integrating's Diaryland Diary


fierce: having or displaying an intense or ferocious aggressiveness

I've always stood up for the underdog.

I was trained by my father. "Do not speak until spoken to." All his bullshit rules and commands. They were all a 30 minute ritual for him.

I had a huge curiosity about everything.
*hey google, how do you spell curiosity?*
I used to be a walking dictionary. My father commanded me to be a straight A student, and I was. I could picture words in my mind, but never math. To this day. You should see my checkbook. I need a calculator for the easiest..... math.

According to my father, who calls me a fucking idiot at least once a day, tells me I'm retarded. I guess he doesn't remember constantly calling my name to ask me how to spell words when I was in elementary school.

He doesn't know how many spelling bees I've been in. Third place to go to state. No beaming face at the play or the dance routine that we worked so hard on.
But my mother proudly beamed at every band....? thing.
*Mother, I hated band. I wanted to take Theater Arts.*
But my father had me so trained to sit down, shut up, do as you're told, and be perfect....that I felt like I had no say in the matter. I was so sad.

So when I went to college, I took theater arts.
I pretended the audience wasn't looking at me, they were looking at the other actors. Pretending to be someone else fit me like, *enter an old cliche here.*

I dreaded monologues. I completely sucked, unless I was playing a bitch. A girl in my class was impressed,
"You are such a good bitch!!!"
I laughed because at that point in my life I had earned the title.

Getting back to standing up for the underdog.
At the dinner table is where I got my commandments, repeated repeated repeated. And if I looked away from his eyes, he would give me hell for that too. To avoid the hour long speech given every six months about what a vile creature my mother was, and telling my little brother, "she only wanted Kim, she didn't want you."
Repeated Repeated Repeated
How cruel is that.

I learned how to listen to that fucking speech, which I still remember, and at the same time let my little developing brain wander. It was always playing in the background so if I looked down and he yelled at me, "Are you listening to me!"
"What did I say!"
That's why the speech was running in the background, so I could reverse the tape enough to remember what he had just said.

He took me and my little brother away from my mother, who I never wanted to be away from, and took us from San Antonio all the way to the border of Louisiana without telling her. I was three, my brother was in diapers. Told me she had died of cancer, which she did last June.

The weekly commandment at the dinner table, "You better not ever bring home a hippie or a nigger."
I was in elementary school, he was demented.
That gave me a soft spot for hippies and beautiful black people... and animals.

One of my earliest memories was being the Fierce Defender of Livestock Being Auctioned Off.
I was standing in one of the chairs, this was before frivolous law suits, and I was furious at these men hurting the cows for apparently no reason.
I would love to see a picture of my face at that moment in time.

I'd finally had it. I was so pissed. So with my limited vocabulary I gave him a fierce warning. "YOU LEAVE THOSE COWS ALONE!!", to which every adult thought that was so cute and giggled. Well, I guess it was cute, but that pissed me off too!
I was giving everyone the Evil Eye, thinking to myself, "DID YOU NOT SEE THEM HURTING THE COWS?!!

8:11 a.m. - 05.15.20


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