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littleoc
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Thanks, @somerandomguy :hug:
On the second or third visit to my house, Brandi was sitting in the living room. We used to have a living room, and a dining room, and a kitchen.
We were playing board games with my sister. We were having a great time. And then, smelling the spaghetti my mom was making, Brandi told me, "Because of my mom's previous boyfriend and his stupid disgusting kids, I hate spaghetti. I'm not going to eat it." I was a pretty great messenger. Even as a young child I was an excellent peacekeeper, able to get between my dad any my siblings easily enough. It was honed in my teenage years, when my little brother wasn't getting any f*cking treatment, and my mom was just ignoring him unless he came out to fight with her. And she kind of just let him, and it was my job to be protective. I had no idea this wasn't normal.
But at 13, I was great at peacekeeping. So, knowing that Brandi relied on me for everything (she couldn't even talk to the man at the Sonic Drive through to get ice cream, and I understood that from my own younger childhood), I went to tell my mom for Brandi.
My mom was in the kitchen getting the noddles started, because the sauce has been going for six hours and she hoped that would be enough this time.
Brandi's mom never cooked. Brandi lived on a diet of fast food and sketchy meat products she would heat up for dinner, while home alone as an eight-year-old, because her mom worked nights and going to her dad's house was punishment for crying. Her dad would leave Brandi with her stepmom, who would beat her and leave knives under her pillow. When Brandi asked for help, she was ignored, until her mom suddenly beat up her step mom. No charges were pressed on either side.
Knowing this, you might think it's weird that Brandi bragged that my childhood was worse than hers. You'd think she'd be more sensitive. I was very sensitive of her issues. She viewed mine as a game.
With this in mind, I told my mom that Brandi didn't like spaghetti. "Brandi does like hotdogs, though," and so my mom said very politely, "Okay, I'll make her a hotdog. Microwave okay?"
I went back to Brandi and asked her. She thought about it. She had a shy smile and looked like she wasn't sure what to say. "Can I have two?"
I went back and told my mom, "Two microwaved hotdogs are okay." My mom nodded and started getting those ready.
I went back to the living room. I told Brandi, "My mom makes really good tomato sauce, though. It's not like the canned or jarred ones. She makes food that's so good that even my cousin, who hates chili, loved my mom's tomato chili. You'd probably really like it."
She thought about it. "I feel bad now. I don't want to make Ms. Kitten" [what she called my mom] "go out of her way for me."
I assured her that my mom didn't mind. It was true. But then I asked, "Do you want to try the spaghetti, at least? I really think you'd like it."
"Sure," she said, so when I went to the kitchen to get our dinners, I put two hotdogs on her plate and some spaghetti.
My mom started, seemingly out of nowhere, screaming about it. Not screaming, really, because Brandi didn't hear her. But my mom was angry at me. I couldn't understand it because she'd been happy to help a moment ago. I got scared. I didn't know what to do so I just agreed with my mom and brought the food to Brandi, who said thanks and tried to cooking like normal.
My mom has been angry about this ever since and called Brandi an ungrateful child. She did this often. I did not defend her because I was confused and couldn't understand why my mom was overreacting. She never explained.
Keep in mind that I had not had a normal meal at all at this point, so I didn't know that I was being frustrating.
On the second or third visit to my house, Brandi was sitting in the living room. We used to have a living room, and a dining room, and a kitchen.
We were playing board games with my sister. We were having a great time. And then, smelling the spaghetti my mom was making, Brandi told me, "Because of my mom's previous boyfriend and his stupid disgusting kids, I hate spaghetti. I'm not going to eat it." I was a pretty great messenger. Even as a young child I was an excellent peacekeeper, able to get between my dad any my siblings easily enough. It was honed in my teenage years, when my little brother wasn't getting any f*cking treatment, and my mom was just ignoring him unless he came out to fight with her. And she kind of just let him, and it was my job to be protective. I had no idea this wasn't normal.
But at 13, I was great at peacekeeping. So, knowing that Brandi relied on me for everything (she couldn't even talk to the man at the Sonic Drive through to get ice cream, and I understood that from my own younger childhood), I went to tell my mom for Brandi.
My mom was in the kitchen getting the noddles started, because the sauce has been going for six hours and she hoped that would be enough this time.
Brandi's mom never cooked. Brandi lived on a diet of fast food and sketchy meat products she would heat up for dinner, while home alone as an eight-year-old, because her mom worked nights and going to her dad's house was punishment for crying. Her dad would leave Brandi with her stepmom, who would beat her and leave knives under her pillow. When Brandi asked for help, she was ignored, until her mom suddenly beat up her step mom. No charges were pressed on either side.
Knowing this, you might think it's weird that Brandi bragged that my childhood was worse than hers. You'd think she'd be more sensitive. I was very sensitive of her issues. She viewed mine as a game.
With this in mind, I told my mom that Brandi didn't like spaghetti. "Brandi does like hotdogs, though," and so my mom said very politely, "Okay, I'll make her a hotdog. Microwave okay?"
I went back to Brandi and asked her. She thought about it. She had a shy smile and looked like she wasn't sure what to say. "Can I have two?"
I went back and told my mom, "Two microwaved hotdogs are okay." My mom nodded and started getting those ready.
I went back to the living room. I told Brandi, "My mom makes really good tomato sauce, though. It's not like the canned or jarred ones. She makes food that's so good that even my cousin, who hates chili, loved my mom's tomato chili. You'd probably really like it."
She thought about it. "I feel bad now. I don't want to make Ms. Kitten" [what she called my mom] "go out of her way for me."
I assured her that my mom didn't mind. It was true. But then I asked, "Do you want to try the spaghetti, at least? I really think you'd like it."
"Sure," she said, so when I went to the kitchen to get our dinners, I put two hotdogs on her plate and some spaghetti.
My mom started, seemingly out of nowhere, screaming about it. Not screaming, really, because Brandi didn't hear her. But my mom was angry at me. I couldn't understand it because she'd been happy to help a moment ago. I got scared. I didn't know what to do so I just agreed with my mom and brought the food to Brandi, who said thanks and tried to cooking like normal.
My mom has been angry about this ever since and called Brandi an ungrateful child. She did this often. I did not defend her because I was confused and couldn't understand why my mom was overreacting. She never explained.
Keep in mind that I had not had a normal meal at all at this point, so I didn't know that I was being frustrating.