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It's More Than Just A Christmas Story
🕑 Added 2022-12-23 19:04:30 +0000 UTCPART 1
My own experiences are reflected in this part - Just the rotten days I suffered with my dad after my mother passed away.
It was cold in there.
It was a dark cold damp and I was very very miserable. I was shivering, just wearing flimsy underpants, with nothing else to keep me warm but a damp and smelly blanket.
I had been locked in the shed at the bottom of the garden and I had not eaten since the day before.
It was raining outside and I was able to drink from the small muddy pool of water that had leaked in through the rickety shed roof.
I kept running through what had happened the day before and the shame that I felt at being caught.
I am 11 years old and I live on the outskirts of the town in an old rambling house with my father, Jack Roberts. It was the tenth place we had lived in since I was born. We never stayed in one place long. I don't think my Dad really liked to put down roots and he never kept a job for long. Luckily, he had inherited some money from his mother when she died, so he didn't need to work, but I had a feeling that money was running out. Our last 3 houses had been dumps compared with the ones that we lived in before.
My mother died just 2 days after I was born, so I never knew her.
Dad had never shown me any pictures of her, so I never even knew what she looked like.
I loved my Dad even though I knew that he did not love me. I just kind of realized at an early age that he just saw my mother in me and resented the fact that she was gone forever and he was stuck with a little brat like me. I just wished that he didn't drink so much.
I went to the local school. It was an okay school on a scale of 1 to 10, about 7. I am very shy and find it difficult to make friends. What was the point, when as soon as I find someone to hang around with, I am moved on to somewhere else? Since I was about 8, I have always kept a secret diary of what I was doing and how I felt. A bit strange for a young kid you might say, but with so many changes and upheavals in my life, it helped me to remember where I had been, what I had done, and how I felt at a particular time. It also helped me to rationalize why I was mixed up and what I was unhappy about.
Now, this is the difficult bit. Don't be shocked and please, please do not think harshly of me, but I had a secret that I kept from everyone since I was a very young kid. It was about 3 years ago that it first happened.
It was in one of the houses we lived in. I was bored and I went up to the attic, whilst Dad was out drinking with his 'buddies'.
I was left alone quite often as Dad trusted his 'little man' to be grown up and look after himself whilst Daddy was out on Umm, business.
I had a look at the many boxes that we never managed to unpack. I don't know why we kept all this stuff, it was just junk to me but I never could understand the mentality of grown-ups and I probably never will.
Old crockery, toys clothes ornaments, and other stuff had been kept in
these boxes. Even I could see that it was mostly rubbish.
I was getting bored, a very easy thing for an 8-year-old to do when I caught sight of a case in the corner, under a pile of boxes.
My curiosity was aroused and I went over to look at the case. I moved the boxes aside and tried to open the case but it was locked.
I found an old screwdriver and broke open the 2 latches. I then lifted the lid and there before me, neatly folded was a whole pile of women's clothing! I quickly closed the lid and looked at the label attached to the handle of the old case. It said, Gemma Roberts. It was Mum's case!
I don't know why, but somehow all this spooked me. I ran downstairs and went to my room. I shut the door and locked it.
I went over to my bed and sat down, I was trembling all over. It was as though I had seen a ghost or something.
I buried my head in the pillow and cried. I don't know why I cried, I had never seen my Mum, but I suppose I was just shocked at seeing her things and wishing that I had a Mum to love and be with me.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew the room was dark and I heard the front door being slammed shut.
I got up, unlocked the door, and went downstairs. I found my father in the kitchen with a beer can in his hand and a lopsided grin on his face. Oh no, he was drunk again.
'Hello Peter, how's my big boy then?'
'All right Dad.' I mumbled.
'What's that I can't hear you, speak up will you?'
'I'm alright Dad.'
'That's better, now be a good boy and go get me a nice pizza from the restaurant down the road. If you are a good boy, I'll let you have some.'
He thrust some money into my hand and I ran out of the house. You may think it strange to let a boy of 8 go out in the dark with money in his hand, but that was my Dad he didn't seem to worry about anything except food and especially drink.
The next day, I got home from school. There was a note on the kitchen table with some money.
Peter,
I have to see a man about some business and I won't be back until
late. Get some food from the restaurant and I will see you
tomorrow. Do your homework and go to bed on time.
Dad,
The only business my Dad was doing was through a glass, so I knew that I would not see him until the next day. I switched on the television and did my homework.
Question: Where do you hope to go on your holidays? Write 200 words. Easy enough Answer: I would love to go on holiday but as I have never had one I wouldn't know.
I crossed that one out and started again. I can't remember what I put in the end but I finished the essay, wrote a bit in my diary, and went and got some food from the restaurant. I then sat down to watch the television again. There was a Doris Day film on. All blond hair and happy families. The sun always seemed to shine in these films and the kids were happy. Mum and Dad go arm in arm and all is sweetness and light. The film finished and it was getting dark. I locked up the house turned everything off and went to bed.
I found it very difficult to sleep. Right above me in the attic were my Mum's things. I had an overwhelming desire to look at them again, in spite of everything. I put a dressing gown over my pj's and went upstairs to have another peek in the case. I switched on the light, went over to the case, and opened it.
On top was a dress. It was a flowery dress that looked shiny, satin I suppose. I picked it up and held it up. It was a very pretty dress and I fantasized about what my Mother would look like in it.
I carefully put it down and had another look at the case. I started pulling stuff out and looking with amazement and the pretty things that my mother used to wear. There were other dresses in silk, satin, cotton, and other material. There were women's underwear bras, panties other things that looked flimsy and mysterious. There were blouses, skirts, and stocking all balled up. At the bottom of the case were some nightdresses. All sorts of nighties, from long cotton ones to very short flimsy ones that I now know to be baby dolls.
All this was a bit too much for me and had made me tired. Remember I was only 8 and I needed my sleep. I shoved all the stuff back in the case and went back downstairs. For some reason, I still don't know why, before I left, I opened the case again, and lying on the top was a pink baby doll nightie. I picked it up and ran downstairs to my bedroom.
I laid the nightie out flat on my bed and looked at it.
Now I need to tell you that ever since I could remember, I had had a secret wish. Nobody else knew this. I went to bed every night and prayed for my wish to come true.
Okay here goes. I have always thought that I was a girl. Ever since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I have always believed that God got it wrong. I was in a boy's body but I knew that inside I was a girl. Don't ask me why I considered myself as a girl. I don't know why. All I know is that somehow, somewhere something had gone wrong.
Any friends that I ever made were girls. I hated the rough and tumble of boys' games. You could tell a girl from the way she looked. They wore dresses and had longer hair than boys. I always wore boys' clothes and my Dad made sure that my hair was cut short. He didn't understand why, if I brought a friend home (very rarely did I do this!) it was always a girl. The boys were okay but I just did not seem to be on the same wavelength as them. I suppose even then I was shy and sensitive not really normal for boys. Okay, boys can be shy and sensitive but I would much rather play girls' games like pretend mothers and daughters or doctors and nurses, rather than fight imaginary wars in the playground.
I had asked my Dad once, why I was a boy, but he just went off on one and started shouting at me. I think that he didn't like women, I don't know why; after all he married my mother. He always tried to make me look and be as boyish as possible. He bought me a toy gun one birthday, and I never played with it.
Anyway, I sat on the bed looking at the nightie. I don't know why but I got up, locked the door, took my clothes off, and put on the nightie. I was small and the nightie touched the floor, but that did not matter, it felt great. Soft and kind of slippery. It floated on my body and it felt like the most natural thing for me to wear. It was the first girls' clothes that I had ever tried on and to be honest, I never wanted to take it off. I went to bed and fell asleep to the lovely feeling of my mothers' nightie. When I woke up the next morning I knew immediately that I was wearing something different from my normal pj's, then I remembered I was in my mother's nightie and it felt great. All soft silky and very girly.
Then I remembered my Dad. He would go ape if he saw me like this. I jumped out of bed. Reluctantly took the nightie off, folded it carefully, and hid it under the mattress with my diary.
When I went downstairs, I looked in the sitting room and there was Dad snoring softly, fully clothed and reeking of drink and stale tobacco. I didn't wake him but just ate my Weetabix and went to school.
After that, at night, with my bedroom door firmly locked, I often wore Mum's nightie and other ones that I found in that wonderful case. I was young but I was quite intelligent for my age. I remembered not to leave the clothes where my Dad could see them.
When we moved, I fixed the locks on the case by jamming the ends in the holes so that they did not come out easily and hoped against the hope that my Dad would take the case with us. Luckily, he always put it with the rest of the rubbish that we normally took whenever we moved and I was able to continue dressing. Over the next 3 years, we moved several times. I got to know plenty of schools but always felt like a fish out of water.
Sometimes I cried myself to sleep as I saw the disintegration of my father. He was getting to the stage when he was rarely sober. The only good thing was he never hit me. I was good at hiding things and I can honestly say that the kids and the teachers at school never knew how bad my home life was. Perhaps I should have said something, but I had no Mum and I did not want to lose the only Dad I had, and that was exactly what would happen if I was taken into care.
As I grew, I carried on delving into the treasure chest that was my Mum's case. When I knew my Dad was not going to be back from his 'business' meetings, I wore some of my Mum's clothes. They were far too big for me, but it just helped to feel a bit more girlish.
Don't let me give you the impression that I was always unhappy and that life had given me a totally raw deal. I had a roof over my head; I was still being fed (mainly pizzas and Big Macs but that's not too bad is it?) When my father wasn't drunk he made sure that I didn't go without clothes and he somehow managed to pay the bills so that we were not homeless.
Christmas was hard. Other kids got presents, but I got nothing. Dad did not believe in God he did not believe in anything spiritual. He hated Christmas. I think that it reminded him of the time when my Mother was alive. When things were happier for him and life had some sort of meaning.
It hurt me a lot to see all the kids at school get excited over Christmas. Christmas decorations hung from the windows. Carol singing, Christmas trees decorated with bright lights and tinsel. All the happy families getting excited over the coming festivities. It all seemed like another world to me, a world in that I had no part.
I would walk through the streets on my way home from school and see the brightly lit shops with all the decorations, gifts, festive food, toys, and other things that make Christmas so special. I would see parents with happy children go into those shops and come out with armfuls of packages.
It was the last day at school before the Christmas holidays. At lunch, the school provided a Christmas dinner. I had to pay for it, but I had saved up some 'pizza' money so that at least I could have a nice meal before Christmas. We had turkey, stuffing, bacon sausages, baked potatoes, and all the trimmings. It was great!
As I left school, it started snowing. The paths were so slippery that I had to be careful not to fall over. It didn't help that one of my shoes had a hole in it and was making my foot cold and wet. I passed the church, brightly lit in the pale light of a wintry day. I could hear singing coming from the open doors of the church. On impulse, I went into the church. It was packed full of people and it was lovely and warm. They were singing Christmas Carols. The First Noel, Silent Night, and many other favorites were sung with gusto. I must admit seeing all those happy faces of the men, women, and children brought tears to my eyes. Oh, how I wished to be part of a happy family. Even more, I wanted to be a girl in a family that would love me and cherish me.
I saw one family that looked so happy. Mother and Father kept looking at each other and smiling. The love they had for each other was obvious even to me, a boy who had received very little love in my lifetime.
There was a boy who couldn't be more than 9, grinning and holding his father's hand as he enjoyed the carols. There was a girl about my age in a Christmassy bright red dress holding her mother's hand singing at the top of her voice. It was such a happy scene and somehow so far away from the life that I was leading that I could stand it no longer. With a sob, I ran out and did not stop until I reached home.
It was starting to get dark now and the snow was falling heavier the house was in darkness. Dad must have been out. I let myself in and went into the kitchen. On the table was yet another note.
Peter,
I have to go out of town to do some business and I won't be back
until late. Get some food from the restaurant and I will see you
tomorrow. Do your homework and go to bed on time.
Dad,
It was 2 weeks before Christmas and it was shaping up to be another one like all the others.
I wasn't hungry after the big meal earlier in the day at school so I locked up and went upstairs. I knew that my father was not going to be home tonight, he never was when he had these so-called business meetings out of town I would be lucky to see him by this time tomorrow.
I had a small TV in my room so I decided that I would make myself comfortable, and go to bed early. I went upstairs to my bedroom, took off my wet things, and rubbed myself dry with a towel.
The only real luxury I had in the room was an open fire. I had learned how to light it with a few coals and it helped cheer up what was, to be honest, a drab room. So I lit the fire, took out one of my Mums' nighties that was hidden under the mattress, and put it on. I already had on a pair of my mum's pink lacy panties. I had taken to wearing them to school when I thought that I would get away with it. There was an Alice band in with my Mum's things from the case and I put it in my hair. Although my hair was short, the Alice band felt nice and girly.
The nightie was a cream silky color and although short for an adult it nearly touched the floor on me.
I grabbed my diary from under the bed and wrote quite a bit about what had happened to me recently. I always put my innermost secrets in my diary and made sure that Dad would never find them. I left the diary on the side to put away later and then watched the cartoon network, I loved Tom and Jerry and Road Runner and I was soon laughing and forgetting my troubles. I was nice and warm snuggled down in my bed with the fire crackling and wearing the lovely silky nightie and panties.
Pretty soon I must have fallen asleep because a bang woke me up with a start. It was the door of my bedroom banging open, and there was my Dad looking at me with horror and loathing. He was very drunk. I had forgotten to lock my door! And there was my Dad seeing me dressed in the flimsiest of nighties with an Alice band in my hair.
He lurched across the room and I cowered down in the bed.
'What the hell do you think you look like!' he slurred as he roughly pulled my duvet off my bed and exposed me to the humiliation of seeing me dressed as a girl. He pulled me up roughly and grabbed the Alice band and I screamed with pain as he wrenched it off, together with some of my hair.
All the time he was shouting at me calling me names like queer, fag,
sissy and other things not so nice.
He tore off the nightie and then saw what I was wearing underneath. His eyes went wide as he must have then realized that what I was wearing was my Mums things...
'Those are Gemma's clothes, why are you wearing them?' he shouted.
'Because I'm a girl'. I whispered, trembling with fear at his anger.
'A GIRL! YOU ARE A BOY NOT A STUPID GIRL!' He saw my diary, opened it, and read a few pages. 'What filthy rubbish is this?'
With that, he threw my diary into the fire and then he came over and hit me again and again. I crouched down on the bed with my arms over my head and tried to get him to stop.
'Dad, Dad, please don't hurt me, please, please'. Then I felt a smacking blow on the head and the lights went out.
That's how I found myself in the shed. Only wearing some panties and a blanket. I had tried to get out of the shed but there was only a small window and the door was locked tight.
My throat was still raw as I yelled for help. Nobody came. I thought that my Dad might come when he woke up from his drunken stupor. He was always sorry when he woke up. Sorry for leaving me alone, sorry for keep moving house, for not having enough money, sorry for everything.
But for some reason, this time he did not come. I was getting so cold. It must have been freezing outside and although I was at least out of the snow and wind, I knew that I was getting dangerously cold. I had read a book once where there was an expedition to the artic. One of the men got frostbite and they only just got him out in time. The strange thing was that after he got really cold, he started to feel warm, even though the temperature had not risen. I was beginning to feel warm and very very drowsy. I could not stay awake, even though I knew that if I went to sleep I might not wake up.
