so here i am, finally getting started on my testimony, which ive wanted to do for years, only as a book. i think of all the people that have put their life stories out there for all to see, and i think to myself, "damn, i could do this and have a following" this first chapter is based on the part of my childhood up til i lost my parents and was moved to cali. enjoy.
i was born on october 3, 1969 in Reno, Nevada. i was the 2nd child born to my mother dorothy whitney coney, but the first from her new husband richard bell coney. my mom was in her mid 30s and shortly after i was born, or maybe before, they got married; i am assuming for saving face. I have a younger sister and an older brother, neither of whom i have any real contact other than a brief hello and facebook check up.
things of what i can remember of my younger years with my mom are scattered and brief. they arent the typical laughter and giggles of a normal family, but crying and hiding from her as she flew into drunken rages. my father, whom had divorced her, i have brief memories of him coming in, fighting with her about how she wouldnt even pull herself together enough to take care of her kids; yet he never took us with him. i never knew where he went, where he lived or when hed show, he always just popped in. thanks dad.
my house was a 3 bedroom typical home, i remember our garage was a treasure trove of stuff, from toys to furniture. i also remember that amidst the treasures were hoards of cats. they had tore up the bed and had babies everywere. not only in the garage but litters of kittens in the house too. i remember opening cabinet doors and cats would come flying out. nasty as it seemed, when youre 3 y/o, its entertainment. i had a cat named owl, my sisters cat was named rosemary, a calico. mine was a longhair tabby.
my things i remmeber that were mine, was a snoopy electric toothbrush, my cat, a baby cradle i received on christmas and a baby doll. i remember events, not in any type of order, but just events that i remember. i remember, when my mom couldnt function, i would go into the cabinet and get some raviolis (thanks chef boyardee) and take my sister to a neighbors house and ask if they could feed us. sometimes they could, sometimes they didnt have the time. i remember, our friends, when we could play, it was fun. my mom would fly into rages and chase us around the house, we had a table behind the couch, that was catty corner to a corner so that was my safe place. i would run and jusmp and hide, she couldnt get me; i would stay there til she left and went to her room. my mom loved mash, after we went to bed, i would remember sitting in the hallway and watching it. ahh the 70s. our home was across the street from the local high school, on elm street, in our backyard, we had a jungle gym, and a tetherball on the other side of the fence was just desert. people would ride their dirtbikes and me and my friends would go on adventures. today im sure its all built up. when we would be outside ijn the backyard, our mom would lay out and tan with a saltwater/babyoil spray. weird i always thought. my mom had a red pinto wagon and my dad had a orange/red beetle. when we would go out in the front, if it was windy, id always take an umbrella and try to fly away like mary poppins. id get pretty close sometimes! at christmas, i remember my mom would always talk to santa! i knew it cuz i could hear them talking. obviously it was my dad bringing presents but at that age i knew it was santa cuz he always knew i was at my door listening, and would tell me to go to bed or he wouldnt leave anything i ran and jumpt into bed and tried to sleep.
my mom was an alcoholic, if you havent figured out. she was an out of work actress that had been in a few plays but weas black-balled the 70s version of lyndsey lohan. she would call the grocers and have beer delivered and when they got their, she would hand me money and tell me to go answer the door. i was pretty young maybe 5. real safe rt? anyways, i remember one incident where i had answered the door, and a thought came to me. " i could make the delivery guy go away and then mommy wouldnt get drunk and maybe wed have a good day." that was it id set my mind i was taking control of the situation, my mom wasnt going to show herself cuz she was a mess so it was in my hands ex cheesy.....not quite. so the deliveryguy came with the brown bag of a few food items and her beer. as he asked for the money, i told him to take it back she changed her mind. i stood my ground. she wasnt going to get drunk, not today. he kept saying hun, give me the money adn just take the bag, no, was my continuous response. finally i tried to shut the door. when it was shut, my mom came out to get her stuff and when she saw she didnt have it, she flipped and started to yell. i started to cry. i just wanted a good day and she just wanted to drink. she opened the door and chased the man down the street , got the bag and came back and sent me to my room. at least she never hit me, not that i can remember anyways, that came later on in life.
my mom, a beautiful woman. red hair, dyed of course. she always put the biggest rollers in it they looked like the size of tin cans to a little girl like me. other than sitting in her chair and watching mash, i rarely saw her out of her room. im sure she was but i just dont remember. i remember her always on her bed crying to her therapist that she needed more medicine. i have a visual memory of once standing in her doorway, while she was sitting on her bed, buck naked, phone in one hand, beer in the other and a mirror on the dresser with a white powdery substance on it. it made me sad that i didnt have a normal mom, but i knew my kids would never go through that...ever.
we of course had a social worker, apparently one of the reasons i dont have many memories, is that we were rarely at home. we had been in 7 foster homes in as many months. our social worker was a nice lady, she would take us to the park, lunch give us an all around good day. my main memory of her was the day my mom passed away. apparently we were at the time in foster care. my mom was in the hospital for who knows wut, we werenever told the truth...ever. our social worker came for her regular day out visit, she took us to the park, bought us lunch, but then she took us to a different place, her house. i knew something was up and i was braced for it. as we ate our lunch, she engaged us in therapist related questions. then when we were done, she said she had something to tell us. " girls your mother has died." just like that our lives changed. as the words resonated in my head, i began to think about what would happen to us. i wasnt crying, unlike my sister who was sobbing buckets, why i never knew; its not like our mom was any good; maybe our lives would be better now. the social worker as she was comforting my sister, looked at me, and asked why i wasnt crying. " why" i replied, " its not like she was any good anyway". my sister looked at me like id killed her and began shouting at me " dont say that about our mom!" "so whats going to happen to us now?" was all i said. "well, your mom has left you in the care of her best friend. a lady named judy simpson, shes a good lady and seh is willing to adopt you as her own." was her reply. good. someone who actually wanted us. this lady couldnt be any worse than our mom or any of the homes wed lived in, which ill go into later. and that was that, we wrapped up lunch and were taken back to the foster home we were at currently. we never went to the funeral, we never saw our dad again, and we never were allowed to go back into the house, out house. our lives were fixing to change drastically and as i was excited to put this part behind me , my sister was scared, hurt and angry; of course deep inside, i was too.
