Handbook for an Unpredictable Life: How I Survived Sister Renata and My Crazy Mother, and Still Came Out Smiling (with Great Hair)

by Perez, Rosie

  At the end of a nursery-school day, I’d run to the window to watch the outside kids leave and get picked up by their parents. There was a street that ran through the grounds of the Home and divided the girls’ dormitory from the boys’, and parents would ride up or walk up to get their children, ruffle their hair, kiss them on their cheeks, and squat down with their arms wide open to receive them. I wanted that; it weirdly excited me. Their parents didn’t abandon them. Their parents weren’t so poor that they were forced to give them to the Church. Their parents weren’t mentally ill or dead or just didn’t give a fuck and left them there to grow up all emotionally damaged. Although I felt a bit jealous, it brought me hope. Maybe one day that would happen to me and I’d be just like them—casual, at ease. I’d wish that their parents would be my parents and ruffle my hair and squat down with their arms wide open. I’d just stand there trying my best to act as if my conflicting emotions didn’t bother me, as if nothing special was happening. As the months went by I began to hate watching, but I couldn’t stop.

  • • •

  Every Sunday was visiting day. All the boys’ and girls’ parents, grandparents, what have you, would come up on the train from the city—a few by car—to visit their children. I never got a visitor, and neither did Crazy Cindy. It would hurt. Cindy acted as if it didn’t bother her in the least. I kept wondering why nothing affected this girl. Was it because she was a little kooky? Or was it because she was stronger than me, since I was a crybaby, like all the other girls accused me of being?

  But all was not lost. Oh no. There were some benefits to having no visitors. The first was that most of the nuns were busy making sure that everyone who had visitors was on their best behavior and looked their best, and I mean everyone. Most of them supervised the visits as well—which took place either in the cafeteria, the canteen, or on the various playgrounds—weather permitting—which meant that those with no visitors were pretty much forgotten about. Yay! Second, we had the place more or less to ourselves. I was definitely a loner, but not when it came to one-on-one time with Crazy Cindy! She was my best friend. On visiting day, we would hang out together and play, or explore the nooks and crannies of the Home, sometimes with Puerto Rican—Jew Evita Feinstein, although her mother would usually come every Sunday. Evita would always share the candy that her mother brought her with us too. We looked up to her, and her generosity meant a lot.

  I liked playing in the bathroom the most because there was an extra radio high up on the shelf. We would crank up the volume on Cousin Brucie’s show on WABC, which was never allowed any other time, and when Cindy and I sang it would sound really cool, the echo bouncing off the tiles with just the two of us in there. Sometimes we’d go into the bin closet—a radio was usually always on in there too. We’d act like the groups we were listening to, fighting over who would be Diana Ross in the Supremes or dancing like we were the Temptations—snapping our fingers with the steps, singing our hearts out. Fun! Fun! Fun!

  I loved all of Motown and Stax. I liked the Beatles too. Actually, I loved the Beatles. Man, did I get shit for that. Puerto Ricans and blacks weren’t supposed to like the Beatles. That meant you were trying to be white. But I didn’t care. Plus, I was in love with John Lennon too. And I loved corny songs as well, like Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline”—ba, ba, ba—or “Love (Can Make You Happy)” by Mercy. But the first time I heard the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” I stopped dead in my tracks. I loved it! I bounced up and down to Keith Richards’s guitar riff like a bunny rabbit. Cindy died laughing at me.

  We loved to play hide-and-seek too. Well, Crazy Cindy loved to play hide-and-seek. I was afraid of hiding in dark places and was even more afraid of getting caught by the nuns and getting spanked. Although I did my best to avoid spankings, they still happened. So I became even more of a Goody Two-shoes, and my best defense was my sense of humor.

  • • •

  It was Sunday again, visitors’ day, months into my time at Saint Joseph’s. Crazy Cindy and I began to discuss what adventures we were going to get into while the other kids spent time with their loved ones. Sister Mary-Domenica came into the dormitory and walked over to my bunk with a nice off-white dress and a pair of brown Mary Jane shoes. She told me to put them on. I had no idea why, but I did.

  “You have a visitor today,” she said. “Your aunt, Ana, has come to see you.”

  I stared at her blankly.

  “Are you not excited?” she asked.

  I couldn’t say anything. I was confused. I didn’t know I had an aunt. Or at least, I had forgotten. It was probably my mind and soul’s attempt to protect me from being hurt any further. It was weird because I could count up to twenty-five by now, knew all of my ABCs and all of the primary colors, but couldn’t remember a thing about Tia.

  “Do you not remember her? Do you not remember your Aunt Ana?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Well, of course you do.”

  I looked back at Crazy Cindy and asked, “She can come too?”

  “No. This is your visit, not hers,” she replied.

  Cindy shrugged and said, “So? I don’t care.”

  “Watch that tone, young lady. Get me the brush so I can brush this bush of hers,” Sister Mary-Domenica commanded Cindy.

  As Cindy ran off to get the brush, I looked up at the old bag with a deep sigh. I hated getting my hair combed by her. She was so harsh about it, not like the counselors and Sister Ann-Marie. I was what they would call “tender-headed,” meaning my head was extremely sensitive, and you had to go very slowly when pulling at my cotton-candy, curly bush. Cindy came back, dragging her feet, handed Sister Mary-Domenica the brush, and leaned against the bunk post. I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes tightly shut, anticipating the pain. And boy, did it come. With every stroke of the brush, I winced and jerked away, only to have her pull me back. “Keep still, Rosemary!” she barked. Man, oh man, the witch was killing me. It felt like she had pure hate for my frizz, like she was pulling all the Caribbean out of each strand.

  “Ouch! It hurts,” I whined.

  “Of course it hurts,” she sternly replied. “With this kind of hair, what do you expect?”

  Say what?

  I left with Sister Mary-Domenica, looking back at Crazy Cindy. She looked so sad, so abandoned. I felt like I was betraying her, betraying our little “outsiders” pack. For the first time, I saw Cindy cry.

  Sister Mary-Domenica brought me out to one of the smaller courtyards and told me to wait there. It was early fall. The leaves had just started to turn colors. I climbed up on a white iron bench. No one else was there. I turned around to see where Sister Mary-Domenica had gone. She was talking to this light-skinned, plump woman who was holding a large brown paper shopping bag, pointing at me. The woman slowly walked over to me.

  “Hello, Rosie. I mean, Rosemary. Do you remember me?”

  I shook my head no. I really didn’t, but then again she kind of looked familiar. For some reason, I felt threatened. My breathing began to quicken, and I pressed my lips together, trying to prevent them from quivering. I hated being a crybaby, especially in front of this woman, who was looking more and more familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “May I sit down with you?” she asked softly. I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t answer her.

  She sat down next to me anyway. I inched away.

  “You don’t remember me?” she asked again. Again, I didn’t reply. I shook my head no.

  Who was this woman?

  “I’m your Tia. Oh, sorry, I mean your aunt, Ana. De nuns told me not to speak Spanish to you. They say you get confused. I brought you some food, your favorite, arroz y gandules. Oh, sorry. I mean rice with pigeon peas. And a little birthday cake.” She pulled out a small, hard plastic bowl covered with aluminum foil. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come for your birthday. I was very sick.” She then took out the tiny round cake and began to put four candles in it. “Would you like some?” Again, no response from me. �
�How about some chocolate? I brought you a 100 Grand candy bar.”

  She held it out for a minute. I didn’t take it. Boy, she was making me pissed and confused. This woman is my aunt? I don’t want her to be my aunt. I can’t stand this woman. She set the candy bar next to me anyway. I wanted it so bad. The only time I had candy was when Puerto Rican—Jew Evita Feinstein shared hers or when Crazy Cindy would give me any leftovers she got after she begged the other girls for candy at the end of visiting day, since I was too proud to beg. But I wanted to get away from this lady. Where were the nuns, who were always up your ass, when you needed them? I held my ground and replied, “No thank you, ma’am. May I go now?” Her eyes flooded with water. With a sad smile, she simply replied, “If you like.”

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. There was an awkward pause. I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to leave either. I didn’t want to hurt this nice, plump lady who I hated for no reason.

  I looked down at my shoes and started swinging my feet back and forth. “Do you like your shoes?” she asked, looking down at them as well. “I picked them out myself. Your cousin Millie helped pick out de color.” This got my attention.

  She looked back at me, hopefully, and said, “I sent you de dress you’re wearing too. Espero que te guste. Espero que te guste a todos los robes que si. [I hope you like it. I hope you like all the dresses I sent you.] You look very pretty in it.”

  Tears started to roll down my face. She touched my hand—I pulled it back. I felt bad for doing that. I knew I was hurting her, but I couldn’t stop myself. She began to cry too, but she never stopped smiling. I looked at her. I saw those big sad eyes, the full lips, and the high cheekbones. I thought to myself, I know this lady. But who is she? Why did I recognize her voice when she spoke Spanish?

  “I brought you some more birthday presents. This one is one of your favorites,” she said with a light smile.

  She pulled out a Shirley Temple coloring book and some crayons. Shirley Temple? How did she know I liked Shirley Temple? My heart was exploding; it felt like it was too big for my chest.

  “Do you remember Shirley Temple?”

  I nodded yes.

  “Do you remember when we used to watch her movies together?”

  I couldn’t move. I did, kind of. I wasn’t sure. But I was sure. Was this why I hated her? Could she be the one who allowed that lady everyone was calling my mother to take me away? Was she the one who didn’t come and save me from this awful place?

  We sat there for a while not saying anything to each other. I looked up at the puffy clouds, then at the leaves turning brown on the trees. I watched a leaf fall off its branch and twirl down to the ground. The tension slowly started to erode. I looked back down at my feet. She handed me a box of animal crackers. I took the box and said in a whisper, “Gracias.” Gracias? Why am I speaking Spanish?

  I took out an elephant cracker and bit into it. It was so good. I missed eating animal crackers. I remember eating them at Mommie’s house. Wait! Mommie’s house? Oh my goodness! Who is she? There was a lump in my throat that felt like a big rock.

  Tia started to sing softly, “Animal crackers in my soup. Monkeys and rabbits loop de loop.…”

  I looked up at her. I do remember her! I remember her, and watching Shirley Temple with her. I wanted to tell her that I did, but I was so confused. She looked like my mommie, but she was calling herself Tia, and telling me that she was my aunt.

  She continued to sing. Her soothing, out-of-tune voice danced in my head and through the early fall air. My foot started swinging back and forth, this time without tension, but in time with the rhythm of the lyrics. My fear began to subside. I looked back into the box of cookies and pulled out a lion. I quietly joined in between bites.

  Animal crackers in my soup. Monkeys and rabbits loop de loop.…

  Tia laughed with so much joy, with that great cackle. I looked up and smiled. She smiled back and softly said, “I love you, Rosie. You know that? Te quiero mucho. I love you very much.” I got quiet. I hadn’t heard those words—“I love you”—said to me or to anyone at this place since I’d arrived. I looked at the coloring book, then back at her, waiting for an okay. “Sure. It is yours,” she replied. I opened the book, grabbed the crayons, and started coloring.

  As the days went by I started to put the pieces together. Mommie was Tia, and Lydia was Mommie. Got it. Sort of. Oh my goodness, why? Why did Mommie have to be my aunt, and why did that beautiful, mean lady have to be my mother? Although I kind of wanted her to be my mommie. Or maybe I just wanted to be able to say I had a mommie. Confused? Think how I felt.

  The days following the visit were spent vacillating between hating my aunt for not being my mother and missing her and wishing she was my mother and would take me out of this place. I also started fantasizing about the beautiful lady everyone called my mother, wishing she liked me.

  The most painful thought that permeated my brain and heart was why neither of them came to get me out of the Home, or at the very least, why neither of them had come to see me sooner on a visiting day. That one visit from Tia made the following Sunday, when she didn’t come back, so much harder. I tried to learn from Crazy Cindy how to be nonchalant about it, but it was difficult. Being silly was definitely an option, like having farting contests with Cindy. It sure beat being so depressed and withdrawn.

  But eventually Tia did come back. And started to come at least twice, sometimes three times a month. Cousin Millie told me that whether it was raining or sunny, even when there was four feet of snow on the ground, Tia would get up in the wee early hours of the morning while it was still dark out, take the subway to Grand Central Station, and get on the Metro-North train for an hourlong ride to Peekskill. The whole trip took about two and a half hours. My cousins would watch her leave from the window, worried out of their minds. She’d be the first to arrive, she’d stay with me for most of the day, and then she’d get on the six o’clock train back into the city and do it all over again a week or two later.

  I’d wait anxiously for Tia in the front office, watching the other kids greet their mother or father with a kiss. I wanted parents to do that with me too. By the time Tia would arrive, I would be sullen and quiet. “Hi, Rosemary. How are you?” Tia would shyly say as she timidly walked over to me. I’d look down at my shoes and say hi. “Why don’t you give your Aunt Ana a kiss, Rosemary?” the nuns would always say to me. Tia would tell them it was okay if I didn’t want to.

  Tia never pressured me to do anything she felt I wasn’t comfortable with. She would, however, hold out her hand to me, every visit. At first I wouldn’t take it. I’d just follow closely behind or hold on to the side of her dress.

  After a while I got used to seeing her, and some of the time I did take her hand. It felt good. We’d sit for the whole visit talking up a storm as I told her silly jokes or about a favorite book I had read. I loved it most when she’d tell me stories of my cousins and our neighbors in Williamsburg. I even got to introduce her to Crazy Cindy. She was doing her usual sneaking around and found me and shyly came over. Tia loved her! That made me feel so good inside. I was falling in love, all over again, with my mom. I mean my aunt.

  CHAPTER 6

  THANKSGIVING WAS around the corner. I started to get bored in nursery school. It was beginning to get harder for me to remain focused. I’d daydream about Tia, about Marlo Thomas or Elizabeth Montgomery or the Little Rascals, about Williamsburg, hoping to see it again. At naptime I couldn’t keep still, and I’d wander off by myself and pick up a book or I’d color or whatever. Miss Connie would take me for walks or just chat with me during class, trying to discover why I was so distracted. Sometimes I would open up to her, but most of the time I didn’t. I was wary of her telling on me and the possibility I’d get a spanking from Sister Mary-Domenica.

  It was visitors’ day again. Tia made sure that I knew she wasn’t coming so I wouldn’t be too disappointed. I was watching TV with a couple of the girls, sucking my thumb. Sister Ann-Ma
rie came in and excitedly told me to change my clothes, that I had a special visitor. A special visitor? “Who is it?” I asked. She said that my mother was coming to visit me, along with my other brothers and sisters.

  Say what? What other brothers and sisters? Did she mean Titi, Millie, Cookie, and Lorraine? And who were the brothers—maybe Tia’s cousin Rachel’s sons Sixto, who everyone called Junior, or Edgar? And wait a minute, which mother? Was it the woman who everyone told me was my mother? It had to be her. The nuns went out of their way to make sure I knew she was my mother, especially after my first visit with Tia. I wanted to throw up.

  I immediately went looking for Crazy Cindy. I found her out in the Group One playground, playing in the mud.

  “Cindy!” I screamed. “I got a visit, from my mommie!”

  “You lie.”

  “No, I’m not. Sister Ann-Marie told me. Dag, I wish you could go with me!”

  “I’ll go!” she answered excitedly.

  “No, you’ll get in trouble for sure!”

  “So I’ll sneak in and meet you outside of the main office!”

  “Okay!”

  Of course I wanted her to go with me. She was my bestest friend, and I was too scared to go it alone. We both rushed into the dormitory and over to my bunk. Sister Mary-Domenica—aka Sister Evilene, as I referred to her in my mind—was waiting impatiently for me. We both stopped dead in our tracks! Her hands went up on her hips when she saw the two of us staring at her like two deer in headlights.

  “What’s the matter with you two? I know something’s up. And where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

  “I was gonna help Rosie get dressed, sister,” Crazy Cindy answered in her beguiling way.