Chapter 5

“Why are you wearing pants?  It’s like a hundred degrees outside!”  Because I have welts on my legs the size of watermelons! Any other questions?  “I’m always cold” I would instead reply.  Which was true and still is, but I would have rather had my cut-off jean shorts on like Daisy Duke and everyone else in the late 70’s.  But I didn’t want anyone to see my raw legs because then the real questions would begin.  I can’t really recall what my stepfather did to keep me from telling our little secret.  I don’t remember any threats on my life or my mother’s life.  I think what kept me from telling anyone was my own inner fear.  I just wanted to be a good girl.  And on the inside, I was.  But not on the outside.  I remember always being in trouble.  I just could not behave.  I would throw temper tantrums in the store if I didn’t get what I wanted.  I would run up and down the aisle of the public bus that would take my grandmother, mother and I to either downtown Davenport or Northpark Mall.  I would also pull the overhead dinger (I’m certain that is the official name for the thing you pull to alert the bus driver to stop) at every corner.   We had to take bus, you see, because my grandmother and my mother never learned to drive.  Another thing I loathed about my mother.  Everybody’s mother could drive a car!  Not mine.  I must have only been in first grade, but I have a strong memory of being spanked by Sister Catherine at my school, Holy Trinity.  School had been let out and there was a crosswalk with a light right in front of the school.  Now, the school was just across the street from our apartment.  I remember pushing the button to get the Walk light and then running back and forth across the street to see how many times I could do it before the light switched to Don’t Walk.  I’m certain I did this several times and with great speed and agility (I may be remembering that wrong).  But I could not outrun Sister Catherine.  She came down the steps of the school, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me kicking and screaming into the main office where she commenced my spanking.  I was furious!  I marched home to tell the tale of my injustice only to get another spanking.  This one by a stronger arm and a thick, leather belt.  Now remember, this was Iowa in the 70’s.  Attached to that belt was a buckle the size of a plate!  Looks like I’ll be wearing pants again tomorrow.