything this morning, Donny.”

“Well, you got me. Have to admit, this is a good one.”

I placed the receiver down and sat back on the recliner. A smile twisted the corners of my mouth as I replayed the events of the night before . . .

I’d bent to my task but had frozen when he stirred and muttered something. I backed away and ditched the idea of finishing. I left him asleep in the living room and crawled into bed.

Over coffee this morning, I figured he’d take a hint. Instead, he went straight to work with half a mustache.

I confess: such rare acts of sweet revenge gave a natural high.

(excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace)

“The moment I started it, I had echoes of ‘The Glass Castle’. This is recommended for anyone who loved Walls’ memoirs, as they have some strong parallels.” –  Kath Cross (blogger).

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Filed under Memoir, narcissist

Dance with Me

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Well, here we are! It’s hard to fathom that we’ve reached our 23rd year. It’s been an amazing ride!

From the beginning, I knew I could rely on him. For the first time, I didn’t have to face my struggles alone. When he vowed in becoming my soulmate, he stood up to the plate in becoming a loving daddy to my four children. Although the roads have been bumpy, the ride has been exhilarating.

The route may not always be smooth, but the pathway is attainable because of his steadfastness. With every twist and turn, I find strength while learning to lean on his shoulders. In his arms, there is shelter in the midst of the rainstorms and warmth from the frigid winds.

He may not be perfect, but he’s the perfect one for me

Babe, thank you for choosing me. You believed in me before I believed in myself.  I want to thank you, for all the years by my side. Your laughter is music to my ears. When I look at you, I see the love in your eyes still twinkling … for me.

You are my safe place. I am not afraid to be me when I am with you.

Thank you for your sincere compliments, and for making me laugh (yes, I still laugh at his jokes). Thank you for putting a spring in my step, even when I throw my back out on occasion. Thank you for caring deeply whenever I’m sad, discouraged, or unsure.

I still want to curl up with you, with your hairy legs wrapped around my legs. I enjoy your gentle hugs, warm embraces, and sweet kisses — even the ones on my head.

I thank God for making us one, knowing that together we will weather the storms.

I pray that God will grant us many more years in making more memories. I appreciate you, admire you, and love you more today than I did yesterday.

May I have this dance for the rest of our lives?

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Forever Mama

As I mentioned in a previous post, Mama’s and my relationship and communication skills are a work in progress. This is good because we are so much better than we were before. You see, I missed out on doing the everyday mother-and-daughter things with her when I was a child. But as an adult, I am blessed because I get to do some things for her that she never could for me. That’s not necessarily a bad deal. I feel fortunate enough to know that there is enough stability in my life, although it hasn’t always been this way.

I enjoy taking Mama out to dinner and a movie on occasion because these simple outings mean a great deal to her. I remember taking her to her first musical about a couple of years ago to see “Annie.” I knew there would be a lot of walking; therefore, I insisted that we bring a wheelchair (instead of her walker). In more ways than one, that turned out to be a smart move. We were given great seats, close to the stage. As I watched those talented girls performing in the musical along with Annie, I commented to Mama on which ones were my favorites. But Mama’s interest centered on one thing. And one thing only. On Sandy the dog. “What a smart dog!” she’d say. “Isn’t that dog smart?” she’d ask. “Well, yes, but look at the little girl, the youngest one there,” I pointed out. “Isn’t she something?” “Yeah, but can’t you see how animals are so smart?” she squealed. “Oooh, I want to take him home with me!”

Okay, so Mama and I don’t always see eye to eye or agree on everything. What may mean a big deal to me won’t necessarily be a big deal to her, and what may seem mundane to me isn’t to her. However, we are working on improving our communication and understanding. We really are!

Just a few days ago, we celebrated Mama’s 80th birthday. Family and friends surrounded her with their presence, delicious food (at a Cuban restaurant), birthday cake, and showered her with several cards and gifts. She seemed more comfortable having pictures taken. I’m glad she’s still a part of my life. I’m glad she will forever be my mama!

Please visit She’s My Mama – posted last year.

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© M.A. Pérez 2014, All Rights Reserved

 

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Filed under communication, Memoir

“Tout de Suite!”

Through half-drawn curtains, I watched the other children at play, chasing one another in a circle, chanting, “Duck. Duck. Goose!”

Humpty-Dumpty, the daycare where Daddy dropped us off that morning, operated on a strict schedule. I knew I didn’t belong there. At lunchtime, they made me sit in the dimly lit kitchen to finish the tough, chewy meat on my plate while the others went out for recess. Just as I finished cleaning my plate, they announced, “Lights out.” I hated nap times, too.

By the time I was three, my parents had already been separated. My brother, Ruben, lived with Daddy, while I stayed with Mama. Daddy had started coming for me, but on one visit, he said I could stay and didn’t need to go back. I was perfectly happy. I didn’t know that Mama never agreed to him keeping me. Early one morning, determined to know where he took Ruben and me before he headed for work, Mama hunkered down inside a taxi and followed him to the daycare.

Later, parents came to collect their children. While my brother and I waited for Daddy, we played on the swings. That’s when the clunking sound of an engine caught our attention. We weren’t expecting them, but Mama and her boyfriend, Jimmy—my new stepdad—drove up in a gray jalopy. Mama stuck her head out the window and waved us on.

“Tout de suite!” My mama shouted in the single French phrase that she knew, her arm pumping for us to hurry.

Trained to move fast whenever we heard the phrase, we bolted in their direction.

Jimmy yelled at Mama, “Stay in the car, Ruthie. I’ll get ‘em.”

Jimmy hoisted Ruben over the massive stonewall and dropped him down the other side. Then he grabbed me by the arm and lifted me before sprinting toward that old heap. We clambered in and sped off. I glanced back to see the daycare worker running after us, screaming. Mama and Jimmy, cackling with glee, celebrated their successful kidnapping scheme. A strong odor of beer permeated the air inside the car.

I looked over at my brother, pretending to be brave but wide-eyed. I glanced down and noticed my scraped knees. A lump lodged in my throat, and a tear escaped my eyes as I thought, “What will Daddy think when he comes for us?”

(Intro to Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace)

© M.A. Perez 2014, All Rights Reserved

 
 

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January 9, 2014 · 10:22 PM