You're On Your on Kid, Part Four: More Hurdles

January of 1978 started out with drama. It was pouring down rain and close to midnight when Brother Skippy took a drunken walk on the freeway. He walked up the freeway onramp to the 5 down by Old Town, and staggered into oncoming cars.  His legs were broken in several places, but the skilled doctors at County Hospital put them back together with pins and rods.  His breaking and entering thievery days were clearly over, so he needed a new way to get money without working for it. 

The community colleges were handing out Pell Grants, and there was an additional program that paid you to take Racial justice-themed classes, so he signed up.  Mom thought I should get in on the free money too, so she took me to Mesa College and signed me up for the Pell Grant. Since I enrolled in Chicano Studies class I received some other free money as well. By the end of January, I was a Mesa College student, even though I was a high school dropout, and Skippy spent the days sitting in his wheelchair with a bunch of other freeloading stoners outside the cafeteria, smoking and sharing stories.  

On the first day of Chicano Studies class, I recognized one of my new classmates. He had recently started showing up for choir practice at my church.  After class he came over to introduce himself.  His name was Lou Jack.  He was 20 years old, soft spoken and cleancut. He apparently raided his Dad's closet, because he wore threadbare polyester old man's pants and a raggedy button down short sleeve shirt.  He looked like a dork, but he was very polite.  I figured since he went to church he must be okay.  I would come to regret my assumption in the weeks to come.  I will write a separate story about Lou Jack in a future posting.

I also had been cleaning house for a couple named Jack and Jan who lived down the street for many years.  After they moved into a house in University Heights, Jack would come to pick me up once a week and bring me to his house for a two hour cleaning.  I would also come to regret taking that job.  I will write my story of that experience in the future as well.  

By the end of March, I was not feeling well.  The stress that I had recently endured had worn me down.  I caught a cold that quickly turned into something serious.  I woke up dizzy, coughing, and unable to catch my breath.  Mom finally took me to Kaiser Emergency Room, where I sat for hours in the waiting room until I lost consciousness.  When I came to, I was being wheeled on a gurney to the XRay lab.  I was diagnosed with bilateral bacterial pneumonia, bronchitis, and anemia that was so severe, the doctors thought I may have internal bleeding.  I didn't, I was just undernourished. The Doctor's admonished Mom to feed me better, and then sent me home with antibiotics and iron pills.

   My get well card from the Chancel Choir (yes, I still have it!)

It took me two months to recover.  I spent most of that time on the couch, with Mom cramming me full of foods like yogurt, canned spinach, liver, and chicken.  I had to drop out of Mesa College, of course, but I didn't care.  I didn't feel like I should have been there anyhow.  I was still just a high school dropout. And things were getting way too creepy with Lou Jack.

When graduation time came around at Our Lady of Peace, I hopped on my moped and headed over to campus.  I stood in the back, behind the crowds of happy parents, and watched unnoticed while my former classmates walked up to get their diplomas.  I was sad, but it gave me a bit of closure.  Their time at the school was at an end, and after that final visit, I could finally let go of my sadness and regret.

Summer was spent clowning at Big Oak Ranch with my sister and Vernon the Clown.  I was back to grooming lots of dogs every month.  And I started looking into taking GED prep classes at Midway Adult school. Then, a week before Thanksgiving, Mrs. Woods, one of my grooming customers, had a talk with me.  Mrs. Woods was a social worker.  She knew that I had left school after 11th grade, and wanted to tell me about a new school that could be my ticket to a High School diploma.  The school, Garfield Independent Learning Center, was actually on the same street as Our Lady of Peace, about 5 blocks south.  She knew the principal and told me she would get me an appointment if I wanted.  I said yes please.

I met with Principal Galas the following week and explained my situation.  She was very encouraging.  She believed that three years of college prep high school classes would translate into so many public school credits that I would probably need only one semester of school.  Most of the classes at Garfield were nontraditional.  All you had to do is pick up your textbooks and assignment sheets and work on them until you finished.  And it wouldn't cost me anything. The school was created for pregnant girls and kids that had been expelled from regular high school, she explained.  She recommended that I keep to myself and don't make friends or get involved with any of the boys there.  After what I had just gone through with Lou Jack and Jack, I was in no mood to made any friends. It was good advice and I thanked her for giving me a chance.  All she needed to do was to call up Our Lady of Peace and request the transcripts, and then I could start in January.  That seemed easy enough.  But it wasn't. 

Sister Edward Mary refused to release the transcripts until Mom paid off the unpaid tuition for my 11th grade school year. And once again, Mom didn't care. 

You're On your own, Kid: Part Three, Knocked Down

Summer, 1975:  I had finished my freshman year at Our Lady of Peace, barely squeaking by, and then spent the next month helping my frantic mother try to get the house ready for the Love of her Life, Paris Burton Young, to be released from prison.  

Mom was more than ready.  She had adorned her bed with red satin sheets.  She went to Fredericks of Hollywood and bought a bunch of slutty negligees and estrogen creams. She arranged for us three kids and the dogs to be out of her hair for awhile.  The big day occurred on July 11, 1975. She drove to the  downtown Greyhound bus station to pick up Paris and his paper bag of belongings.  Then she took him shopping for more street clothes. Once he was all dressed up in his baby blue polyester Leisure suit,  they immediately drove to the Wedding Bell Chapel in Hillcrest for a quickie confidential wedding. After that, they want to the Chevy dealership in Mission Valley and she bought a brand new giant four door camper special pick up truck. They spent the next few days honeymooning and looking for a building to rent for their upcoming A-1 Young's Welding business.

A week after their marriage, we kids and the dogs were retrieved, and suddenly we had a new dad.  We were only used to seeing him cuddling with Mom at a concrete picnic table on a grassy field, surrounded by high fencing, barbed wire, and prison guard towers.  Now he was in our house, driving our new truck, drinking beer, and cooking hamburgers on a big grill that he welded with his new equipment in the rented auto garage that was soon to be his welding shop.  

We immediately embarked on a road trip to Ephrata, Washington, to visit Mom's sister Amy and her husband Edward. This was a trip filled with firsts:  Fishing, camping, roaming through the forest, and hunting for frogs with newfound campground friends.  I had never felt so good, so free, and so happy.  Mom was all wound up with her new husband, and I was free to be a 14 year old girl. The one problem that I noticed was that Paris always had a can of Budweiser in his hand as he drove the truck all the way North to Washington.  I knew that drinking and driving was dangerous and illegal, but Mom didn't seem to be concerned, so I pushed away my nagging worries.  That month-long trip was the best summer I had ever experienced.  But it had to end in mid-August, because it was time for me to return to Our Lady of Peace for my sophomore year. 

I felt pretty good about my upcoming school year for many reasons.  I was prepared this time. I was going to be on time from the first day on, and never get any more detention slips for tardiness. Mom had a man now.  They had a brand new welding business, where she would work the front desk and he would do the welding repairs.  Mom wouldn't need to hang with me every minute, and I was hoping I would be allowed to have friends, maybe even a boyfriend.  I pledged  to myself that I would work harder on my schoolwork and try to reverse my horrible first year. I felt confident, hopeful, and excited to start school.

It was late August.  Time to go back to school and by golly, I was ready this time. The night before my first day of 10th grade, I let the poodles out for a final potty break.  As I stood on the front porch, waiting for them to finish, the door opened, and Paris came out on the porch to smoke.  He lit a Raleigh, took a long drag, and exhaled. He said nothing, he was just looking at me.  I immediately felt weird.  Then he came over and asked for a kiss goodnight.  I cautiously went to kiss his cheek, and he pulled my face forward into his and did a full on kiss. His gross tobacco flavored tongue tried to get in on the action.  I pulled away quickly, called the dogs, and hurried into the house and back to my room.  Suddenly, my thoughts were not on school.  I tossed and turned most of the night, wondering how I was going to be able to stay away from Paris, and if I couldn't, how was I going to break it to Mom that her prince charming was a child molester.  It would break her heart if she knew.

Continue this part of the story by reading "A Blessing in Disguise," my November 23, 2017 post.

Sophomore school ID

August through November had been a period of sleepless nights and terror.  Amazingly, I kept my head above water at school, barely.  But the carefree feelings of summer were long gone.  On August first, I was thinking about making new friends and getting into school activities.  For the months of September, October, and November,  I was wondering how I was going to avoid being raped and impregnated by Mom's husband. And then, The Blessing in Disguise happened.

1976 arrived with Mom, depressed, laying in bed, hardly able to cope with the aftermath of her terrible decisions.   It took just a few weeks before all of Paris Young's horrible prison friends began to come calling, one after another, and Mom fell back into the trap of Prison Angel.  In other words, Stupid Sucker.  I squeaked through the last semester and once again, it was summer.  It was an exciting time to be alive:  We had the Bicentennial celebrations that culminated on July 4th of that year. Right after that,  there was some of the most exciting Olympic events ever.  Nadia Comaneci got the first perfect 10s in gymnastics competition. While I spent time watching the Olympics,  Mom was going to night class at San Diego State University, because suddenly she had decided to become a clown.  By the first week of August, she had graduated and started pulling us all down into clown life with her. Life on Eagle Street revolved around clowning jobs, Tehachapi prison visits, and sharing our home with ex-cons and other criminals, addicts, and oddballs. 

Late  August had arrived, and my Junior year was about to begin.  Believe it or not, I was still cautiously optimistic.  I was not a smart kid, and I certainly wasn't athletic.  I never did pursue cheerleading, and since Paris disappeared, Mom was back to smothering me, so I was not allowed to hang out with my schoolfriends.  My one remaining friend from St Vincent's Elementary School days was, for the most part, frightened off by events that took place during the November 1975 Showdown in the Desert. The possibility of having a  real boyfriend was completely out of the question.  After what I had gone through, I was not at all trusting, and Mom told me that having a boyfriend meant I was a whore, so I concentrated on my Poodles, my grooming business, clowning at parties, events, and parades, and church. Mom allowed me to attend church, and I sang in the youth and adult choirs, and sometimes helped with the kids choir. Church activities were the only sane moments in my life back then. It was crazy to think that in two short years, I would be out of high school and getting on with life.  I couldn't wait to be away from this awful situation.

Junior School ID

What I didn't yet know was that Mom had already sealed my fate at Our Lady of Peace.  

One Friday afternoon in October, I was sent to the Principal's office.  Sister Edward Mary was a small, greyhaired lady who ran a tight administrative office.  I soon realized that I wasn't the one in trouble-Mom was.  Sister Edward made it was clear that Mom had not paid any installments on the tuition costs yet.  She also had not signed up to volunteer, and she was not answering their phone calls or letters.  The Principal asked me to have Mom call her so they could get caught up on payments.  When I talked to Mom about the problem later that night, she told me to not worry about it because she would take care of it.  I didn't think any more of it until one Friday in November, just before Thanksgiving week.  

Sister Edward called me to her office after lunch.  She told me that Mom had not made any contact, and she hadn't paid any of the bills they sent her.  I was warned that something would have to happen if the bills were not brought up to date.  When I mentioned it to Mom that night, she brushed it off, telling me that she would take care of things after Christmas.  She didn't.

In January of 1977, I was again called to the office.  Sister Edward was calm and professional when she told me that since they had not received any payment or contact, they have made a difficult decision.  She went on to explain the issues which led to her decision. The only other Catholic girls high school, Rosary, was shutting its doors in June.  There were a number of Honor Roll Rosary girls who wanted to do their senior year and graduate from Our Lady of Peace.  They were A students, bound for college, and deserved admission in a school with so few available spots. Their parents paid their tuition bills on time.  There was no upside to keeping me on, what with precious few openings for new students.  Therefore, I would be allowed to complete my Junior year, but I was not invited back to finish my senior year.  

I sat there, just listening to her.  What she was saying made complete sense.  It was quite logical. Why would anyone want me here?  I was not an asset in any kind of way. The Principal calmly explained that it wasn't personal.  This was a business decision.  I nodded, said okay, and got up and left. I did not even try to offer an excuse, beg for mercy, or let her know the complete hell I had endured at home. Sister Edward Mary would not have cared.  My problem was not her problem.  At least they wouldn't be calling me into the office every few weeks to try to get blood out of a stone.  The truth was, Paris had emptied the bank account when he left, and Mom was using what money she had to continue supporting convicts.  I was not on any priority list. 

That final semester was difficult to get through.  I told my few schoolfriends that I wasn't returning for my senior year so there was no sensible reason to get a class ring.  I even chose to sit alone in my homeroom while the ring ceremony took place on the other side of campus. Ring Ceremony was a really big deal at OLP.  The girls could come to school that day in nice dresses instead of our usual white and navy uniforms.  Father Grace held a Mass and blessed the rings before handing them out. It was another traditional rite of passage that drew the classmates together.  I just couldn't bear to attend.  I had to start emotionally separating myself from my school world. So I showed up that day in my uniform and pretended that I didn't care about rings, or ceremonies, or anything.

 It soon became too painful to even go to school, so I started missing quite a few days.  I made it to the end with average grades, and made sure people signed my yearbook so that I would have something personal to look back on. Word had gotten out that I was leaving for good in June, and I was amazed to learn that many girls, even those who didn't hang out with me,  felt very bad about it.  The girl who we voted to be our

Senior year ASB Vice President actually approached me and asked if there was anything she could do to convince me to stay.  I couldn't tell her my whole disturbing story, so I just thanked her and told her there was nothing that could be done. She signed my yearbook with a very touching message that still bring tears to my eyes when I read it. 

And then, junior year ended, I said goodbye to the school that I had grown to love.  

I spent the summer working as a clown on weekends for an old retired Ronald McDonald who renamed himself  Vernon the Old Fashioned Clown.  He had a contract to entertain at huge company parties that were held at The Big Oak Ranch in Dehesa, an area in east El Cajon.   Summer temperatures always ran 100 degrees or more, and it was not a fun or healthy way to spend hot summer days.  My little sister and I did the job, and Vernon gave us a check to give Mom.  I have no idea what we were paid, because we didn't see a penny of it. 

When August came around, I figured I needed to go finish high school.  I went to San Diego High School to sign up.  I was not prepared for the stark difference between private and public school.  I went from a safe, clean, small, quiet, calm, Godly, and friendly environment to a huge, crowded, tense, loud, violent, dirty, and graffiti-filled hell.  And that was before I even signed up for classes.  I ran away from that school and never looked back. 

By the time September came along, Our Lady of Peace was in the rearview mirror.  I had moved on.  I was grooming about 25 dogs a month. I started cleaning houses for old ladies, and I began caring for an old neighbor named Mrs. Sprinkles. She had gone to Kaiser for gall bladder surgery, suffered a brain injury in the process, and was suddenly bedridden and demented.  This was a 40 hour a week job that required sponge bathing, bed pans, emptying her catheter bag, hand feeding her liverwurst sandwiches, and listening to her speak utter nonsense all day long while we watched her favorite soap operas. Three months into that job, suicide was starting to look like a viable option for me, so I quit.

 The year 1977 closed out with me dropping out of high school, working nearly every day and contemplating death.  I went from Honors at Entrance to the Academy of Our Lady of Peace in 1974, to high school dropout in 1977.  And Mom couldn't have cared any less. I was a Social Security check for her, and I contributed to her monthly income by clowning and running her Poodle breeding business. That was my worth to her. And that was all that mattered.