Life Throws Curves

By Annette Cardon

One day when I broached the thought that I wanted to share my "war bride" story, came the instant laugh with a mocking remark from my older twin son, "Mother who would want to read your life story anyway?"

I suppose something pushed me even more in the direction of writing this book. As for my title even that will come to light as you read on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477297346

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2013 by Annette Cardon. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/11/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9735-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9733-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9734-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923192

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Introduction

I n this Autobiography I talk about my life growing up in a dysfunctional way, the heartbreak of having a Parent who was mentally ill, then subjected to the stress of those difficult times trying to understand which path I had to choose in life. I never had a good role model to follow I chose to elope with the first guy that gave me hope of an escape from the life I hated. Then becoming a young Mother with twin boys born after their father was drafted into the Army during World War Two, having to spend three long years alone with my babies waiting for their father to return. The changes after we were united again after the War ended. As a War Bride I kept my faith strong praying for things to get better, I could not have endured what I did without that faith. I had to tell my story even though I am limited in knowledge of just how to express myself for those of you to understand my frustrations. For me this has proven to be cathartic. This is my final legacy to my family. I shall hope my friends who read this story will not judge me too harshly for wanting to find love and be loved.

I had often broached the subject that I wanted to share my War Bride story with my family, especially for my Grandchildren, and now Great Grandchildren coming on the horizon, my final legacy to them. Often hearing a laugh with the remark from my son, Henry, (whom I call Butch in my book) some teasing from him and his remark, Mom who would want to read your life story anyway? I suppose that remark had something to do with pushing me even more in the direction of actually baring my soul to my readers. The title will come to light as you read thru my story and why I chose that particular title.

I lived thru my hopes and dreams I was like a good weed you couldn’t destroy me completely. Those curves life throws at us can destroy us or we can become that much stronger. I survived my erratic life, although many times becoming so terribly depressed with little hope for any future and thinking of just giving up. Determination became the key word to describe my success in survival and the love I shall always have for my family, those still with me, and those that are gone. We never stop loving our family although we can easily learn to dislike them for who they have become.

Like so many others I have wondered about the riddle of life, will we ever find out?

Annette

I no longer feel ashamed of my native language and my background. I don’t know why I ever felt alone in this world when all the while there was a guardian Angel hovering over me constantly. Maybe dreamers like me make it thru tough times because we refuse to give up? Can we believe in something even if we are told there is no God of any kind? Then where did we come from? Is there a guy called a Devil? I shall leave you with the thought at this point?

I shall start my story here; I was a fast learner but always had setbacks to deal with. I often thought if I had parents who might have loved me and attended to my education in a proper manner I would have achieved greater heights, possibly a medical profession or even in an artistic world in some capacity because I was thirsty for knowledge plus the fact I observed people as I was growing up If anyone belittled themselves I certainly did my share to myself

Until I finally learned to appreciate the girl I saw in the mirror looking back at me.

I became the mother of four adorable healthy and beautiful babies who grew up in different directions. My twin boys Butch and Bob were my first love I was only 18 years old when I had the twins. My children were all perfect, I never saw faults in them while we were all growing up to put it bluntly. I grew up with my family, they taught me so very much about the world we live in.

My parents spoke Croation I learned to speak the language before I even learned the English language. Once entering school I learned English rapidly, now with two languages I did well relaying the American way of life to my parents. My parents were fresh from Europe when they settled on the South side of Chicago; I was their Chicago baby as mama called me. My grandfather, who was a butcher by trade, managed to assist bringing family to America. I recall some childhood memories of my grandfather he was a short stern big nosed man that smelled funny. He always ate Limburger cheese, drank whiskey and smoked cigars.

The horrors of hearing then seeing my grandfather hold my baby lamb and rapidly slice its throat left its mark on my memory forever. I can never eat lamb even to this day as I write.

My mother and father had been married thru an arranged marriage by my grandfather, who was by the way a tyrant from that European culture as was also his son-in-law my father Mike My story starts with a bang. Prostitution plus bootlegging were in full force. There were three children born to my parents, yet I never recall having a brother or sister because I was told they died in infancy. I was a child that survived by some miracle.

My mother was young my father being ten years her senior, their education lacking, they were both hardly fit to be parents. They enjoyed their wild life going to taverns and a speak easy everywhere on the south side of Chicago it was their pastime. My grandmother took the biggest part in nurturing me out of those three babies born to my Mother, most likely the reason I survived as for the two that died there was never any investigation of why they expired.

I know now I had a guardian angel that watched over me because my mother would leave me in a clothes basket with the German Shepherd dog, Daisy, to watch over me while she ran off to join her speak easy friends, drinking and dancing until the wee hours of morning.

Mr. & Mrs. Marion Chorich & Daughter Anne Lucille Chorich

1931

Annette_Page_004.jpg

Mike Chorich was killed in an accident at the Steel Mills

not long after this photo was made

I f I fell out of the basket Daisy would pick me up and put me back into the basket. My grandmother seemed to appear at the right time to take over then clean me up and take me home with her. There was always some kind of discord between Mama and Grandma for years.

My father was no better than my mother in parental care, he too, would be gone for days, being a ladies man and gambler, his handsome features always attracted the women. Grandma was my savior her love and attention left its mark on me. I was a happy and contented child I never fussed much grandma said.

My first clear perception of being alive was at the tender age of three years. I remember I was playing with my shoes it had buttons that intrigued me. I managed to pull one off and insert it into my nostril. For whatever reasons kids do these things I screamed in terror when I couldn’t get the button out of my nostril. For the first time my father took notice however disgruntled as he reluctantly took me to the US Steel infirmary for medical attention.

I shall always remember the pleasant Doctor who gently removed the lodged item from my nose. He was so tall, his voice soft, and he was so very gentle.

Now Annie, let’s not do that again he then handed me that red sucker holding me securely now as he put me down from that cold steel table. To this day I can and do recall that episode from my tender age of three years.

My father was a Crane operator at the U.S. Steel Company where many men from Europe now sought jobs after coming to the United States of America, jobs were booming, the pay was good and the migration of men coming to America brought many roomers and boarders to our home. My mother became a prostitute with her boarders thus earning more money for my father to gamble. He promoted the idea as now constantly gambling and getting deeper in debts with his vicious habit. Mama was young and terribly uneducated, ignorant of her rights as a human being, my father was her world and his command had to be obeyed.

From the time I could remember what our home looked like it was never warm or even cleaned. There were so many men coming and going. Our kitchen had a huge round table where so many of these men played cards with my father. A lot of smoke in the air I felt like I was choking. Mama cooked big pots of either soup or stew so everyone could be fed.

I would get my little bowl of soup and hide with it in the closet I chose to be my sanctuary where I could also play with my paper dolls and stay away from all those men in our kitchen.

If I got a cold and was sick mama would be using a small dishtowel she urinated in then wrapped the warm towel around my neck. I was happier when mama learned about using Vicks Vapor Rub the smell was better. Often times I would hide when the fights between my parents began they always fought about money. Sometimes I held my hands over my ears for a long time till it would stop this was our normal life. We had very little friends if any I didn’t play with kids my own age. I wasn’t allowed out of the house, if I saw anyone living next door or wanted to go out to play with the kids that I saw thru the window that was a strict no.

My little dark closet was the only place I could find solace when the drag down fights began between my parents. My father would brutally strike my mother with his fist while she screamed, her bruised face and nose bleeding giving up the money she had clutched in her fist. The neighbors often called the police oh how I hated this man called my father I wanted him to go away forever. The fights and arguments were far too violent the noise was overbearing. My father often escaped before the police arrived. However the most vivid memory is the one I shall never forget when the fight went too far between my parents. I had many nightmares following that incident and still remains unforgettable.

My father turned into a monster this particular day completely out of control. He grabbed a huge butcher knife glaring at mama his voice terrifying ready to leap with the knife as it shone like silver now waving it back and forth with his threats swearing to kill us both.

This time I’ll cut you up Mary and that daughter alongside of you

Mama sensed the danger facing us swiftly grabbed my hand as we practically flew up the stairs to an attic. There was no way to run downstairs past my raving father his footsteps now right behind us. The attic was dark as we hid my heart was beating so fast I thought it would jump right out of my chest. Saved by the perfect timing with the janitor’s voice coming loud and clear What’s all the racket going on up here? my father rapidly took flight and mama still holding my hand as we calmly walked past the janitor with no explanation. I just knew my Guardian Angel was there for us. Life was even more uncertain after that episode with the knife, but mama usually surrendered her boarder funds with less battle after that episode my dislike for my Father was even more intense I would always avoid seeing him I had nightmares time and again. Fate played its role out when my father was working on his crane and another crane came crashing into his causing my Father’s instant death. Mama cried a lot at his funeral, as much as I knew about death I knew he wasn’t coming back to hurt us anymore I was glad he was dead. I felt nothing for him I was just happy he was out of our lives.

I resented going to the funeral Home where I saw my father’s body laid in a coffin. More so I disliked mama’s insistence that I had to kiss my father’s forehead out of some kind of last respect for him. Climbing up those little stairs to his side almost unable to reach him but I managed to bend over his coffin then kissing that cold forehead that felt like I had kissed a stone. I had no feelings about my father except I was happy he was dead and gone for good.

My mother’s sorrow was short lived when she became aware of my father’s infidelity with his co-workers wife. The crash never went into an investigation it was called accidental. After a settlement from the company my Father worked for mother healed from her sorrow. Back into her life with her men friends, a complete recovery, mama soon became adept at making beer and booze in our basement. It was a fast and busy life for her.

I tried to adjust to various schools each time we moved. We had to move so many times due to the noise and the smell from our basement when the brew was fermenting. The neighbors would complain then the Police were called. I wasn’t able to adjust as well as I could have in new areas, there were cruel remarks kids would make about my clothes and the shoes I wore. Mama’s choices were hand-me-downs from people she knew, nothing seemed to fit me properly and the cheap ridiculous shoes mama got on the bargain counters told a story. I began stuttering even more with those embarrassing remarks I often heard from other kids.

Chicago’s snowfalls