Are You My Father?

by Margo Walter

  It just seemed that most kids in high school were stupid and complete “airheads.” The other juniors and seniors spent their time at shopping malls, consumed entirely with fashion, hairstyle, and how they looked. I knew I was obese, ugly, and unattractive. It did not matter what I wore—I was not ever going to fit in. Sometimes it would be necessary to use the girl’s restroom, and they had big mirrors above the sinks. I could not even look in the mirror because I would see just how ugly I really was. The girl in my reflection had zits, braces, and was always having a bad hair day. It was painful to look in the mirror and then return to a class with my classmates. I avoided the restrooms as much as I could. It would be years before I learned the truth: I was not only not fat, but I was anorexic and undiagnosed. My school pictures were attractive (viewed years later), and at that time, I thought they looked repulsive. My unrealistic perceptions and personal distortions would also last a lifetime. I had learned to hate myself at a young age.

  Excelling in school was never enough. There was an inner drive to be the best, to be perfect for other activities. There were many choices, and I pushed myself hard. In Venice, Florida, in addition to performing on the trampoline, there was the diving team and the waterskiing squad. They were all challenging, fun, and competitive, and they involved risks. Those demanding activities attracted me like a magnet, and I gave 110 percent to each of them. I was president of the Keyette Club (a community service club). Once a week I would drive to the migrant farm out by the airport and teach the young migrant children how to read. I volunteered at the YMCA by giving trampoline lessons to eight- and nine-year-olds. I was extremely busy with a terrible self-image, continued to only have a few close friends, and knew that something was missing. I still felt alone most of the time, even in a crowd.

  ***

  Every kid in high school should have a Miss Hailey. Guidance counselors are supposed to advise, console, encourage, motivate students as they transition from eighth-grade geeks to mighty seniors. Miss Hailey did that and a whole lot more. She was the faculty advisor for the Keyette Club and told me, as she probably did everyone, “My office door is always open and come see me whenever you want.” It sounded like a line that I had heard from other teachers in my past, and they only mouthed the words with no sincerity or action. Well, Miss Hailey used the school pager to summon me to her office the first day of my eleventh grade, which was my first day in the new school. I kept her at arm’s length for a few months, as I did not want her to see how scared and insecure I really was. She was at all our Keyette Club meetings, and I tried a new approach for me. When we were together, I would drop a little crumb of my true emotions just to see if Miss Hailey could be trusted not to tell someone else of my deep, secret feelings. In hindsight, those crumbs were more like stones that would make a path and lead somewhere. I wanted so desperately to confide in this new adult friend, but I knew if I shared with her about my sinful behaviors and some of my screwed-up thinking, that would be the end. She would surely turn me in to the principal for disciplinary action, or worse, call my mother. On the contrary, she just invited me to her office, shut the door, and told me, “You are a brilliant student, extremely talented, and can do anything you want in this world.” I can hear her voice to this day. I just sat there in disbelief that someone thought that way about me. Our relationship blossomed over the next two years, and I survived high school because of Miss Hailey. I never told her that I had been sexually abused as a child or raped when I was sixteen. There was still too much guilt to bring that up, and it would be many years before I discussed anything on that topic. “Thank you, Miss Hailey.”

  I did date in high school, but there were no meaningful relationships, and I tended to always keep some distance. The reasons were undoubtedly valid. I knew if anyone really got to know my family or me, they would certainly not like me. They would know how different I was and would see that I was crazy from a messed-up family. Besides, I was too busy to date and was afraid of sex. That fear, I would learn, came from my abusive childhood experiences and was baggage I would carry with me for an exceedingly long time.

  In between all the practicing of sports and other activities, I continued to parent my younger brother and sister. I gave them rides everywhere and took them where they needed to be. I checked up on my mother around the clock, monitored all her dating, and kept my grades on the A+ honor roll (perfect). No one recognized that this adolescent girl was driving herself into the ground and there was absolutely no suspicion of a psychological or physical illness. Was I a good actor or was no one paying attention? Miss Hailey was the only one who could see behind the mask and offer a safe place where it was OK to be me.

  ***

  Summers during high school were also exciting and transcended any experiences I had lived before. Residing in Florida on the bay with a beautiful cabin cruiser parked in your backyard is a dream come true for many kids. However, it was a challenge for my family and me. My mother wanted to explore and go places, and there was only one stumbling block. She was uncomfortable and afraid to be the captain of our thirty-six-foot-long yacht. My younger brother, the only male at home, was only ten. So, I enrolled in a six-week Coast Guard Charting and Safety Procedures Course and off we went. During the summers there were two trips to the Bahamas, and most ports still remember a sixteen-year-old female in a bikini with long blond hair pulling in our big boat to their docks. The crew was my mother, who could not dock the boat with twin screws, and my ten-year-old brother, Hunter, and my eight-year-old sister, Lynn, both of whom got seasick. Captain Janet turned a lot of heads because I was exceptionally gifted at handling this yacht. We spent two full summers cruising the Bahamian Islands. Often, I would pull into a boat slip, and the dockhands would ask that question: “Where is your father?” There were a couple of human-interest articles in the local papers. Of course, with no drinking age restrictions, I was drinking my way through every island and spending way too much time in the bars with the older captains. I listened to all the sea stories and believed every word I heard. Sitting at the other end of the counter on her own bar stool was my mother. This was a prescription for trouble.

  During one of those trips, my brother, Hunter, was almost murdered. The family had docked in Nassau and was staying on Paradise Island, an unfit name for what was to transpire. One of the James Bond movies had just been filmed on the island, and my mother told me to take my brother and sister over to see the site where they were shooting the movie. It was a very sweaty, hot day and no one really wanted to go. At some point, I yelled for Hunter and Lynn to come with me and go back to the boat. Hunter refused. It was a slow burning rage that came from nowhere but built up to an inferno. I began yelling for Hunter to come, now! I screamed at him like I was calling a dog on a long stretch of beach. He refused to answer, and I started to chase after him with the intent of hurting him when I caught him. This had never happened before. The anger had emerged earlier, but never the rage and feeling of being out of control. I was homicidal and wanted to kill him. He felt it; he heard it in my voice, and he hid. The hunt lasted thirty to forty minutes, and finally, I gave up. My whole body felt racked with pain, and I had never felt so emotionally spent as I did at that moment. I could not explain it and certainly could not understand it. There was a small cove next to one of the hotels, and I took Lynn and went into the water. After my body was submerged in the slightly chilly water for a good fifteen minutes, I felt the rage subside. The crisp, clear water and soft, fine sand beneath my feet were calming. Dipping my long hair in the water and splashing my face felt like an aphrodisiac. Swimming underwater produced freedom that I seldom experienced. Not only did the anger dissipate but I felt the weight of the world off my shoulders. It was the first time that I knew something was terribly wrong with me. I was different. Maybe I was crazy. I knew that I never wanted anyone to know exactly how I felt or what I had experienced. That hostility toward Hunter would fester over many years.

  Lynn and I heade
d back to the boat. Eventually, Hunter returned to the Simpatica, the yacht. Not one word was said about the incident. Both Hunter and I knew that it was profoundly serious, but neither understood the deadly chase. Thirty-five years later we finally spoke about Paradise Beach and how misnamed it was on that summer day.

  ***

  Sitting high on a flybridge of a thirty-six-foot cabin cruiser in the middle of crystal-blue waters with a sky-blue horizon and rolling sea before you feels magnificent. My long blond hair was blowing straight back off my face with the wind. The sun was soaking my skin, and occasionally, there was a fine mist of spray that went across my body and left some salt behind. I was in total control. I was the captain. I told every member of my family what to do and when. “Fasten those bowlines; secure those aft lines; check the fuel!” Since I was the only one who could successfully navigate or dock the boat, it was mine to command.

  In good weather, navigation was uncomplicated, and I could do my very favorite pastime, fishing. I was good at it. For someone who has little or no patience, it was incredible that I was able to fish for hours, patiently awaiting results. The joy of the catch, the excitement, and the release said it all. I was in my element on the water. I was happy and did not even recognize how I felt. It was the first time that I flirted with elation and euphoria. It was an unusual emotion for me, and there was no one close that summer to support and share those feelings, to encourage the joy, or to acknowledge the happiness. My mother tried. Life was still unpredictable and exciting.

  Consequently, there was more serious trouble in the Bahamas, and it was to be expected. Too many beers. I passed out and woke up naked on a deserted beach. I saw my pants about twenty feet up the beach and one tennis shoe flipping back and forth where the water met the sand. After pulling up my sandy pants and doing a thorough search of the area, I located my T-shirt up the beach. Unable to find my other shoe, I headed into the small island village. The grass huts were incredibly open, and I thought maybe I could find someone that would lend me a pair of shoes. I was flummoxed, embarrassed, and mortified to be in this situation. Perhaps someone could give me a ride to the docks. There were a couple of jeeps on the island. I tried to think of a good story, a lie that would work. I knew my attacker and blamed myself for being so stupid. I could not come up with anything believable. When your head is still spinning, you want to vomit, and your body feels like it has been run over by a truck, it is hard think up a good alibi. I did find a pair of flip-flops and walked to the docks. Flip-flops come up later in my life story.

  After being raped, I just wanted to die and could not figure out a way to do it. It was the first time I thought of killing myself but not the last. Remembering only parts of the night before, I knew that I was in big trouble. I had taken the yacht to this adjacent island and still had to navigate back to Exuma Cay. I had to try and explain to my mother why I was gone all night and had not radioed my whereabouts. Being entirely hung over, the trip back was a significant challenge and would not be the first time that I had gotten into deep trouble because of my drinking.

  I was an excellent captain and could typically dock the cabin cruiser in any situation with complete ease and confidence. However, when I returned to our berth at the dock, I was still foggy, definitely hungover, and did not take notice of the larger yacht that was in the next berth. Having backed up the boat into our reserved slip with as much skill as possible, the massive bang and pop noise was a big surprise. In the next slip, there was a forty-two-footer with extended outriggers for tuna fishing. I had clipped both of them with my extended outriggers. The captain of the other boat was yelling profanities, and the entire scene was chaotic. My mother rushed down to the dock to start the “4th degree” on me, as to my whereabouts the night before. The other captain was still pointing at his outriggers screaming that it was inconceivable that someone would allow a sixteen-year-old girl to handle a yacht by herself. My mother forgot about my unexplained absence and offered to pay for the damaged outriggers. The other captain quit yelling. That was not the first time my mother had bailed me out, and it would not be the last. Fortunately, the outcome of that night was mononucleosis and not something much worse, like pregnancy, HIV, or some sexually transmitted disease.

  I spent the next six weeks of my senior year in high school in a hospital and the remainder of the year on a highly restricted schedule due to the mono. I continued to drink and never told anyone about the rape. I did find out later that most women do know their rapist. I had dated this English guy a couple of times. He was nine years older, talked with a British accent, was tall and attractive. Most important, he drank like I did, and his favorite was a nice, cool Heineken. He helped me feel numb and become totally vulnerable. I was an easy target. In hindsight, I was playing a dangerous game trying to be an adult in a sixteen-year-old body. I certainly did not understand sex, the consequences, or the risks. One colossal achievement during that time was my restricted diet that caused terrific weight loss, and I finally thought my body image was acceptable (five more pounds off would not hurt).

  ***

  It was time for another geographic move and the whole family needed a change. I knew things were not right when I realized that there was not one friend that I would miss or be sad to leave behind, except for Miss Hailey. In fact, I was absolutely devoid of any feelings at this time and later recognized the depression that permeated my life. I started taking more risks by driving faster and taking the S-turns as tight as possible with the thought of maybe I would make it or perhaps I wouldn’t. The only thing I looked forward to was getting drunk on the weekends. I did not think about the drinking part but only on the dulled feelings that resulted from being drunk or passing out. I knew that I could not be an alcoholic because I was too young.

  ***

  We lived in Florida for two years and my mother was ready for a new geographic cure. Looking back on her decision to leave the United States and move to a foreign country, it was very impulsive and to a great extent, not just eccentric, but crazy. I did not know the difference. Switzerland, here we come!

  After graduating from high school at the top of my class, I missed my actual graduation and was not one of the speakers, as was the tradition at the time. My mother booked the plane tickets two days before the ceremony. Very strange! Who misses their high school graduation? What is odd is that I took it all in my stride, flew to London, and drove the family to Switzerland. Just like captaining the boat, I always did the driving. Of course, that was not just any car. My mother had purchased a VW camper for the trip. The top pushed up, and when we stopped for camping, there were two double beds at each end. Space was tight with a dinette and a small stove and a miniature refrigerator in the middle. Mother could have afforded any top five-star hotel for our journey, but she opted to camp across Europe to our destination. It reminded me of our summer camping in Virginia and brought back deep thoughts about those adventures. It seemed that most of my childhood memories were very confusing, with terrific highs and depressing lows.

  We began our European tour in London. I remember Big Ben, all the traffic, and Hyde Park. Driving on the left side of the road took some practice but was not that difficult except for the traffic circles. We got some real French fries, the British kind, on our walk through town and ended up on a corner in Hyde Park. There were pigeons everywhere. I never laughed so hard in my whole life. Lynn was looking up at the birds and plop, right on her right eye and nose. She was not amused and started crying hysterically. My mother and brother were also laughing while a perfect stranger stopped and offered Lynn a white handkerchief to wipe her face. It was a memorable moment.

  There was a movie about touring Europe, called If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium, and that described our whirlwind trip through Luxembourg, France, Italy, and finally Switzerland. My mother was anxious to get to our final destination. We would pull up to a museum, church, or some other historical spot and Mother would say the name, read someth
ing from the Michelin Guide, and announce that we were not going to visit because we were short on time. We did spend a couple of days in Paris and I found out my high school French was useless. Every time that I tried to talk to a Parisian, en francais, the person would look quizzical, shake their head, and say very clearly, “Ne comprend pas.” We did meet a French guide who told us that the Parisians do not like Americans, and it does have something to do with the Vietnam War. I did not understand the explanation but did accept that there was a hostile attitude toward us. In any case, with all the family traveling in close quarters, we got along amazingly well and were extremely excited to start a new life in Switzerland.

  ***

  It was late afternoon when we drove around a hairpin curve and drove into the Alpine valley where Gstaad was located. Immediately, Lynn, threw up in the back seat from motion sickness. It did put a damper on the moment. However, the view was majestic. At one end of the valley, there was a small airport where gliders were doing “touch and goes” and soaring through the bright blue skies. There were cotton-ball clouds dispersed over the highest mountains I had ever seen. Photos of the Alps do not do justice to the luscious green shades of endless mountains cut by more intense hunter green valleys and glistening streams traveling down from snowcapped glaciers. Amongst the trees, you could see squares of solid green that were dotted with cows and goats. Chalets sporadically appeared in the lower hills, and the two villages of Saanen and Gstaad showed clusters of stores and churches. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever experienced. We stopped the van on a turnout and tried to take it all in despite the clamoring in the back seat and my mother’s insistence that we pause to let Lynn vomit outside the car.