*
So greatly had the funeral procession altered the complexion of their entire day that Margaret forgot completely about the Social Security card she’d placed in her purse. She was, simply, glad Clarence would soon be home and she would have other, happier matters to usurp her attention.
19
The baby-girl barely able to sit without help was crying hysterical when Martin entered the room. It was lunch time. The child, sitting in her highchair with a bowl of food in front of her, was waving in the air about her face the fork her mother had given her to eat with. Huge tears puddled in her bright, eyes, rolled down her fat cheeks. With each pass of the fork, the baby stabbed herself and cried all the more.
“For God’s sake!” he said to his wife. “She’s too young to understand how to use a fork! She doesn’t even have the coordination for . . .” The realization of what his wife was doing struck him with horror. He suddenly wanted to throw up.
“. . . and you’d better not stab me with that, either.” she was saying to Rosie. “It would hurt!”
“Children,” Martin’s pastor said to him one evening, “even young babies, understand far more than they’re given credit for—perhaps not the details, the exact, specific dynamics of the incident, but the mother’s tone of voice, accusatory subtleties in her manner, body
language all convey a great deal to an innocent infant, a child solely dependent upon that person as Rosie was to your wife. It’s as though some people’s evil genius has been whispered into their ears by Beelzebub himself, the subtle knowledge of exactly when to do what and where, and stirs them to accomplish such unimaginable meanness with uncommon success. These people understand instinctively what to do to obtain their own selfish, narcissistic goals. It is, especially, offensive to me—and it must be to God, as well—when they, like your wife—take the natural reflexes God installed into the infant at conception for its welfare and survival and turn it to evil.
“Such was the case with the fork. A baby comes into the world with the reflex to grasp whatever touches its palm. As soon as your wife touched Rosie’s palm with the fork and the baby instinctively grasped it, there was no way it could be released. And, without the coordination to properly direct the tool, the child was stabbing it into herself and anything else that came into its path. She had no notion that the appendage flinging around her face was her own arm and hand or that the sharp object was being held by herself or that the pain she felt was self-inflicted. If your wife got stabbed, it was because she wanted to be and deliberately placed herself within its path. But, giving the child more credit than most people, your wife knew Rosie would, on some level, know she’d stabbed her mother and on some very basic level feel remorse and guilt. All this your wife knows, instinctively. Beelzebub . . . you understand?
“The same with the muffin you told me your wife gave Rosie when she was just starting to walk. As I
remember, you said your wife had brought home several very large muffins from the store, gave one to the toddler. It was so large, it had to be held in both Rosie’s hands. Knowing full-well the child was standing against her leg, the woman turned around, pushed against the child, made her fall to the carpet. The muffin hit, split into hundreds of crumbs. What was it your wife said to Rosie . . . ?”
“Just look what you’ve done. Now, I’ll have to clean up your mess!” Martin repeated.
“Yes. Exactly. This type of thing done over and over throughout a child’s life . . . It’s hard to say what effects they will have. But, your wife expects to be around to perform any tweaks necessary in Rosie’s attitude.
“And, then, when Rosie was 10 the woman hung signs on objects naming them as though Rosie was just beginning to read in Kindergarten. A sign on a chair: ‘CHAIR’. A sign on the table: ‘TABLE’. And, on the front door where anyone and everyone, including Rosie, could see, she placed the sign that said: ‘MOMMY’S DOOR.’ What that was for, I don’t know exactly, but I expect it was to keep Rosie off-guard, unbalanced, insecure, afraid for fear that, if it was Mommy’s door, Mommy could shut her out at any time; that, if the door were Mommy’s and could be locked at any time, perhaps she—Rosie—could call nothing inside her own. Succinctly put, to destroy any peace the child may have possessed, to keep the child forever a child, dependent upon the mother for even her peace of mind. Actually, what she’s doing is taking God’s place in Rosie’s life . . . she becomes the all-knowing, all-powerful one. She’s everywhere, all
the time. She determines when the child will be happy, when she’ll be sad, when she can be joyful in her accomplishments and the skills God has given her, when she’s to be ashamed.
“She is controller and manipulator, the quintessential Type-A personality without ever attending a board meeting or sending a memo, without ever ‘doing lunch’ with power brokers . . . without ever leaving the house. And, she will marry a man whom she can, somehow, get around . . . somehow bend to her demands. She rules the world by ruling one man—her man—who must go out into that world and turn it to his will; and, in doing so, bends it to her will. She cares for her man only as long as it serves her purpose . . . the Alpha female. And, what I say here will not be offensive to her since she’s very proud of her abilities unto gloating.
“What may offend her is having her true nature brought into the light. When things don’t go her way, she goes manic . . . hysterical. She may pout for days, weeks, if necessary, making everyone in the family miserable. And, this brings great satisfaction to her. Or she may break things, damage things that will cost her husband money or destroy things the husband holds dear, such as pets or his garden or a prized collection. She’ll probably berate him in front of people. Make him feel low, insignificant, undeserving. And, being an expert liar, her excuses always carry the ring of truth. She’s spiteful and vengeful and will do whatever it takes to get back on top, again. Even to the point of hurting the innocent.
“But, on a far deeper level, Martin, Satan knows you are spoken for by Jesus Christ, as is your child. You
are both His. Ultimately, you and Rosie are living out the spiritual battle on earth that is taking place between God and the devil. And, God tells us we must persevere, endure to the end.”
22...“And you will be hated by
all for My name’s sake. But he
who endures to the end will be
saved.”
26...“. . . For there is nothing cov-
ered that will not be revealed,
and hidden that will not be
known.
27...“Whatever I tell you in the
dark, speak in the light; and
what you hear in the ear, preach
on the housetops.
28...“And do not fear those
who kill the body but cannot kill
the soul. But rather fear Him
who is able to destroy both soul
and body in hell.
30...“. . . the very hairs of
your head are all numbered.
31...“Do not fear therefore;
you are of more value than
many sparrows.
32...“Therefore whoever con-
fesses Me before men, him I will
also confess before My Father
who is in heaven.
33...“But whoever denies Me
before men, him I will also
deny before My Father who is
in heaven.
38...“. . . he who does not
take his cross and follow after
Me is not worthy of Me.” NKJV ™
Matthew 10:22, 26-28,
30-32, 38
“And, that makes her a coward among cowards for how much courage does it take to hide in one’s house and inflict devastation upon an innocent baby?! And, of one thing you
can be certain: she’s so good at it because it was done to her. She grew up with it. But, you must not feel sorry for her. God tells us He gives each one of us the opportunity to choose good over evil and, somewhere down the line, when it would have been just as easy for your wife to choose the light over darkness, she turned her back on Him. When she did that, her spiritual nature
took the turn that is so hard to come back from . . . so hard that Christ left His Holy Spirit to intervene.
“It’s somewhat like pharaoh’s conduct when the Jewish children lived in Egypt. His heart was so hardened that horrendous plagues perpetuated upon himself and his people would not turn his will from destroying the Hebrews. He had set his course, was committed and pride would not permit him to let go.”
20
“I was sitting on the front porch swing with my best girlfriends when he came by on his scooter. ’Course he wasn’t supposed to be on the city sidewalks with his Pacemaker, but the cops wouldn’t do anything. Boys, often, did it and the police never said a thing. Sometimes their moms sent them to the store to get something. Since they were too young to drive a car, it was just a lot faster on their scooters. Carey—he hated it when the teachers called him Raymond, but teachers usually called everybody by their first names—stopped in front, sat on his machine and talked to us over the fence for a time. My friends all thought he was so cute. They hoped he’d ask them to ride with him, but he didn’t. He just talked for a while, said he had to get something for his mother and better go.
“I saw him in the hall between classes. He never seemed to notice me. Since he didn’t make the accelerated classes, we weren’t together for anything. But, I got to see him in the cafeteria at lunch, and, since I was on the Pep Squad, I saw him play at all the football games. The girls thought he was so good-looking, but he really wasn’t all that good—except at kicking field goals. Coach usually got him to do that. My friends talked all the time about how they were going to get some boy’s
football jacket when we got to high school. Me? I was thinking most of all about raising my average in algebra. The teacher was really strict . . . brought some new lessons into the curriculum and most of us kids were having trouble . . . except the college professor’s son. The kid wore a slide rule on his belt, for goodness sake! Our parents couldn’t even help us. They didn’t understand it, either.
“We girls had so much fun on the squad. Wore gold gloves and baseball caps with dark blue pom-poms. After the games we split up into smaller groups and went to the Carnation, a really nice ice cream shop—and big! They served almost anything you could want from sundaes to sandwiches with loads of chips to tomatoes filled with cottage cheese and loads of chips. That was my favorite. Then I’d top it off with a sundae. One scoop each of vanilla, chocolate, strawberry with nuts and pineapple and chocolate sauce. Mmmmmm. They called it their ‘Tom and Jerry Sundae.’ But I never saw Carey there. We all hoped he’d show up sometime . . . but he never did. Since it was Friday night, our parents let us stay out a little longer. We’d order . . . whatever . . . put our money into the jukebox and listen to all the wonderful songs . . . and talk.
“I didn’t have as many dates as some of the girls, but, with algebra such a bear, boys would have just distracted me. Grades were important to my parents. They’d accept nothing less than straight A’s. So, I spent a lot of time with my nose in the books, up to midnight on reports. My mom and dad would long since have gone to bed, and there I was still slaving away. My daddy would come in with his eyes all squinty and his hair going every
which way and say, ‘You still up?’ as though he felt sorry for me.
“Neither Mom nor Dad went above high school. Neither were in accelerated classes. School, from what they tell, was pretty much eezy-breezy. They had a few chores at home, but that requires a different part of the brain . . . not as taxing as essays and postulates. Didn’t come with the same hectic expectations and frenzied time requirements. Me . . . I stayed frazzled. Some of my friends could listen to the radio and do homework at the same time. Not me. I had to focus and that took my full attention.
“It’s not that boys didn’t like me at all. I guess I dated as much as I wanted to, but, usually, not the ones I really, really wanted to. And, really, really I’d have liked Carey to ask me out. But, since he didn’t, I took a c’est la vie attitude about it. Like Doris Day’s song ‘ . . . whatever will be will be’. He had some male friends. I saw him with them once in a while, but I didn’t see him with a date. I guess I never saw him with any girl, even at school, now that I think of it.
“Then, some weeks before school was out, I stopped seeing him in the halls. I looked for him, but didn’t want to make a big deal of it by asking my friends if they knew anything. I don’t think they did or they would have said something to me. Then, just ten or so days before the last day of school, he was back. He didn’t look good. Had a large cut from his forehead to almost his left ear. Anyone could tell it had been sewn up. His arm was in a sling. A finger was taped to a metal guard. And, he limped. Word got around that he’d taken a
mound one day on his scooter. The grass was wet; the scooter skidded sideways and threw Carey off. The machine flipped over on top of him. A handle bar rammed into his abdomen and something ruptured. He’d been in a coma for several days.
“I hurt for him. I wished we’d been friends so I could help him in some way, but he’d never given me any reason to think he wanted me around. They said his brain had been badly bruised, banged around pretty bad inside his skull, but not enough to do surgery. They gambled that he’d come out of it on his own, and he did. But, he didn’t look the same as before. Seemed to be sullen, grumpy. The boys said Carey’s parents sold the machine. They pretty much stopped trying to visit him at home. And, since Carey rarely left home, nobody knew much about him.
“I prayed for him. Hoped everything would turn out right for him. That God would heal him. Fortunately, he would have all summer to get well . . .
“And, then, we’d take on our first year in high school. I tried out for the Royal Cadettes a dance squad that performed at the high school football games. They needed someone who picked up the dance steps quickly, someone around five feet, five inches—I filled their bill. I wasn’t sure I could do it since I’d not taken dance classes for over a year, but I caught on quickly with the skills they were looking for. And, too, I’d filled out quite a bit over the summer. I looked in the mirror . . . just couldn’t believe what I saw. It was like someone had blown up a couple of balloons and attached them to my chest. I was too self-conscious to do the vivacious jumping and
twirling, stretching required of cheerleaders, but I wanted to do something other than be in the Pep Squad—same-ole-same-ole. The Cadettes were a dressy, sophisticated group of girls who did bows and leg kicks, arm-on-arm, hands-on-hips-type routines while the band performed during half-time. They got to wear these cute little dark blue dresses that came up to mid-thigh with wide gold cummerbunds.
“Not just anyone could get away with wearing those cummerbunds. You had to be a certain body type; the band director, especially, preferred the girls with more leg . . . and high, gold boots and tiaras studded with rhinestones. And, too, they sometimes performed at city functions. That interested me. Made me excited to get to be among business people. And, sometimes they appeared on television. That got me excited.
“I knew it was going to be a challenge—Cadettes along with keeping my grades up. My mom and dad talked about it and decided, if it didn’t work out, I would stop the Cadettes at the end of the year. They thought they might be able to get me a tutor. I wanted to be a Cadette more than anything . . . been wanting to be in it for quite some time. And, now, I was!
“I heard my friends talking about Carey Olftersen some time before I actually saw him, again. He no longer played football and my classes were, for the most part, in a different wing from his. They said he was more handsome than ever. The girls th
ought the scar, actually, gave him a rugged appearance, that it had healed quite well. The sling was off and, too, the finger guard. He still limped a little bit, but not enough to notice if you didn’t
know he’d been in his accident. So, I pretty much had forgotten about him until the girls told me he’d asked them who the girl 9th from the left on the Cadette string was.
“It was me! I was ecstatic! First, getting on the Cadettes. Then, having Carey interested in me. I was on Cloud 9. Having my wonderful gal-pals I’d gone through school with. The year book always gave the Cadettes a lot of exposure and more boys were asking me out. Even the guy with the slide rule. Go figure. And, topping it all off . . . I was keeping up with my grades. Life was good. No. Make that excellent with a capital ‘E’!
“I was doing fine—we all were doing fine, I think—until Russia and Sputnik threw us a twist. They beat us into space. I guess the humiliation to this country was great, and fear was greater that Russia was outstripping the nation’s education program. President Eisenhower and others decided schools were not presenting enough science, not turning out excellent scientists to meet the challenge, so, along with everything else, the screws were on for more and more advanced science and math instruction in schools.
“That took care of my second year with the Cadettes. Now, I’d have to do whatever it took to make A’s in chemistry and physics. And, it would take quitting the Cadettes. I was heartbroken ’cause they wanted me. The sponsors told me they really needed me, someone who knew the steps. They had been planning to make me a drill leader to teach the steps to the new girls. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to stay in the Cadettes. I cried. My parents were sad about it. But, they had to stand by
Camp Matigua: The Lost And Forgotten Page 9
