Age-0-11 months 1972(as told to me by my parents)
I was born on a military base that has since been torn down and rebuilt. I was early, which is still a habit I like to keep to this very day. I was supposed to be born on X-mas day. Instead, I made my appearance a bit early. Perhaps I knew that my mother had a deal with her sister who was also pregnant. The first-born would be named GABRIELLE, the second would be named MARLA. (I won that one hands down, don’t you think?) My dad was in the Army and my mom and 7-year-old brother were dragged kicking and screaming from that hotbed of entertainment Baton Rouge, Louisiana to Colorado.
I can’t get anything interesting out of either of them about this time period except (and I swear this is true) I was born with an extra finger. I’m not shiting you, it was a pinky. Needless to say, they got rid of it and there is no real evidence left of its existence. I’m sort of bummed though because when I type I have a hard time reaching the 'Q' key. That extra pinky would have come in handy. There is a part of me (the writer part) that insists on telling my parents that I believe that pinky was a twin that had not been fully formed, and by removing it from me as they did, they have irrevocably damaged me. I generally get about fifty bucks sent to me each time I try this, so I’m feeling much better about it thank you. Back to the Top
Age 1 year
1973(as told to me by my dad)
I don’t have any memories of this time at all but I can tell you a story
that my dad told me about my mom. If I weren’t afraid that she would kill
me I would put up a picture of my mom in the 70’s so you can get the
visual. Anyway picture this. My mom thought she was hot in the 70’s, hell
most of the 8o’s too. In fact, her favorite artists were both named Tina.
That’s right, Tina Marie and Tina Turner. She liked to wear big ass clogs
and bell-bottoms with big hoop earrings back then. Her Afro was a
hallucinogenic orange that must have hypnotized people into telling her it
looked great. That’s right, picture a big ass basketball, and you got it.
Anyway, as I said, she was cool. She even had, thanks to a bribe from my
dad, a cool car. A canary yellow VW bug!
So on this particular day in the early part of 1973 she put my big bro in
the back seat of the “Vdoubya” and me in the front in my car seat
(remember there were no laws against such a thing at the time). She ran
back in the house to get her purse, spilling its contents out as she
grabbed it from the bed. Frustrated she shoved its contents back in her
purse and ran out to the car. She gave my bro and me a cursory glance as
she was running late for…who knows what (we all know it wasn’t a haircut)
and she took off like a bat out of hell. Unfortunately, she had neglected
to put my seatbelt on, nor was my door fully shut. Therefore, as my mom
sped down the street five people had to run after her to tell her that she
forgot something. I sat calmly in the middle of the street still strapped
in my car seat waiting for her crazy ass to realize that I had fallen out!
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Age 2 years
1974(mostly told to me by my mother, but I remember some things)
Surprise
of all surprises. My mom figured out that there were two things about
Colorado that she couldn’t stand. One, the cold and two, that my dad lived
there. So she got a “dee vorce” and moved to California. Oakland
California to be precise. And so begins the shaping of my personality.
Before I get too far into my montage, did I mention that my mom was pretty
smart? Well she was at the point where we moved to Oakland. She had
somehow managed to get herself a fully equipped apartment that was in the
basement of the house that my dad’s sister lived in. The most important
thing to note about this apartment is that it was awesome. I'm talking
waterbed, its own little shower and a kitchenette. Everything was really
tiny but the carpet was plush and it even had a little air conditioner. I
mean just gorgeous. My aunt kept that same house until her death in 1995.
I actually considered staying in the Bay Area to go to college because my
dad said he would ask her if I could live there. The point I was trying to
make before I got sidetracked is that my mom only paid 5 bucks rent a
month. Hell, you can’t even park your car for five dollars now a days, at
least not where I live. With that type of thing no longer a worry for her
she went ahead and went back to college. Got her BA in 3 years and moved
big bro and me into a house, which she purchased, on her own with the help
of a minority/women’s loan from the city of Oakland. You think she was
conceited before? Hmm, you ain’t seen nothing yet cause momma had a brand
new bag.
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Age 3
years 1975 (my
awakenings)
A few things happened this year. I am going to try to tell them to you as
I remember them and in the order that I remember them. Most importantly,
my daddy, who was originally from the bay area, moved back home after
retiring from the Navy he, did a stint in the army then the navy. Although
he and my mother were divorced, they had what I considered was a good
relationship and still do. You know, one of those “I love you but I cant
stand to be around you,” type things. In general, both of them loved to
spend time insulting each other. Ok, here is an example of a convo between
my mother and father that I remember.
Dad: “Hey you old hefa.” (This is a female cow for you city folks)
Mom: “Hey limpy.” (Didn’t know what that meant at the time)
Dad: “You been taking care of my kids?” (A kiss for me and a pat on the
head for my brother.)
Mom: “Who else would be?”
Dad: “I don’t know. But with as much child support I’m paying, you would
think someone would be.”
Mom: “Uh huh.”
Dad: “How you been B?”
Mom: “Oh good. Tired. That math is kicking my ass.”
Dad: Leans over and takes me from my mom and kisses my mom on the cheek.
“Well let me know if you need any help. You know I was always good at
math.”
Mom: “All right I will.”
Very interesting dynamic between those two. It is a writers dream to watch
them go at each other. Talk about biting dialogue that goes against body
language. Anyway, the other important thing that happened to me this year
is, I learned to read. Wait, scratch that. I found out I could read. No
one ever remembers teaching me how to read. I'm going to say I learned
while listening to my mother try to teach my brother who, to this day,
does not appreciate the written word as I do. I think listening to my
mom’s repetitive corrections was more drummed into me than him. My mom and
her friends used to like to spell things to each other so that my brother
and I wouldn’t hear what they were saying. I think that helped too. I am
extremely nosey and competitive so that made me sound them out in my head.
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Age 4 1976(as I
remember)
I remember
this year fondly. My mother, being the only one of her five or so hang out
buddies with her own house, used to have weekend sleepovers. I.E. she and
her friends would drink cheap jug wine, smoke rank smelling weed, and
listen to oldies but really oldies while me and my brother were sent to
bed early. Anyway, what I remember most about those evenings was one of
her friends. We shall call her Lila for the purposes of this story
although that is not her real name. She was, and still is, one of the most
gorgeous women I know. Her hair went way past her butt and she was tall,
at least 5’11, which back then seemed well…tall. Anyway, Lila was Filipino
and black and always smelled like chocolate. She was reed thin and
extremely soft-spoken. She, unlike most of my mother’s friends, always
asked how I was doing. I was an extremely verbose child but around her I
couldn’t seem to form words. In general, I dressed myself with a diligence
that might seem scary in a four year old. If I knew Lila was coming I took
special pains with my appearance. I.E. I wore a white dress with white go
go boots, my favorites, and I usually would put on my coat and grab an
umbrella even though I was not going anywhere and, likely as not, it being
California, it was not raining. Oh and let us not forget the cap that I so
proudly donned because it was a matching white and I would no doubt get
Lila’s attention. My mother’s five friends would sit around the table
playing cards or whatever and in I would walk and stand there until she
noticed me. And inevitably she would notice me, as I was no doubt the most
well dressed person in the house. Here is how I remember it happening the
first time.
Lila: “Hi Gigi how are you pretty girl?” (That’s what people called me
cause my name was so long)
Me:
Lila: “Aren’t you going to talk to me today, sweetheart?
Me:
Lila: “I like your little dress is it new?”
Me:
Lila: “Ahhh Gigi. I was hoping you would at least say hi to me.”
Me:
Lila: “You want to sit on my lap and play cards with me?”
Me: (nodding my head vigorously cause I ain't no fool.)
Lila sits me on her lap and she goes back to her game of spades and her
cheap ass wine. I lean in close and smell that chocolaty scent that she
has and I make myself comfortable. She says something about her hand to me
and I nod distractedly. I have no interest in her game. I am four years
old and sitting on my idols lap. I have an agenda. She has on a creamy
white shirt that I like. It feels smooth against my face. Even to this day
I like silk sheets against my skin perhaps this is why. And with what I’m
sure was a look of determination I put my hands on Lila’s breasts. Both of
them, small though they were, felt nice and heavy in my hands. In
retrospect I suppose it was inappropriate, however, I must say that it
seemed the natural thing to do. She looked down at me and I looked up at
her waiting for the reprimand that never came. What I did get was howls of
laughter from Lila and the rest of my mother’s cronies. Even my mother
laughed at me after she got over her initial embarrassment. I buried my
face in Lila’s chest, leaving one hand on a breast for balance you see,
and stayed that way until my bedtime. These actions were repeated at least
6 more times over the course of a year. On more than one occasion I can
remember her having to remove my little hands from underneath her shirt
when she was accommodating enough to wear a low cut blouse. To my
knowledge I didn’t go for the breasts of anybody other than Lila. I am, as
I was then, extremely loyal. I will leave you, the reader, to make of it
what you will. However, time and Lila’s moving to another state is what
finally ended our wordless relationship. I would like to say that I
mourned for her but I can’t remember if I did or not. However at 29 I
still remember her with immense affection.
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Age 5 1977 (as I remember it)
This is the year I fell in love…ok, I know I said I was in love when I was four but that was sort of different. It happened about 3 days before my fifth birthday to be truthful. Her name was Diana Prince. She was in the military, the owner of a clear jet plane and no one knew it, but she was actually a princess. And occasionally she would do this really huge smile just for me<sigh>. It was love at first sight. I got one of two spankings that I can remember at the hands of my mother. Why you may ask? Because I, in my infinite wisdom, decided that since my mother rarely used our clothesline (we did have a dryer) it would be ok if I used a chair and a knife the size of my arm to cut down the bright yellow plastic line. It was, you see, perfect for a lasso. It took some effort but I did it. And stripping down to my panties and t-shirt (I would get the underoos the following year) I whipped around the back and front yards lassoing all who would oppose me. I had nearly two hours of fun before my brother, who was 13 at the time and the person who brought the chair out of the house for me in the first place, decided he would tell my mom not only what I had done, but how I had gone about it. I won’t bore you with the details but my mom was forever traumatized by this event. I asked her about the spanking I received once and she says she doesn’t remember. I sure as hell do. Back to the Top
Age 6 1978(as I remember it)
This is the year that I probably became the damaged human being that I am
today. Why you ask? Well that’s easy it’s because of Romper Room and
Sesame Street. A little background...Romper Room was a children’s show. It
was sort of like nursery school on TV. I thought it was great except for
one thing. Mrs. Nancy, the lady on the show would look into her magic
mirror and say children’s names. "I see Jason and Megan and Shamika and
Kelly, Morgan, ahhh is that John, I see you too." The problem is she never
said my name. Not once in the two years that I watched that show did she
say Gabrielle. I couldn’t figure out why she couldn’t see me. I sat so
close to the TV, I could see every pink blemish on her face. So, my Mom
decided that she would send my name in for Romper Room and Sesame Street
Hometown, which was on the road at the time and would be in the Bay Area
for a limited engagement. Well guess what, she got me on both... here is
the rub. No one bothered to comb my hair for either show! I literally had
Afro puffs and I look nothing like Tootie from “The Facts of Life” or
Janet Jackson on “Good Times”. All of the other children were in there
best clothes with their faces freshly scrubbed and there I sat
strategically placed in the back with burgundy knickerbockers and crooked
Afro puffs that weren’t even all that puffy. Then, to add insult to
injury, that b%$#@ Mrs. Nancy still didn't call my name!
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I developed an eating disorder in this year. I'm not kidding, and no I don’t think it’s funny. But it does require some explanation. First of all, what I had was not called an eating disorder back then but I bet it would be now. I’ll give you the info and let you decide. When I was about 7 I decided I didn’t like food. Now mind you, I’m not talking about Brussel Sprouts and nasty shit like that, I’m talking about food period. We got this new restaurant in Oakland called Burger King, and I would not eat more than three bites of the huge burgers that they had even though I always begged my mom to go. It got to the point where mom was making me eat. I mean she would say things like, ‘if you don’t eat your dinner, I’m not letting you go back outside to play’, Etc. Etc. Etc. It took me a bit (I never said I was smart) but finally I did figure out how to get around this issue and was soon out playing with my friends until the street lights came on. I would clean my plate…and no, for you annoying, annoying readers who like to think they know what happens before they read it (JK) we did not have a dog. I simply packed the food into my cheeks and off I went. Now this was not an easy solution, the consequences to this day, result in several nicknames that I have yet to shake off, porky and chipmunk to name a few. The end results? Odd body as a kid. Obviously, I wasn’t chubby. In fact, I was extremely skinny with a rather large tummy. My mother was fond of saying that whatever I did eat went too my tummy. Needless to say, I was not very cute. I have several pictures of myself with my daddy and inevitably my little skinny behind was hanging out, or my tummy was peeking out of my shirt. So anyway, back to this food thing. As I said before, I packed the food into my mouth and off I went. Only my mom wasn’t fooled so she told me, and I quote; “If you spit that out you’re going to get it.” We all know what that means…you’re going to get it. So I would nod and go play and it NEVER even occurred to me that she wouldn’t know that I spit it out. So I never did. I played for HOURS with that food packed in my mouth. It didn’t bother me and when I took my bath it was still in there and when I lay down to go to sleep at night it was still in there. SO finally she would let me get up and spit the mess into a toilet. And it would start again the next day simple variations on the meal, same results. I grew out of it eventually I’m not sure when but it sort of went away of its own accord. And I’m none the worse for wear. Honest! Back to the Top