Shaping the Personality of me : The year of being five.

 Those who have studied Psychology of Personality know that Freud had five stages of Development and felt that the personality was fully formed at five years of age. I decided to find out by probing into the memories of my life when I was five and how the events and others incidents in my life formed my personality then and how it still

ME at the age five. The year was 1969. The hope here is to discover the truth about events that shape our lives forever or are we ever changing and evolving?  Each week I will add another memory clip from then and how it formed the person I was. Follow me as I learn some real truths If you want to add your own timeline feel free to comment and share.

affects me now. Have things changed since I have gotten older or are my personality traits still the same.  Each week I will share experiences of the fifth year and how they shaped me along with how I was raised at that age and the order of birth I am placed and see how much those traits have changed over years or have they ?  I would like to invite those readers along this journey of  my life at five. Let me hear your ideas and opinions, theory and whether you think Freud was correct. Leave a comment  open the discussion invite others

Being brought up in the household that I was raised in ( I was going to write home but then that wouldn’t have been the correct description) where there was not a concept of  any type of religion or sense of God ( unless used with a cuss word) I have struggled with the belief in any type of deity or what religion stood for.  Growing up there were things that I realize today have caused me to be who I became and the things that I did made me into who I have become.  If that doesn’t make any sense, then I pray you will be able to follow the remaining words to follow.

From a young age I never recalled being tucked into bed at night, read a book or bed-time story, being helped with homework by either parent, have my mom chaperone a field trip or volunteer for any thing for my class in grade school. I vaguely  remember school mornings when Mom would be up with us kids getting us ready for school.  I have older brothers (two) and an older sister (one) and being the youngest one would assume that I was spoiled in some sort of way which in our house wasn’t the case.  My first year of school , kindergarten I began in the morning, so I could walk to school with my siblings, the only time we all were in the same school at the same time. I would go for half a day and take the bus home which dropped me off on the far corner of my street where I had to walk home by myself from there. Not one time do I remember Mom coming to meet me at the bus stop or even look for me coming up the street.

I would be allowed to go in the back yard to play for a while when it was nice outside. My Dad had put up a swing set in the yard one day and I remember being on the swing going as high as it would go I would take my crayons outside to the back concrete patio and color for hours and then pick dandelions to give Mom.  I had a tricycle that I will always remember because I loved that bike. It was purple and had a banana seat  and the handles had the pretty purple streamers coming out the end of the handles which flew back when I went fast. I was allowed to ride it down the street by myself  but only down the street to that far corner where I would get off the bus at and walk home by myself.  I would stop at one of the neighbor’s house, he worked on the rail road with Dad . I would ride my bike down the drive and knock on the door to see if he could come out and play.  That was when I met Dad’s other friend from work who I will always know as my Uncle Ritchie.  Never did I recall Mom coming outside to see if I was okay or to spend any time with me.

There was one house on the street, five houses down from ours where a woman lived that frightened me. Today I know she was suffering from mental illness. At five I was terribly afraid of her. She would stand inside the front door screen and cackle at us kids when we passed by.  Her silhouette was all I could see behind the screen because the inside of her house was always kept dark. She had long silver hair that cascaded over her shoulders and always wore a frumpy dress of drab coloring and black ankle house slippers. One day she was outside in the front yard pulling weeds and she turned as I came up the street. I was scared when she said hello to answer back. She let out that cackle of a laugh and told me she was a witch and liked to eat little kids like me. She had a husband who we never saw except when he would be outside cutting grass in the spring and summer and shoveling the snow in the winter. He drove an old grey car and went to work in the morning about 7:00 a.m. and arrived home at 5:00 p.m. He never spoke to anyone and the neighbors knew nothing about him. We all knew the crazy lady who we called “The Witch.”

One day while riding my tricycle that I loved so much when right in front of her house the bike broke down in front of it.  I hit the sidewalk hard when it broke in two and I began to cry.  The lady was at her front screen door and I heard her let out the loudest cackling laugh I had ever heard which scared the piss from me. I scrambled out of the tangle of metal that once was my bike and ran home to get Mom.  Crying and pissy  I told Mom, ” My bike broke in front of the witches house and she was there laughing at me.”

“Where is your bike? Did you bring it home?” Mom asked while smoking her Winston cigarette and watching ” All My Children” on the floor model color television that was in the livingroom where we weren’t allowed to be unless it was a special occasion. This was her time for 1/2 hour every day she would watch her soap opera and now I was intruding upon her time.

” No! She was laughing at me and she eats kids ! She told me so!  I don’t want to be eaten by her ,” I said between snot, sniffles, and tears.

” Well go get it! You see I am watching my story,” Mom snapped at me. Fortunately her soap opera was almost over. That was the only reason she got up to go with me.

” I’m scared Mommy, can’t you come with me?” I pleaded.

” Wait til this is off and I will. Are you wet? Did you piss your pants? Why didn’t you come in and pee?” She rolled a thousand questions off her tongue in the screechy voice she had when pissed off. ” Go get some dry panties and shorts on.”

I tried to tell her that I urinated when the Crazy Lady started to cackle. She had turned back to the T.V. where a very young Susan Luci a.ka. Erica Cane  was arguing with Phoebe Tyler. I ran to my room which was upstairs,  peeled my wet bottoms off,  grabbed some panties and shorts and put them on.  I walked back down stairs just in case she heard me running in the house. Then I would be in more trouble.

When I came back into the living room , she was getting her shoes on. Mom was only 5’4″ tall and weighed about 85 lbs. She had  platinum blond hair which was thin and fell across her face when she bent over to tie her laces. Mom was thin and always trying to put on weight. She was never happy with her weight and would try to use these Carmel candy chews along with some weight gain drinks to put weight on.

” Come on, let’s go .  Where are the pissed in clothes you took off ? You left them upstairs didn’t you ? ” She popped me upside my head as if to say “dumb ass”, and went out the side door.  For some reason we weren’t allowed to even open the front door for any reason and always had to use the side door.  I ran behind her to keep up. She got to where my bike lay on the side-walk and there she was The Crazy Lady at her front screen door very still and very silent. Mom picked up the tricycle with both hands and marched back home with it, setting it on the patio in the back yard and told me to get in the house.

I don’t remember what happened after that I suppose I was made to take a nap or sent to the basement to watch t.v.  on the old black and white we had.  Nothing was on at that time of day and we never got to see stuff like Mr. Rogers Neighborhood or even better Sesame Street. I had some  toys that I liked to play with that kept me occupied until everyone else got home from school.  I missed that tricycle and never got another bike until I was eight years old when my sister and I got pink two-wheel bicycles for Christmas.  Parents were really cruel back then. when you got a bike for Christmas and couldn’t ride it until spring maybe even summer if the weather was shitty or Dad didn’t put them together yet.  Oh and forget training wheels or Mom helping you learn how to ride your bike. Our second oldest brother was the one who taught us how to ride.

Dad worked everyday and Mom was a stay at home Mom since I could remember. I vaguely recall her working at a doctor’s office for a little while because he was the one that delivered me when I was born.  His wife and I shared the same birth date and for a few years Mom would take me into Bratenahl to the doctor’s house for my birthday because his wife had a present for me and she cooked my favorite meal Assisi di peppy. I remember he made house calls when I was ill too.  I loved the penicillin liquid we would have to take. I loved the children’s chewable aspirin too, so much that I would climb up on the bathroom sink and steal them out of the cabinet to eat. I didn’t need them I wanted them for the taste , that orange flavored candy taste.

It was 1969, the year I was five. It held a lot of changes for me. I experienced a plethora of events that shaped who I was to become for the rest of my life and there will always be that little girl who lives inside who is afraid of the crazy lady down the street and stealing things that I liked and wanted more of no matter what the consequences would be. I feared my father for two reasons One. he was larger than life and I would never be as powerful as he was at five years old and two he was strict and had a quick hot temper and would whip my ass for the slightest infraction.  He would line us up from the oldest to me the youngest take off his belt and whip all of us for something

” I got the right one since no one knew who did ( whatever he decided was messed up). and then the rest can beat the one who wouldn’t admit the fault for having to get whipped.” Dad would say

I also loved, admired, and worshiped Dad. He was handsome and strong. He had a deep baritone voice that was sexy even to me at that age and his voice when he sang was beautiful. I was his little girl and if anyone said something bad about him, look out cause  I was ready to fight. I would do whatever I could to please him and get his approval. Over time with the belittling remarks, name calling, and out right disapproval for what I tried to accomplish and being told that I was a mistake and shouldnt have been born or that I was supposed to be born a boy I was born in the wrong body defeated my self-esteem. the more I tried the worse it was. i tried to become a boy. I couldn’t become one physically so I became a tough broad. I didn’t brush my hair, wear make-up or dresses, never carried a purse. I walked, talked, cussed, fought and dressed like a boy, hung with the boys and did boy activities. I tried to be what he wanted. I liked boys and for the most part they accepted me as one of the boys. It was never enough. I had failed at every attempt I had made.

At five I had low self esteem, felt less than, was never good enough, did not fit in, confused of my sexual identity, was approval seeking, was taking things for the effect, looked for male approval, wet the bed, felt betrayed, abandoned and lacked trust that my needs would be met by my mother, spent hours alone doing activities that were solitary, had difficulty making friends , was a thief and a liar. to protect secrets.

Tip of the iceburg here but seems like I was already on my way to some bad choices.   Let me know what you think. Have you had any similar experiences. Please feel free to share below leave a comment