Special thanks to John Reinhardt, Jeffrey Ringer, and Carl Bozeman.
Much appreciation to Greg Tefft for being supportive in my efforts to tell my story.
• • •
Copyright © 2012 Lindy Tefft
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Laguna Hills, CA 92653
www.empower-press.com
ISBN: 978-0-9857080-2-3
Cover design by Jennet Inglis and Suzannah Safi
Cover photo by Roman Salicki
Text design and composition by John Reinhardt Book Design
Printed in the United States of America
This is a true story. Names of certain individuals have been changed to protect their privacy.
Author’s Note
1. A Lost Identity
Early Childhood
Tough Teens
The Collegiate
Struggling to be Free
Mirror of Fear
Photo Finish
Meeting Mr. America
2. Inside Mr. America
On a Dare
Jock with Brains
Becoming Mr. America
3. Opposites Attract
Ms. America for Better or Worse
Living with Hercules
Jealous Partners
Practice Makes Perfect
4. Treading Shallow Waters
Star Search Con
On Thin Ice
A Cloudy Oasis
Amazing Discovery
The Flim-Flam Man
Calm Before the Storm
5. The Last Straws
Return of the Flim-Flam Man
Life is a Haze
Beverly Hills Smoothie
Craving Control
6. The Darkest Nights of My Soul
Fall of the Rock of Gibraltar
Running on Empty
Keeping it Together
Behind Closed Doors
7. The Rocky Horror Show
Adding Insult to Injury
Emotional Release
Heart of Fire
Full of It
8. Finding My Soul Strings
Love is a Mirage
One Last Time
Finally, the Light
Poetic Justice
Addendum
This story is based on pure fact. It is a step by step, brutally honest account of my life. With no rest in between experiences, and barely enough time to take a breath, my life was like a never-ending roller coaster ride. These are my memoirs, my story, and exactly how it happened.
Having been born a couple of weeks early, I barely weighed five pounds. My grandmother used to say that I was the size of a baby chicken that could barely fit into the palm of her hand. I was born with an eye condition that left me severely far-sighted. When I became tired, one of my eyes would cross in; it was diagnosed as a “lazy eye.” The medical doctors told my parents that my eyesight would progressively worsen causing possible blindness by the age of thirty. This dismal diagnosis was extremely frightening and always echoed in my mind. My parents sponsored many years of remedial eye exercises for which I was very grateful, but there was not much improvement, and I felt like a huge disappointment to them. On top of my eye condition, my father desperately wanted a son since my sister had already been born. I always felt very badly that I couldn’t live up to his expectations and the mere sight of me seemed to be an aggravation to him. I guess that’s why my dad constantly yelled as he just wouldn’t speak to me in a normal tone. When I asked my mother about his yelling, she would say, “He doesn’t mean anything by his harshness. He really loves you, so look behind his words and his manner.” But, I couldn’t ignore the fact that he continuously raised his voice when addressing me. All I ever really wanted to do was to please him.
My grandparents, on both sides, came through Ellis Island on their migration from Russia in the early 1900s, which made my parents first-generation Americans. My mother told us that when my father was born, his parents were extremely disappointed because they really wanted a girl. She also mentioned that they had clothed him in dresses for the first couple of years of his life. Later on, I learned that this story was a complete lie. To this day, I could never understand Mother’s reason for telling us this ridiculous story.
I didn’t really know my grandparents on my father’s side as I had met them only once; they died when I was very young. My mother’s parents lived near us and I loved them dearly. My grandmother used to call me “Lindy America.” Perhaps she thought that I was different from the rest of the family and considered me to be someone special. Since my grandparents didn’t speak English very well, Mother told me that when she went to elementary school, she made up names for words that they were not able to teach her. The other kids made fun of her language skills. This embarrassment registered so heavily in her mind, that as an adult, she always made it a point to speak perfect English, pronouncing each word flawlessly. Because of her speech sensitivity, my pronunciation and use of the English language were always under constant, heavy scrutiny. My choice of words, as well as their pronunciation, had to be perfect. God forbid if I mispronounced a word as all hell would break loose!
My mother told me that when she was a child, her father accidentally spilled a pot of boiling water on her causing scoliosis of her spine. Many years later, I found out that this was not at all what had happened. A distant cousin that I had found in Florida informed me that, as a little girl, my mother was curious about a pot she saw on the bathroom shelf. It contained hot water and when she reached up to grab it, the water spilled leaving her badly burned; my grandfather was not even in the room when this happened. She had severe burns on one side of her body and was very self-conscious about these burn scars. Subsequently, Mother always wore long sleeves to hide them. I often wondered if her desire for perfect speech, and shyness regarding her scars, could have contributed to my mother’s paranoiac fearfulness as well as her need for absolute control of everything as time went on. I have many unanswered questions. Why would she lie, blaming this burn incident on my grandfather; this is something that I will never know. Interestingly, my mother kept my sister and me away from our relatives, so I wasn’t able to obtain information that could have reduced my confusion about so many things. In her strange, over-protective and controlling ways, Mother told us all kinds of weird stories about our relatives. Resultantly, we very rarely had contact with our distant family. My mother acted very jealous of her older sister who was very beautiful and quite successful. My aunt, a corporate attorney who lived in the wealthy Hamptons in New York, graduated from college by the approximate age of eighteen. Mother’s jealousy of her sister always baffled me because she was also a physically beautiful woman with a strong degree of intelligence.
I didn’t have many early childhood memories for reasons that were not clear until later in life. Somehow, when things are exceedingly painful, your body and soul have a way of protecting you by blocking them out. But, these hidden memories and emotions catch up with you later if they are not handled properly. Through the years, many stressful circumstances forced me to go into emotional release therapy which cleared the way to retrieve many buried childhood memories. I also endured years and years of horrible dreams and night sweats until I was finally able to put the pieces together. One such difficult experience happened when I was about five years old. I walked into my mother’s room where she proceeded to throw me down onto her bed. Then, she sat on top of me pinning my arms down by my sides. I had no idea what happened after that or what prompted this type of behavior. It took many painful years to finally dig out the memories of sexual molestation, also recalling times when as baby, Mother used me like an experimental object inserting pencils and other weird things into my vagina. As I got a little older, she further experimented by reading to me at night while I was sleeping. One night, when I woke up to the sound of her voice and asked her what she was doing, she said, “This is an experiment, just go back to sleep.”
Suffering constantly from a lot of high fever sicknesses, especially tonsillitis, my mother worked diligently to nurse me back to health. This was confusing as she would flip from “nurture to nasty” at a moment’s notice where all of a sudden, she would drag me down the hallway by my hair. I never knew what I did to deserve that harsh type of treatment. Not knowing what she would do at any given moment, I continually lived in a state of sheer terror, feeling completely unsafe.
Born in Pasadena, California, in the Huntington Memorial Hospital, I was my parent’s second child with my sister being born a year and a month earlier. At that time, we lived on a ranch in Arcadia. Shortly after that, we moved to Whittier, then onto the top floor of a duplex in West Hollywood. That residence seemed like a large tree house with Plummer Park as our backyard. A French family lived downstairs with three kids, and our landlord lived in the house in the front with their two kids. Next door, they had one child, and two doors down was a family of midgets with one average-sized daughter and one midget son. Their father became a successful midget actor with roles in numerous movies. The kids in our neighborhood got along and there was always someone to play with.
Plummer Park provided the type of backyard a kid could only dream about; there was so much to do. You could climb the many trees or pick blackberries, avoiding the occasional attacks from blue jays that were possessive over the trees. There were arts and crafts, the junior symphony orchestra, plays, tetherball, basketball; you name it, and it was there. The older folks sat on the park benches talking and playing card games from dusk until dawn. Occasionally, one of these old folks died on the spot while playing cards and their bodies had to be hauled away by a mortician.
At very young ages, both my sister and I took modern dance classes along with music lessons. I remember being in one dance class that had children and adults, and included actresses like Lucille Ball. After five lessons on the bass violin, at the age of twelve, I was very proud that I made it into a Los Angeles Junior Symphony Orchestra. Carrying such a heavy instrument that was taller than me back and forth from our home to the auditorium was always a challenge. My bass lessons were grueling and I was expected to practice so much, that it took away from the little play time I had. Eventually, I lost interest in this instrument and my parents never let me hear the end of it. Years later, when I went home to get my bass violin for a sentimental keepsake, my parents had sold it for five thousand dollars without even asking me. Since I didn’t seriously pursue any of the cultural avenues they had forced upon me, I was accused of having no motivation. They announced that if I continued this behavior, I would never amount to anything. In all honesty, none of these endeavors really interested me and I was frustrated by the fact that I was never allowed to do anything that I aspired to do. The bottom line was that when I did what my mother wanted me to do, I was considered a “chip off the old block.” And, if I didn’t listen to her, she acted as if she barely knew and I was treated like a piece of dirt.
Some feral cats lived behind our duplex. The Cat Care Club would come by, set traps to take these cats away, and then put them to sleep. This bothered me a lot since I really loved animals. Our family befriended an orange tabby we named Mother Cat, who gave birth to a litter of kittens. We ended up adopting one of them, a beautiful calico we called Kitty Poo, who lived twenty-one years. I became completely absorbed with this sweet little cat and as time went on, formed very strong bonds with all our pets as they were my only true source of consolation and unconditional love.
We lived very close to the Hollywood movie studios and talent scouts would wander around the park looking for the right person for a movie or television part. My mother was approached numerous times regarding acting opportunities for my sister and me, but she flatly refused them because she didn’t want us to be “ruined by Hollywood.” Hearing about this many years later, I was infuriated that I was never given the choice of whether or not I even wanted to become an actress. I had many opportunities that you could only dream about that were just flushed down the toilet.
In my early school years, my mother, who was substitute teaching at that time, was placed in my classroom. I felt like the luckiest kid around having my mother as my teacher, and the other kids looked up to me for that. I was like “queen for the day” every school day that she was there. Later on, my mother got her Master’s in Psychology and became a practicing counselor with some very famous clients such as actor Joel McCrea, actress Francis Dee, Julia Roth of Roth clothiers in Beverly Hills, etc.
Even though I was a “four-eyed” kid with thick glasses, the other kids never made fun of me, only an occasional stranger. My peers respected me because I was not only athletic, but usually got the highest grades in my classes. Blessed with a photographic memory, I could memorize class materials without having to understand what I was memorizing. This ability took me all the way through my Master’s degree. However, I was occasionally accused of cheating by teachers because I would write exactly what my photographic memory saw on the page of a book, word for word. To defend myself, I recited the text material back to my teachers who would then offer their humblest apologies. I was also tested to have an IQ over two hundred. Possessing this type of intelligence caused my parents to expect the best from me all the time, never letting me just be a kid. I had to study, study, and study some more because anything other than academics was considered to be a waste of time.
Upon entering the fifth grade, my parents transferred me to a school called the Third Street Elementary School, for exceptional children. It was very depressing to leave my friends in my regular school behind. This new school was so much further from home and I was very scared because I was not used to being so far away. Never having traveled much, all I was familiar with was the Plummer Park area where we lived, so I struggled to get used to my new surroundings. I went into sheer panic and for the first couple of months I cried and physically shook like a leaf as my mother drove me to school. Coaxing me out of the car each day, Mother would say, “I only expect the best from you.” What a horrible reassurance! I tried to wipe away my tears and regain some sort of composure while making that traumatic walk from the car to my classroom.
The difficult part of my exceptional accelerated curriculum was that we were taught material from the year ahead, and I had a lot of catching up to do in order to keep up with my new class. For instance, if you were in the fourth grade then you were taught fifth grade material, and then in the fifth grade, you were taught sixth grade material. I was proud of the fact that my dad taught English at John Burroughs Junior High School which was only a couple of blocks away from my school. He was known by some of my classmate’s siblings which made me feel a little more important, giving me a little status among my peers. With a lot of tedious, hard work, I finally became the top student in my class, joined the choir, performed in the school orchestra which made a commercial soundtrack, and developed some close friends with whom I kept in touch for many years. With every ounce of courage, I made the adjustment into this new curriculum and emerged with flying colors. My parents seemed pleased for the time being; I temporarily felt safe.
West Hollywood was quickly becoming overpopulated and smog started to settle in permanently. My sister and I were getting closer to entering high school and became aware of the new gangs that were forming in the neighborhoods. My cozy playground, Plummer Park, was transforming into an arena for violence and drug dealing with accompanying arrests. We heard that a student was shot at Fairfax High School, where we were to be eventually transferred. Because of this, my parents decided that it was time for us to get out of the city, so we moved to the small town of Thousand Oaks in Ventura County about fifty miles away. This sleepy, rural town presented an enormous contrast to urbanized West Hollywood. There was very little around except cows and sheep roaming the green rolling hills that were covered with huge, sweeping oak trees. Thousand Oaks was an old-fashioned, friendly place where you got to know your gas station attendant, and if you didn’t have enough money for gas, he’d say, “Bring it next time,” and you did. The produce man, mailman, shoe salesman, garbage collectors, policemen, etc., all knew you on a first name basis. There were farms and ranches all around; and the horses, how I loved the horses!
My parents initially bought two houses costing ten thousand dollars each; one house was for us and the other was for my grandparents. These newly built homes, each standing on a one acre lot, were located on a pebbled road surrounded by small farms and ranches. We eagerly waited for our bigger home to be built which was to be situated on a beautiful view lot on the other side of town. After a year, we were ecstatic when it was finally completed, and we excitedly moved in.
My new school, Meadows Elementary School, was a far cry from the previous one. It was located on a hill with a grassy playground that had a gorgeous view of Thousand Oaks. The teachers accentuated the basic academics that were skipped over by my last school whose curriculum was one year ahead of everyone else; so, once again I had some catching up to do. I was given the choice of either skipping ahead or staying behind a semester. My sister chose to skip ahead, whereas I decided to stay behind because of a lack of self-confidence. I worked around the clock to master these basics, and by the time I was in eighth grade, I became class valedictorian closely tying with a fellow student. To my sheer amazement, I was also voted the “cutest smile” in this graduating class and the guys would tell me, “You’ll be a real knockout when you get older.” This was the first time I got any attention for my physical appearance. Because of my eye problem combined with an extremely strict upbringing, I was painfully shy and didn’t know how to accept compliments. I laughed a lot to reflect any attention away from me. My friends thought that I was happy all the time, but the opposite was really true as I was masking excruciatingly low self-esteem and debilitating sadness with humor.
Some of my new friends owned horses and I was able to spend some time horseback riding which I thoroughly enjoyed. When I visited their families, I became a little envious as I observed how lenient their parents were with them. I longed to be a part of their family because their parents didn’t impose a strict time schedule on them as mine did. They were allowed to come and go with little or no hassle. I looked for any excuse to go horseback riding which became an outlet for me to get away from the continuous pressures to study, study, and more study. However, my mother would always find something to cut down about my friends or their families. When she would start her critical analysis, I would pretend that I was separate from my body and was just watching this from afar, until she finished. No one in my family had any equestrian interests, so after a day’s ride they were typically repulsed by my horsey smell. It was devastating when my horseback riding buddies moved out of state and I no longer had their friendship, kindness, generous families, and access to beautiful horses.
My mother’s closest friends, Lena and Henry, were the fifth richest people in the United States at the time. They lived in the expensive area of Bel Air, California, with neighbors as actresses Loretta Young and Zsa Zsa Gabor. Mother had gone to college with Lena who was now a very eccentric, wealthy lady. She had a big, black swimming pool and unusual home decorations with her strange, artsy statues that were placed all around her home. Her Christmas gifts sometimes included stale cookies wrapped very ornately that someone had probably given to her and, in turn, she passed them on to different people. We used to go shopping with Lena on Rodeo Drive and it was amazing how the sales people in every store knew her so well. She was always escorted to a special dressing room where the staff served her wine and appetizers as the store’s models displayed clothes that were perfectly suited for her. This shopping experience gave me a taste of how the elite live. It was like a totally different world which I really adored. Who wouldn’t love all this pampering and sophisticated shopping? I hated when these days came to an end.
One day, Lena called my mother and told her about a beautiful purebred German Shepherd whose show name was Princess Frieda of Westdean; Frieda had been bred to be a show animal. She further explained that this dog was going to be put to sleep and was hoping that maybe we could find her a home in one of the nearby ranches in Thousand Oaks. The dog’s owners had carelessly allowed their kids to pluck hairs from Frieda’s coat. When the dog finally became agitated and nipped at the kids, they decided it was time to get rid of her. My parents had a soft place in their hearts for animals, so they agreed to rescue the dog and the next day, we took the drive into Los Angeles. When we finally saw Frieda, her appearance was shocking! The plucked out hairs had left large bleeding scabs all over her body, and to top that off, her ribs were prominently sticking out from being so malnourished. How could anyone do this to such a precious, innocent animal? That night, we kept her in the garage because we didn’t know what to expect from her. We also stored two cars in our garage, and one of them had the windows left open. Frieda must have jumped through the window of that car because the very next day, she gave birth to a litter of puppies in the back seat. Being so emaciated, it was impossible to tell that she was pregnant. The car was an absolute mess after she had given birth to her puppies, and some of her blood stains from birthing never came out. Suddenly, eight German Shepherds were running around our house with each one of us having to take turns feeding them around the clock with a bottle because Frieda was too weak to nurse; she didn’t have enough milk to sustain her pups. Taking care of the pups was very tedious work, but we thoroughly enjoyed it. During this time, it was like Cara and I were on a temporary vacation from my parent’s usual gestapo-like ways because they were so focused on the pups. Eventually, we placed all the pups into wonderful, loving homes.
My parents became worn out from the experience with Frieda. They decided to keep her, but vowed that they were not going to accept anymore more pets. However, when I was about fourteen years old, while I was at my Grandmother’s house, I saw the neighbors playing “catch” with a beautiful little kitten. Angered by their outright cruelty, I planned to somehow rescue this poor animal. I decided to visit my grandparents the following day to see if I could save this abused kitten. The warmth of the afternoon sun made me fall asleep on their porch. To my surprise, when I awakened, this kitten had curled up into my stomach—he had fallen asleep with me! I quickly picked him up and asked my grandfather to drive me home. When I got through the front door of my parent’s house, I ran into my room, placed the kitten on my bed, and closed the bedroom door me. Quickly leaving the house to avoid confrontation, I knew that by the time I returned, my parents would have wondered why my door was closed, opened it, found the kitten, and adopted him into their hearts; well, I was absolutely right. Now, officially becoming a part of our family, I decided to call him Tofu. He was a beautiful tan and white Siamese mix with bright blue eyes. Tofu became my savings grace as he was always there to comfort me whenever I cried, was sick, or needed love. I deeply appreciated him and was eternally grateful for his presence in my life. Throughout these years, my pets provided me with the love that I craved so desperately from my parents.
Some years later, a wild mallard duck wandered up our driveway and hid in the bushes by the house. Since we lived in a residential area, we had no idea where he came from. The following night, it rained and my sister was abruptly awakened by splashing sounds in our drain. Cara came into my bedroom and woke me up, and then we went outside to investigate the noise. The duck that had wandered up our driveway earlier was having a wonderful time bathing in our flooded drain. Watching his adorable playfulness, we wondered if he would still be there in the morning. Early the next day, as I walked over to the drain, I could see that he wasn’t there and felt disappointed that he was nowhere to be found. While walking back to the house, suddenly, I heard this loud quacking coming from the backyard. As I ran over to the fence, the duck was playing with one of the sprinklers and had obviously flown over the gate. I ended up naming him Heidi, even though he was a male. That same day, I went to the store to buy him a child’s blow-up pool, filled it with water, and we spent hours enjoying each other’s company. Heidi was a happy creature and would stay by me when I did my homework on the grass in the backyard, pecking affectionately on my paper. He learned his name so every time I would call him, he’d always come running over to see me. His loving personality was very touching and after a few months, I was able to pick him up. However, one horrible day after school, I walked into the backyard to play with him, and saw Heidi lying limp on the ground. Fearing the worst, I began crying as I ran towards him to find out what was wrong. I discovered that a hawk had pecked out one of his eyes, leaving claw marks on his head. Heidi obviously fought hard for his life and with these grave injuries, needed help right away. We couldn’t bring him to a veterinarian because he was a semi-wild creature, so we had to take turns putting compresses with a healing herbal formula over his eye. It was touch and go for a couple of weeks, and we weren’t sure that he was going to survive. Because we took such good care of him, he finally regained his health, but a problem arose that we hadn’t expected. Heidi used to see three hundred sixty degrees around him by turning his head, and now, because one of his eyes was missing, he could only see one hundred eighty degrees. Walking up to his blind side made him very panicky, but he finally got used to it and became calmer as time went on.
Interestingly, our cat, dog, and duck used to sleep and play together. Since all our animals accepted each other so openly and lovingly, I wondered why people couldn’t be the same way, especially my family. My parents showed such kindness, patience, love, and sensitivity to our pets, but why couldn’t they have been this way to their own children? This just didn’t make sense.
Heidi lived for only a year after this accident. He eventually developed severe arthritis because he spent too much time walking on the land playing with the Frieda and Tofu, and not enough time in the water. After his four year stay with us, he died under a bush. We sadly buried him in our backyard while our dog and cat went on to live many years beyond Heidi’s passing.
At about this time in my life, my parents suddenly decided that we should become vegetarians. The family went on a very strict vegetarian health food diet with the only animal products being occasional cheese and eggs. I was totally flabbergasted when I came home one day to find our house thoroughly cleaned out of all the food I used to enjoy eating as everything had been replaced with raw vegetables. No longer was I allowed to eat the food that I was accustomed to eating all of my life. There was no more meat whatsoever! It was a bland, distasteful diet which caused me to feel hungry all the time. Plagued with recurring episodes of weakness and nausea, my body became more and more fatigued. My hormones were thrown so far out of balance, that after being skinny my entire life, I rapidly gained a lot of weight. Going from thin to fat was like a horrible nightmare from hell as I went from a size four to a size thirteen in a matter of weeks. Of course, my parents didn’t blame this dramatic change on their newfound diet, but instead, attributed most of the weight gain to emotional problems that I was causing myself. Subsequently, they took me to see a highly recommended naturopathic doctor in Ojai. Within six months of beginning treatment and supplement therapy, I was back to my normal size.
Judging from my results, this doctor proved to be extremely knowledgeable as his reputation had suggested. However, there was another problem since he used some very strange, unorthodox techniques during our clinical sessions. As I lay on the therapy table, this doctor pulled down his pants and would instruct me to touch his penis while he massaged my abdomen. He explained, “This is a vital part of the therapy.” He went on to say, “Don’t be scared, it’s not going to hurt you.” Being twelve or thirteen years old, I had never seen a penis before and felt not only ashamed, but humiliated as well. I didn’t know who to turn to or what to do. Thank God, this was not required at all the treatments, just most of them. When I didn’t have to touch him during a session, I was always so relieved. Dreading my visits, I tried to make excuses to my parents as to why I didn’t want to go to see this doctor, but they ignored my pleas. My sister was visiting him for other reasons and when I asked her if she had to touch his penis as part of the therapy, she said, “Yes.” She and I both struggled with this dilemma and when I tried to approach Mother about this situation, she was not at all receptive. She simply didn’t believe me, so I was forced to drop the subject. My sister was always too afraid of our mother to back me up on anything. After our treatments were finished, neither my sister nor I ever mentioned this again. My parents were also treated by this doctor and I couldn’t help but wonder what went on in their examination rooms. This was too repulsive to think about, so I just let it go.
My parents tried to find the highest quality foods money could buy, and being so academic, they were always aware of the latest and greatest nutrition theory…only to find that one theory contradicted the next! Living from theory to theory continued to wreak havoc on my young, still-developing body, and over time, I felt physically weaker and weaker. To get a temporary energy boost, sometimes I snuck over to my grandparent’s house and ate some candy, or drank a soda, just to get a little sugar in my system. My grandmother felt sorry for me and tried to sneak in whatever food she could in an attempt to help. But eventually, I felt so guilty about going behind my mother’s back, that I discontinued those visits to my grandmother for a while. When I complained to my mother about my fatigue and the other physical symptoms I was developing, true to form, she would always say, “It’s all psychological,” and that was that. This was her answer to everything and she always left me feeling so empty, lonely, and helpless. My only solution was to live with the physical discomfort and hope that it would eventually go away, but I became more and more withdrawn, distancing myself from my parents as much as possible.
Elementary schools in Thousand Oaks went up to the eighth grade; there were no intermediary schools. High school was from the ninth to twelfth grade. My high school days were mainly spent studying, studying, and more studying. I didn’t have much for a social life and I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. My sister became a top honor student, and by the time I reached high school, everyone expected me to be just like her. I started to question why I should get As when Bs could accomplish the same goals of getting into college. With this in mind, I tried to enjoy my classes more and stopped worrying about getting the highest grade. My parents stayed off my back as long as they knew my grades were good enough for college acceptance.
In high school, I still didn’t understand anything about the male-female relationship. Some of my friends in high school were going steady and that was something that I never saw happening for me. I never dated anyone, but had a few distant crushes. With my eye problem, I never felt pretty enough for anyone to like me back, so I tended to observe from afar. My biggest crush was on the actor Kurt Russell, who was in the class ahead of me. When he wore his sexy, black skin-tight jeans with his black shirt and boots, that outfit drove me and a whole slew of other girls crazy! The closest I got to him in high school was taking driver’s education with his sister.
Later, in high school, I suffered from an acute case of pneumonia. In order to recuperate, I was kept out of school for a couple of weeks. My mother conjured up a cruel psychological analysis saying that I was infected by pneumonia because I’d had a sexual experience with some guy in school that I wasn’t able to face up to. How humiliating! I was totally startled by her absurd accusation since it was the furthest thing from the truth. Being romantically awkward, I had never even kissed a guy and was still a virgin. In high school, I was so backwards that I still didn’t fully understand the concept of sex. The discussion of sex was considered to be voodoo in my family. Even though I had touched that doctor’s penis so many years earlier, the only other exposure I had to sex was looking at a picture of a large-sized penis that the girls were passing around in the restroom. And, since Mother always insisted that sex was something you did after you were married, I didn’t question it. Her reasons for accusing me of this were beyond my comprehension, but she persisted with this insinuation. Little did I know that this incident was only the beginning of the some of the most excruciatingly, hellish years to come.
To my total amazement, a dear friend, Don, who was one of the handsomest guys in my high school class, asked me out to the high school prom. I wanted to accept his invitation more than anything in this entire world, but declined because I had no confidence in myself. And, after the perplexing pneumonia incident with my mother, I was very squeamish about bringing anyone home to meet my weird parents who were highly critical of anyone I called my friend. Don took my refusal very personally and I was completely devastated when he never spoke to me ever again. I was just too shy to tell him the real reasons as to why I couldn’t accept his invitation.
Most of my high school courses were finished ahead of time because my parents demanded that I attend school during the summers in order to graduate sooner. So, I went half-day to high school during my last semester with the other half spent at Moorpark Junior College. Going to my high school graduation was not allowed since my parents felt that I was already in college and it would only be a “waste of time.” First, I had to miss my high school prom, and now the graduation that I had been looking forward to for so long. I never even got the chance to say goodbye to most of my high school friends.
I began Moorpark Junior College on a full-time basis. This college had just been built and was located in the beautiful hills surrounding the small and scarcely-populated town of Moorpark. There was only a couple of winding country roads to get to the college which was about ten to fifteen miles outside of Thousand Oaks. This college specialized in the academic majors of agriculture and farming. To my complete surprise, there were about fifteen guys to each girl because not many women wanted to go to this school due to its agricultural emphasis, and because it was located so far out in the country. I had two reasons for deciding to go to a junior college. First, my sister and I were forbidden to live in an apartment or dorm so we could not venture any distance from home. Our parents wanted to keep an eye on us at all times in order to make sure that we grew up “properly.” And second, even though I had the grades to get into any university, coming from such a small town I was nervous about attending school on a large campus, so Moorpark Junior College seemed like the best choice. Amazingly enough, this quaint junior college had some excellent teachers on the faculty, some of whom authored our textbooks, and with the small classes, I truly enjoyed the personalized education.
Attending Moorpark gave me a whole new lease on life as I began to realize that there was a different world outside the iron walls my parents had built around me all these years. Feeling very frustrated and fed up with their cruel, unrealistic rules, I yearned to be with my new friends and build a life that I could call my own. I started noticing the opposite sex and felt the rush of my hormones; I craved a real social life. Two fellow students by the name of Sharon Daniels and Laurie Randall became my best friends. I also met a few guys and we all started hanging out together. I began to skip classes and spent afternoons at the beach with my new friends. Most of them were guys and I really enjoyed their masculine energy which was new to me. It felt absolutely exhilarating to get away from the old grind of all work and no play. So I wouldn’t fall behind in my classes, I borrowed the daily lecture notes from classmates and still received good grades. My new social life was kept a secret from my parents since it was not in their belief system to have fun. This newfound feeling of freedom inspired me to take a part-time job at the local Kmart where I could start earning money. When I informed Mother that I had gotten a job at Kmart, she just looked away. I loved my new job and the feeling of making my own money, and quickly formed a crush on the manager of the front cashiers. We both enjoyed teasing each other and laughing together. But, within three months, unbeknownst to me, my mother made a phone call to Kmart to have my job terminated. I was so humiliated and embarrassed when one day, I went to work and found that I had been dismissed for no apparent reason. Mother was obviously stressed over my newfound independence and felt that she was losing control over me. Her excuse was that Kmart was taking me away from my studies even though I was maintaining excellent grades.
Sharon felt sorry for me because of the ugly, outdated clothes my mother chose for me, so she let me borrow some of her clothes to wear to school. Routinely, I would leave my house in the morning, immediately go over to Sharon’s house, change into her clothes, drive to school, and then after school change back into my own clothes, returning Sharon’s clothes the next day for a new outfit. She saved me so much embarrassment because I was never allowed to wear a dress that was more than an inch above my knee when mini-skirts were the fashion, or a bikini, as it showed too much skin. Going to the beach with a guy was absolutely out of the question, since according to my parents, we were both almost nude. Sleeping over a girlfriend’s house was not a possibility either because my mother was afraid that I would be raped by their father or brother. Going to parties was difficult because my parents did not want me exposed to drugs or “promiscuous behavior.” So, in order to experience some of the normal things in life, I had to lie by saying that I was studying with a friend.
Lying became a way of life and I hated to lie as it went against the grain of my soul. As exhausting as it was, it took a lot of forethought and preparation just to be able to experience some kind of normalcy in my life. Sometimes, Mom or Dad would make a phone call to a friend’s parents to check up on me, but I always covered my back to keep myself protected. Trust was never a part of my relationship with my parents; they didn’t trust me and I didn’t trust them with their complete manipulation and control of every aspect of my life. I lived with a dark, debilitating cloud of fear constantly hovering over me, and their guilt trips were unbearable. Even the music that I loved to listen to was under scrutiny. My beloved rock and roll was considered “voodoo” music and not permitted in their house. At night, after they went to bed, or at other times when they didn’t know I was home, I used to spend many hours in my closet with a flashlight reading the books that I was curious about. I bought a little transistor radio so I could listen to my “voodoo” music quietly with an earphone hidden under my pillow to avoid heavy criticism. In time, I was finally able to talk my parents into buying me some wire-rimmed glasses with beveled edges instead of the black plastic horned rims that I always wore. This dramatically improved my appearance and was another small step I took on my own behalf.
Going back to my days at Kmart, the head cashier that I liked was named Gary. He pursued me romantically, always following me around Kmart whistling at my legs and joking about me over the loudspeaker as the store was about to close. He left romantic cards and notes on my car, and looked for me on the campus at school. I was really flattered by his attention and for the first time, fell in love. I reluctantly decided to bring Gary home to meet my parents. He was very nervous because I had warned him about my weird family, but despite that, he was such a good sport. When we got to my parent’s house, because the tension was thick and uncomfortable, Gary only stayed a short time. Immediately after he left, my mother verbally mutilated him behind his back with her disgusting psychological analysis of his imperfections. As usual, she went for the jugular about everything she felt was wrong with him, and all I could do was maintain consistent eye contact to avoid further harassment. Even though Gary accepted my parents as being wacky, he never came over to my house ever again. In spite of it all, we continued our platonic relationship outside of my house. He was very respectful of the fact that I didn’t want to have sex until marriage, and never pushed the issue.
My friend, Laurie, was throwing a party in a couple of days which Gary was planning on attending. Even though Gary and I hung out together when we could, I was still very backwards sexually and had never even kissed him. Sharon’s boyfriend, Ted, knew that I had been too shy to kiss anyone, so he volunteered to teach me how to French kiss. I liked Ted and had spent a lot of time with him as he was one of the guys that hung out with Sharon and me at the beach when I was playing hooky from school. So, with Sharon’s permission, I took Ted up on his offer and was excited to learn. In case Gary wanted to kiss me at Laurie’s party, Ted wanted to make sure that I knew what I was doing so I could impress him. After a brief kissing lesson, which I thoroughly enjoyed, Ted felt I had learned quickly and was definitely ready.
On the night of the party, I was very nervous and paced around Laurie’s house. A couple of hours into the evening, Gary still had not arrived. I started to think that something had come up and he wasn’t going to show up at all. So, I tried to engage in conversation with some of the other guests to take my mind off of Gary. Just when I totally gave up, the doorbell rang and he walked in. My heart started pounding very hard in my chest. I didn’t feel as comfortable around Gary as I usually did because of my sexual tension. We went into Laurie’s bedroom, and after all my preparation and anticipation, nothing happened because I actually felt guilty about wanting to express my affectionate feelings towards him. My parents’ repressive words about sex echoed in my head and I knew that I sent out a lot of confusing signals. A little while later, Laurie’s father asked everyone to leave the party; Gary and I went our separate ways. My inner frustration was overwhelming, but I decided to chalk it up to the fact that it just wasn’t the right time to express myself sexually, consoling myself with the fact that I had my whole future ahead of me.
Years later, Gary and I bumped into each other by accident and it felt like we had never been apart. I noticed a marriage band on his finger and tried to hold back my tears. He still had those sparkling blue eyes and adorable dimpled smile. After briefly catching up on things, Gary looked deep into my eyes and professed that he realized that I was the woman he really wanted to marry. Totally shocked, I almost fell off my feet! He told me that he had been looking for me for years and that many times he had tried to call my parents to find out my whereabouts, and they discouraged him from contacting me. Even though I was still living at home when Gary made his calls, I was never told about it and not even given a choice in this matter; I was heartbroken when he expressed this to me. Gary continued to let me know that since I had gone to another school and he couldn’t find me, he married somebody else. We hugged each other, both trying to wipe away our tears. After we wished each other well, I walked away without looking back…it was too painful.
After Moorpark Junior College, I transferred to the University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA). I frequently visited a restaurant called Le Foyer De France which was owned by a French couple. My sister and I considered them to be our godparents because they were long-time friends of our parents. After my classes at UCLA, I’d usually have to wait until the rush-hour freeway traffic subsided before I could drive home. So, I would walk to their restaurant, which was located in Westwood Village right by UCLA, and run their cash register. During my breaks, I’d sneak into the restaurant kitchen where the food was prepared, and when the chefs weren’t looking, dip my fingers into the large containers of rich French chocolate and sample the other assorted delicious French delicacies. This was such a novelty to me since we were not allowed to have sweets at home. Many famous people such as Goldie Hawn, Jacquelyn Smith, Farah Faucett, former governor Pat Brown (current California Governor Jerry Brown’s father), etc., regularly frequented this restaurant, and I was always excited to see what celebrity would come in next.
I continuously traveled back and forth between UCLA and Thousand Oaks. this exhausting drive would take one to two and a half hours depending on traffic. Despite this inconvenience, my parents were happy because I still lived under their roof, and they could keep a close eye on everything that I was doing. UCLA would seem huge to anyone, but especially to me, having come from such a small town. After you parked your car, you had to take a city bus to get onto the UCLA campus. I hadn’t been on many city buses so I didn’t realize that you were supposed to reach up and pull the cord to let the bus driver know that you wanted to get off at the next stop. On my very first trip taking the shuttle from the parking lot to the UCLA campus, more and more people were leaving the bus until finally, the bus was at the last stop and I was the only one left. The driver looked at me very strangely and drove me back to the parking lot. I ended up walking to the campus which caused me to be tardy to my first class; I felt so humiliated! With crowded, impersonal classrooms, sometimes you had to watch a television monitor to be able to see your professor or whoever was giving the lecture. The campus was extremely large and spread out so if you had a class on one side of campus, and then had to go to the other side of the campus for your next class, chances are you’d be late. I really missed the quaintness of Moorpark and felt like a fish out of water at UCLA. After one quarter, I’d had enough and transferred to the California State University in Northridge (CSUN), a much smaller campus closer to home, and of course, my parents were thrilled.