I know. It's been awhile. Just kinda gave this thing up for awhile....

I just finished reading my sister's. latest entry and boy did it jog a lot of memories for me. Her description of the bar where Mom worked is very accurate down to the uniforms and the unmistakable 'odor' that she and I both remember exactly the same way.

Unfortunately, that recollection was obviously not a good one. I hadn't really thought about it until I read one of her fellow blogger's comments, but I also have a bad memory (as it were) with my mom and a St. Patrick's Day.

I was in 12th grade at the time and living with her. At the time, she was married to her 4th husband. Yes. Fourth. I don't recall if St. Patrick's Day actually fell on a Saturday or if that was just the day of the parade and when it was being celebrated. The parade began at about 9am or so. My mom & Hubby #4 had already started drinking.

I remember having to wear a heavy sweatshirt because I was so damned cold. There are times in south Virginia where mid-March is warm and spring-like and times where it's nasty, bitter cold. This was one of those types of days.

As we stood on the curb watching the parade, my mom & Hubby #4 continued to drink. The parade lasted about 2 hours. When it was over, we walked to the bar/restaurant that was adjacent to the Irish-themed bar where my mom worked at the time. We sat in a booth towards the back so that she and Hubby #4 could be closer to the one, solitary pool table in the joint. While I sipped leisurely on my Shirley Temple, they both continued to drink. And drink they did.

When they were tired of Rosie's, we all loaded up (yeah, great parenting to have your teenaged daughter with you while not only are you drunk, but your hubby is driving drunk!) and headed to the VFW.

More drinking. By about 4pm, I was so bored out of my mind. There I was... 17, completely sober (obviously), and surrounded by a bunch of drunk people. OLD drunk people might I add. (Well, old by a 17 year old's standard anyway.) Hubby #4 decided that he wanted to leave. He was actually ready to go home and asked me if I'd like to leave as well. Of course, I was thrilled to go! He called for a cab and while we were waiting for it, he went to tell Mom that he was headed home. I think he had a headache or something.

Oh! Mom was NOT having that! She wanted to stay. She wanted to party some more! She and Hubby #4 got into a heated argument and finally the cab arrived and we both left. We got home, he fixed something to eat and then we both watched television and smoked cigarettes. (Yes, I was allowed to smoke in my mom's house... just for the record, I haven't smoked in 16yrs).

A few hours later, my mom finally arrives. I have no recollection if she drove or if she got a cab, but she was PISSED OFF to say the least. Immediately, she and Hubby #4 got into it. And I mean, IN. TO. IT.

I quickly ran for the sanctuary that I called my room and decided to read a book. However, the noise coming from downstairs was deafening and I couldn't concentrate. I finally come downstairs (God, don't ask me why I did this) and tried to get them to calm down.

I don't remember exactly what happened next but before I knew it, an ashtray went flying towards my head, a can of Pepsi got spilled and my mom slapped me across the face so hard that she and I ended up in a physical fight!!

Somehow we made it from the kitchen to the living room floor where I recall having her locked in a wrestling-type move where I used my leg to bounce her head off the carpet a few times. She was relentless. Keep in mind that my mom and I were pretty evenly matched at that time (as it were)--- she's 5'1" to my 4'11" and while she outweighed me by a good 20 lbs, I had the advantage to a degree because I was sober. We musta rolled around on the floor for a good 10 or 15 minutes, each pulling at the other's hair and tugging at the other's clothes to have better grip. Slaps & punches flew.

I don't even know why Hubby #4 didn't break us up or even try! Finally we both managed to get to our feet and she screamed at me to "Get the fuck out of her house!" (Hmm.. I just realized that BOTH of my parents have said that to me at one time in my life.)

I grabbed what I could, and ran so fast out the door, tears streaming down my face. I got about 1/4 mile and stopped dead in my tracks. Out of breath and panting with my face still wet from crying, I realized that I had no clue where to go.

Who the hell could I turn to? Who could take me in? Finally, I remembered that there was a girl at my bus stop who lived in a motel just a little bit further up the street. Somehow, I managed to figure out where she lived (in a cramped, one bedroom motel room) with her mom, dad, brother and her boyfriend. They were shocked when I told them what happened. The next thing I recall is calling my Dad and stepmom... not sure why or what was the outcome of the conversation.

And that is my worst St. Patty's Day experience.

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Side note: Have you ever remembered details of a story only to realize later that you have suppressed more of a memory than you thought? When I first began this blog, all I remembered initially was the parade, going to Rosie's and then the VFW afterwards. Until I started to really think about it, I had "forgotten" all about the devasting events that followed.

The mind is more powerful than we think. Use it wisely.

Until next time...peace, love & HEALTH!!!