Bye Toxic Mom: A KIND OF MADNESS

During school breaks, our family occasionally goes away for the day, but sometimes she prefers to stay home by herself. An ordinary excursion feels like a trip to an amusement park: to heck with everyday life, let’s party! Now and then, however, our plans fall through and we end up coming home in the morning. This was before cell phones became popular.

“Aah! I was so scared when I heard the key turn, I thought one of you was dead, what’s wrong with you, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU??? You’re crazy—you’re all crazy!!! You want me to die, you’re going to kill me, you’re doing it on purpose, on purpooooose…”

After several episodes of this kind, my father gives up. Instead of going home, we change our plans. It doesn’t matter if we go to a museum dressed for a hike in the woods.

Before that, though, he comes up with the idea of ringing the doorbell and singing a song when my mother answers. A tune with lyrics such as, “Everything’s fine, all three of us are here, safe and sound.” Sung in a round. We rehearse and prepare: we force a joyful tone, showing no fear, trying to win over our audience, like those kids who play guitar on YouTube with instruments bigger than they are, and a frozen expression on their strained features as if someone is pointing a gun at them from backstage.

The song doesn’t go over well.

What I find degrading about the whole situation is that both of our parents compelled us to function in a murky, twisted way that was the opposite of simplicity and authenticity.

What we slipped into looked a lot like madness.