Chapter 13: Bullies and Bibles

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— Full chapters will appear in the printed published book. —

My brothers Raymond and Bruce made friends with some of the teenagers around the countryside where we lived, who were old enough to drive. Some had their own cars, which were old and beat up, rusted here and there. In order to keep these old clunkers running, they spent a lot of time looking under the hood, checking wires and the battery, and fixing stuff. These jalopies provided transportation which was the most important thing, even though they broke down often and required constant maintenance.

As Raymond’s friendship with Eddie grew, I started to get to know Marg better, too. When we first moved to the farm, their house became a very popular teenage party hangout in the rural Minnitaki and Oxdrift region, not so much because of Eddie or Marg, but because of their older sister Krystyna. She was popular and pretty with an outgoing, charming personality.

Marg and Eddie lived in a two-storey home on the highway to the west of our road, a 15-minute walk from the school and Ed’s grocery store. It was a much better location compared to where we lived. Marg’s mother was Ukrainian and spoke very little English. I loved listening to Marg and her mother speaking with each other in their native tongue. I was fascinated, that someone as young as Marg could speak fluently in English and also in another language. The love between Marg and her mother was shown constantly with hugs and affection. Marg’s father lived in a rooming house in Winnipeg and they had very little contact with him.

Almost every time I saw Marg’s mother, she was wearing an apron and cooking something delicious — perogies slathered in butter with bacon bits and onions, succulent cabbage rolls, wonderful light and flaky pastries. How I envied Marg to have such meals to look forward to every day. And I didn’t understand how she stayed so slim. Occasionally, they offered me a chance to try a sample. Perhaps they could see that my mouth was watering. I couldn’t help smacking my lips together when I finished each bite. I wanted so much to ask for more, but I didn’t want them to think I was a glutton. I could have eaten a whole plate of anything Marg’s mom made, everything was so delicious.

Sometimes, when I was at Marg’s house, Krystyna was throwing one of her parties. Their small living room was crowded with teenagers dancing the twist or jive. Marg and I were much younger than most of them, so we stayed on the sidelines and watched, then we tried to copy their moves in a corner by ourselves. Their 45 records included such hits as “Little Sister,” “Hello Mary Lou,” “I’m Gonna Knock on Your Door,” “Let’s Twist Again” and “His Latest Flame.” The house was full of laughter and good times. It made me feel good to be surrounded by all the excitement and jubilation.

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I was always a very obedient and hardworking student. I would never want to do anything to upset a teacher. One time, Eddie made a joke about something and the whole classroom erupted into laughter. Miss Bassett looked around the room, then zeroed in on me and told me to get out. I was horrified. Goody little two-shoes me!

Miss Bassett must not have known that I was one of the best students. I was the only one centred out by the inspector the year before because I deserved some enrichment to my education experience. He recognized I was smart. But Miss Bassett looked at me as a weak target. I believed she needed to displace her anger for being laughed at, and saw me as the weakest in the room. Maybe because I was a Freak. I always sat and listened and obeyed. I worked quietly by myself. I never got out of my seat without asking permission. I was exactly the type of student she could pick on easily.

Being thrown out of the classroom was an insult to my character. I knew this was not fair at all, so I tried to protest. I had never before even thought of standing up to a teacher, but this was different. First, I didn’t have as much respect for Miss Bassett as I did for Mrs. Dunn. And second, I did not deserve this.

The whole class was laughing. I was just one of many, she couldn’t kick them all out, but why did she bother to kick anyone out? And why me?

When I stood up to go, I asked her, “Everyone in the class is laughing. Why is it me who has to get out?”

She thought for a moment, lifted her chin up and stared down at me. “Because you were the one who was so conspicuous!” She must have felt superior, using a word that she knew we wouldn’t know. I knew I would have to look up that word in the dictionary later. But, as always, I did as I was told.

I slunk to the back area between the cloak room and the classroom and hung out there all day. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong and I felt like I was being picked on and unjustifiably so. There was no reason to ostracize me like that when everyone was laughing just as loud or louder. Teachers could be bullies too, I concluded. I could understand why she did it though. She didn’t like what was happening, she was angry and humiliated, and she wanted to strike out against someone, so she picked me. Bullies are actually quite easy to figure out.

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In the summer, the sun didn’t set until after 9 p.m., so we often did chores until almost bedtime. We worked from sun up to sun down. So we had little leisure time for any hobby or recreation, plus we were usually too tired to do anything but sleep. The winter was different, when the sun set around 5 p.m. on the shortest days in December and January. So, in November the poker games resumed with the four of us. My small jar of penny winnings was now almost full. I liked the mental challenge, it was a form of enrichment for me. I had become quite the good player, using my logic and deductive skills, and I looked forward to the evening of games with my brothers and even Cliff, who we all were beginning to hate. But he was different when he played poker with us, he seemed to soften a little and we could see some nicer human qualities in him.

Then one evening, out of nowhere, Cliff turned beet red and yelled at me. “Go and help your mother in the kitchen!”

I was stunned. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t figure out what I had done to evoke this.

“Why can’t I play poker?” I pleaded.

I was waiting for a reasonable explanation for his behaviour. He gritted his teeth, even though it was difficult to tell with his snaggle tooth, and gruffly said, “Because you’re a girl and you belong in the kitchen. Now go there and shut up!”

I looked at my brothers for support. They sat there and said nothing. I could see they didn’t care about me. As long as they could continue to play, they were happy. I waited a minute, hoping that he didn’t mean it, but he once again yelled for me to go, now lifting himself out of the chair to make it more of a physical threat. I got up and went into the kitchen where my mother was washing the dishes. I asked her what to do and she told me to pick up the dish towel and dry off the dishes in the rack.

This discrimination made me so angry. I worked hard alongside my brothers and Cliff all day long, we were equals in the barnyard, except I could not do as much since I was smaller and not as strong. My mom got breaks during the day to have coffee or tea, or to play solitaire, but I was not allowed in the house to have any kind of break. The evening was my break time, too. I asked my mother whether she thought this was unfair to me, but she wouldn’t answer. She no longer had a voice or, at least, she didn’t want to use it to defend me. She probably didn’t want to oppose Cliff and make things worse. She was acting like a beaten-down rat.

Ever since that experience, I’ve disliked it when I was expected to help women work in the kitchen when the men were sitting, smoking, playing cards, watching TV or otherwise relaxing. To me, it reinforced the idea that the woman does not have the same worth as a man.

I was never allowed to play poker with them again. One of my very few small joys on the farm was gone. I could hear them laughing and having fun in the living room on many nights and I wished I could be playing with them, but I was stuck in the kitchen doing boring things. I wanted some mental stimulation and poker provided that. I had no choice but to accept things the way they were. I was a child and I was under the control of adults. There was no way out for me.

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As soon as I got to Edith’s house, she took me to the bathroom, made me strip off my clothes, and poured a bath for me. She told me I stunk of the barn. I didn’t really notice the smell and it didn’t bother me. This was the first bath I had in over a year. She put my farm clothes in a bag. I washed my hair and cleaned myself thoroughly. She brought me some clean clothes that someone had given to her. They were used, but in good condition. Now she knew I was presentable and smelled good enough to have lunch with them.

By this time, Orv was already at the table reading the newspaper. Like most men in Dryden, he worked at the paper mill on rotating shifts. Before we started to eat, we bowed our heads to pray. Edith asked God to forgive my mother and Cliff for their sins. She asked that I be repentant, confess my sins, and give my life to God as they had done. The prayer ended with, “Bless this food we are about to receive and make us truly thankful. Amen.”

While we were eating lunch, Edith mentioned that they had given up drinking, smoking, dancing, and partying with their sinful friends. They joined the church and became devoted disciples of the Lord.

Later, she handed me a beautiful gift, a Bible with my name embossed in gold: “MARLENE FREAK.” I was so pleased with that. Seeing my name in print made me feel important, and even more special because it was gold print. And it was zippered too, to protect the pages. A little cross dangled from the corner. It was a much prettier Bible than any I had seen before. Perhaps she saw it as an investment in my salvation. She showed me several verses in the Bible. I remembered some of them from the summer Bible school in BC.

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