Unscrewed!: The Education of Annie

By C. Descry

Annie has a mountain of misinformation to conquer as she stumbles into life and learns to deal with her physical and spiritual self.

She is thrust into marriage and parenthood in a time when women can't trust the advice of their mothers-any older women. Her baby boomer generation has been freed by the pill. She must define herself as the first of a new breed of women.

Sex is an invasion. Love an obligation. Parenthood a guilt-trip. She fights for her children's education and learns the appalling truth about public education.

Annie bares her soul and takes us on a voyage through life's quests. You'll love this book because you have shared personally or as a mate-the same search for meaning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 24, 2001
• ISBN: 9780759656932

C. Descry

Descry’s works range from mysteries set on the Colorado Plateau and the Sea of Cortez, to serious studies of human dynamics. "I do, I observe, I listen. I write in the most candid way possible. I research. I put as much accuracy in my novels as I can. My characters are composites. I don’t expose family secrets or those of people I love, but I deal with real issues. At heart I’m a teacher." Descry was born in Colorado and now lives in Prescott, Arizona with his wife and two sons. His background in education, archaeology, business, travel, and adventures of all kinds, comes through in his writing. Few authors have such a rich and varied experience base to draw from. He has been called a Renaissance Man, a Social Commentator, a Teacher’s Teacher. He’s been a thorn in the side of the educational status quo for forty years. Descry is currently researching a book focused on the Inupiaq Eskimos in Alaska and the dynamics of their land above the arctic circle. The variety of his writings is evident in: Raven’s Chance, a study of insanity and the paranormal. A novel about a woman...an archaeologist gone mad...and her experiences with morphic fields and travel through time and other minds. A unique and exciting book you’ll read and reread. One of the more challenging works of our time. The Spirit of the Estuary, is a history-mystery told through the life of a murdered Seri Indian woman. It is set in the northern Sea of Cortez (Gulf of California) region of Mexico, and gives the reader a spectacular view of the northern coast and the Colorado River Delta. Reviewers describe it as a work of art and education. The Spirits in the Ruins, is a history-mystery which challenges the reader’s detective abilities as Arnie Cain attempts to solve the century old murder of a Native American leader. Descry provides insights into the illegal trade in Anasazi grave goods, and a previously untold history of the Ute Mountain Ute Indian people. The first positive Ute history written. The Spirit of the Sycamore, is a tantalizing and complex history-mystery that explores discord and harmony in Sedona, Arizona, which is one of the Planet’s important spiritual energy centers, and one of the Earth’s most beautiful places. Sycamore is a study of a unique Arizona town that attracts rabid developers, greedy public officials, retirees, and seekers of spiritual magic and solace. Descry is emerging as a writer who, rather that adopting one style and a formula, uses different ways of communicating. Each of his books is presented through a different voice. His subject matter is as varied as his life and interests.

Book preview

© 2000, 2001 by C. Descry. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 0-75965-694-0

ISBN13: 978-0-7596-5693-2 (e)

1stBooks-rev. 8/3/01

Contents

FOREWORD

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the Author

YOU’LL LOVE ANNIE—YOU CAN’T PRETEND YOU’RE

NOT LIKE HER

A mother’s point of view, first of it’s kind…

EXPLORES THE TRAUMATIC INTERFACE

BETWEEN PARENTS AND SCHOOLS

An amazing insight into parental choice andthe Charter School movement

Norman Eck, Ph.D. NABSD

A WOMAN’S DICHOTOMY BETWEEN MIND AND BODY

A SUCCESS STORY THAT WILL GIVE YOU INSIGHTS AS YOU WRITE YOUR OWN

A NARRATIVE WELL TOLD. A WOMAN OF OUR TIMES

Screwed!

The process that twists one to succor Society

…anon. 10,000 B.C.E

Grateful acknowledgment is given the following:

Lois Eggers, Jo, Alex, and Nate, Franz Rosenberger, Southwest Research and Education Services, and hundreds of special women who shared their stories and parts of themselves.

This is a work of fiction. Names and descriptions of humans and events are fictitious conglomerations created by the author. No connection to any baby-boomers living or dead is intended or implied except for Annie Martin-Bemer, who came to life in this novel and now lives. References to public and private agencies and to orders and assemblies of people for government, religious, educational or other means are purely fictitious realities.

Descry, C.

Unscrewed! The Education of Annie

1.   Women’s and Men’s issues

2.   Parenting: The Baby-Boomers

3.   Education: Parental Choice

4.   Education: Charter Schools

5.   Marriage and family

6.   Social commentary

7.   Sex and sexuality

8.   Understanding male/female roles

Edited by: Geri Davis

Cover by: Eljay

New Woman

Caught alone

in between

unknown territory

bridges burned

no one…

Me inside

First of my kind

and the last

Dropping anchor

my life

Holding the bottom

drifting

Going nowhere

Body and mind

NO

mind body!

I am one

in charge

for what I want

I need

AM-B

FOREWORD

It’s very special, our meeting like this. You selected this book-probably because a friend recommended it. Up until this moment we have never met, and of course you know nothing about me. I may never meet you or know your mind, but soon we’ll be linked by common experiences and vital issues that affect our lives.

As my confidant, I’ll speak as if I’ve always shared my innermost secrets with you. I’ll be candid; share honestly what I learned.

Annie Martin-Bemer

Chapter 1

THE NURSE, her uniform—cotton, wrinkled, faded blue-green—hanging loosely on her lank body, padded across the hospital room, shoe soles flapping against the cold vinyl as she heel-toed, announcing herself. Mother saw her crossing, knew why she headed to the window. I heard her weak, frustrated protest. The nurse heard it, but went on, seized the cords and pulled until the blinds let only thin cracks of afternoon sunshine into the room.

All Mom had left was warm sunlight, and now that was gone. She gave up, prepared to die, ignoring me because her business with me was finished. They brought her here to die. She came willingly, knowing they would call me, and I would come. I arrived just before noon, in time for her to vent years of pent-up anger. That done, she was alone, no daughter, no sunlight. Her breathing slowed, became raspy. The nurse gave me a contemptuous look, and left the room, walking, toe-heel; quietly.

I watched her die. Maybe she went fast and the rest was just her autonomic system shutting down. I stayed at her side, talking quietly until I was sure she was gone. I’d heard the last thing to go is hearing. I had so much to tell her. I had to explain she was wrong. It didn’t matter to her. It mattered to me.

If I had been—If I was—as horrible a daughter as she believed—mean, ill spirited, hateful, selfish.. Her charges hooked me, but I couldn’t let them damage me. I may have done a lot wrong, I’m sure of that, but I had to, to save myself. Does that make sense? Can I justify what I did to get separate from her, to break the chain of misinformation and fear she passed on to me? Could I have done it differently? Was what I did hateful and evil? You’ll have to judge.

What I did, I did without malice. I did it to become a woman of my time. I had to ignore her messages, her advice and counsel. I sided with Dad. I had to, his values didn’t conflict with mine. I couldn’t let her parent me any longer. I loved her, I told her often, but she wouldn’t accept words over deeds. She died hating me. That’s how confused and screwed-up she was.

I’m haunted by the thought I might grow to detest Katie, my own daughter, as Mom loathed me. I’m angry with Katie. I can’t forgive what she did. She went against all I taught her. She discounts everything I say. Still, I won’t hate her.. Katie, if you ever read this you’ll know who I really am. So will you, my confidant. We’re so much alike.

I grew up believing others were okay, I wasn’t. I was flawed. Those closest to me had inaccurate, harmful information. Misinformation screwed me down tight. I was a two-dimensional creature leading a shallow and meaningless life. A scared, lonely person facing perplexing issues. I needed a mentor, someone who had fought through life’s battles and could give straight information. I had no one to turn to. I’m talking about over forty years of searching.

I’m forty-eight now. I’ve a hard time dealing with the fact I’m a middle-aged baby-boomer. I’m a grandmother, preparing myself for the next forty years. I have to do a lot of things over, but I’ve tried hard to learn the essentials of Me.

Mother’s rejection was her problem, not mine. I have to accept that. Sometimes it’s impossible to change another person. It wasn’t my job, my responsibility. She had her life and things she had to overcome. I believe each of us is here to work on problems unsolved in past lives. I don’t think she solved hers. Just because she’s my mother, doesn’t mean she was right about me. She did what shedid. It hurt, but I don’t own her feelings or perceptions. You’ll see why I know that.

What I want most to share with you is the part of my life that should now be coming to an end. The part I once believed my whole purpose, my reason for being. I imagined parenthood before I married. I imagined life revolved around being a parent. Then, married, the climaxing pulsation of my cervix pulled sperm deep inside me where one penetrated my egg and started another life. Pregnant at twenty-six! I began a journey so complex and filled with angst and joy, pain and separation, it did become my reason for being for over a quarter of a century.

Before motherhood, I imagined the type of parent I’d be. As a pre-pubescent and then pubescent girl, I had visions of sweetness in pink or blue, warm cuddly fulfillment and grace. Perhaps my fantasy was nature’s way of urging me into parenthood. I’d been sheltered from reality—totally unprepared when I conceived. Well, it wasn’t just that. I wasn’t prepared for marriage either, no way!

My skills for working through the human dynamics of male-female bonding barely existed. The only model I had was my one-sided relationship with my father. I was unprepared for the reality—the physical and mental demands made by others. I listened to women talking about their men and thought it would be great to be needed and so involved. I never imagined my body as a vessel used to nurture others, numbed to its own desires; empty and lacking desire.

Such feelings are states of mind. The process of growing is to learn how to cultivate emotions and set the body in motion. Perhaps, if you’ve learned it as well, you understand. Back in those days I didn’t understand. Suddenly, my private body with its most intimate partsbelonged to others. My body, not my mind. I separated into two parts.

The ability to hide in my mind saved me embarrassment and torment as I lay on my back, face shielded from their acts by a green sheet. They spread my legs and hooked my feet into stirrups, exposing intimate, delicate, secret parts to everyone in the room. It wasn’t decent or acceptable. The man inserted metal instruments into me and probed me with his fingers as if I were a cow. I found a place in my head to hide from the offensiveness of it.

What had been my body became a factory. Beauty and symmetry of breast and belly which had once given me a comfort of worth, were now expanding and stretching as my body became an incubator with engorged pugs designed to issue provender.

I was alone. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. I had a husband. We had become parents. Well, Danny thought in terms of we. He thought we were going through this thing together; love would join us and carry us through. But no! That’s not the way it happened. It wasn’t about him. It was the total invasion of my body, the use of me. Sure, I know that’s the way it is. The woman carries the child. But, scared and alone, I suffered an invasion of my being. Joy? Shared experience? It wasn’t there.

We did have love. Love, I say. What we had is not anything like we developed later—the reasons we chose to be together to share our few years on earth. I needed compliance and economic support, little else.

What did he need? I didn’t know. I feared his needs and felt obligated to provide what I assumed he wanted. I thought I understood his desire for my body, his excitement at seeing me naked, his curiosity and his hormonally driven body and mind. He was a normal young male, nothing wrong with that. Nothing unexpected or weird. I believed nature forced his path, certain that so driven he wouldreproduce. My effect on him? An erection and the driving force to ejaculate. To him, that was love—or so I concluded with limited insight.

It turned out I was only partly right about Danny. Although empathic at that age, my ability to identify with, and understand another person’s situation, feelings, and motives were limited. In time, thank God, I went beyond myself and got to know him.

In those years Dan loved my sex and, yes, he loved a little of me. He couldn’t love more because I was yet unformed. I didn’t know who I was either. It’s remarkable we found reasons to stay together.

We had a short period when we played at marriage and enjoyed being a couple. We ate out, took short trips and met with friends. I became pregnant and everything changed.

If I were a man and the young thing I was attracted to changed in so many ways, I’d start running and not stop until I got out of the relationship. I wanted to run too, but my body was full of something I couldn’t run from.

And so my pregnancy, which others described as, The most beautiful experience in life, wasn’t beautiful at all. It assaulted us on all fronts. We suffered through it. Somehow our marriage survived. The night my factory forced the baby out, my indignity and suffering eased in wet gore. I lay there and watched them hand the baby to Danny. I didn’t feel relief, although everyone talked as if I should. I felt pinned-down, trapped, never to be myself again. And I was right. That’s the way it was for a long time.

I watched Danny’s face as he handed the baby to me. He felt it too. Forever changed, obligated. The end of youth and… sure, I experienced a glimmer of joy. The kid was healthy, had all his fingers and toes. As he cried, I responded instinctively and placed him on my belly. I touched his cheek and he took the nipple of my distended breast.

Something happened. Something constricted within me. My mind hadn’t bonded, my body knew. I relaxed for the first time in at least six months. The terrible angst ended, in part, anyway. I looked at my husband and saw relief on his face. We were on a new path together, this strange boy I didn’t really know—was supposed to be in love with—and the two parts of me.

Before the birth, I decided to stay home with the baby until my company leave was up. Then, I planned to escape from home, go to the office and reenter the adult work environment of banter, copy machines, computers, staff meetings and exciting projects. At the office, I could be Me! Trapped at home, I believed I’d have no identity other than as a milk manufactory, diaper changer, cook and house cleaner.

As a wife, I’d also have to take care of Dan. I was expected to do things for him—wait on him, clean up after him—and pretend to be interested in him. I wasn’t his maid, and let him know in no uncertain terms that he was responsible for his own maintenance. I wanted to touch him and to be touched by him at times, but nothing in