Change

By Theresa Daly

This book is about change, acceptance, and forgiveness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546252481

Theresa Daly

This book was on her bucket list. It was carefully constructed as to not offend anyone. The author shares her ups and downs and overcoming adversity. It is meant to uplift and give hope to those who feel there is no way out. At times the truth is harsh but it is her truth as she remembers it. At times it's funny and at times a struggle but if one person is given hope, the book was worth it.

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CHANGE

THERESA DALY

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

Copyright © 2018 Theresa Daly. 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 08/22/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-5249-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-5247-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-5248-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018908798

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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.

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I n the words of Henry David Thoreau, The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. I, on the other hand, have been screaming at the top of my lungs to be freed from despair. I remember being told, Shut your yapper. I have been told to stop talking many times in my life and each time my heart felt the dagger.

By what process does one go through in order to become invisible? It had been a childhood dream to be able to walk among people and lose that desire to be acknowledged. People wrought fear and they were everywhere, judging me.

My early years were spent in a tropical paradise. I never had the sense of the beauty I was surrounded by, the palm trees, floral leis, calm ocean breezes, and sand like silk were beyond my ken. We spent time on the big island in Honolulu, and some time in Oahu. We lived on the base and in civilian housing. The base was bland. Everyone, every carport, every lawn was uniformly the same. Even the father’s that arrived at the same time everyday were dressed in government attire. No one stood out as an individual. Boy did those patent leather shoes shine!

For reasons I don’t know, 5:00 pm was the scariest time of the day. My father walked in, said hello, and the rest is a blank. Was there conversation? Did we watch tv? I know that silence was a given. I was the oldest of four, then five children. Punishments were doled out for minor infractions. I do remember the belt and biting on a bar of soap if you lied or my mother found something inane to be reprimanded for. I guess being home all day with the kids made her want retribution. She would fade into the background but not quite disappear from view. I think she enjoyed being acknowledged for her frustration. My two older brothers were always in trouble. Sometimes their antics were relayed to those in charge and my father would be reprimanded, and he’d unleash his wrath when he got home.

My mother was the typical housewife of the time. She had friends, took in ironing for extra money, and told us repeatedly, children should be seen and not heard. I spent a lot of time on my own. I had friends that had Barbie dolls and if they had something that I wanted, I took it. Then the friend would find out, I’d give back the purloined item and lose a friend. My mother could sew and knit very well, so she made me doll clothes for my dolls. She was and has always been a stranger to me.

My mother was and is obsessed with dolls. I can’t tell which is creepier a doll or a clown. The average doll has that fixed glaze in its eyes, rubber, immovable limbs and either pursed lips or a macabre tiny grin. One cannot brush their hair even once because whatever the hair was made of it is made to be stationary, just like the glare in their eyes. When I was five, I got a life-size bride doll for my birthday. Her hair was black and curly, like mine. Her dress was made of taffeta and lace. She also had a veil. There’s a picture somewhere with me holding this creature. How ironic considering that I never had a traditional gown, veil, or wedding, but I did have the frightening experience of being a bride, twice.

I was amazed that dolls were being sold in magazines and on tv. They are quite expensive, and for display only. Of course the hawker is a famous person and these dolls or clowns have real names and personalities. These items are to be displayed on dressers, ledges, and curio cabinets. They are made of porcelain, and are for show only. No matter where you are in the room, their eyes seem to follow you. Let’s not forget the limited editions", another sales pitch. My mother actually told me that you can’t be a real mother if you don’t like dolls. I actually tell her when I visit that I don’t want to see her dolls.

Clowns on the other hand, are real in the sense that humans chose to put on garish make-up and perform some baffoon at birthday parties, circuses, and children shows. The extreme white of their faces, exaggerated eyebrows, and a big, red mouth, make for one scary vision. No matter what age the person, clowns have an element of evil with that make-up, loud bicycle horn, creepy balloon figures, and inability to speak. Let’s not forget to note that over-size clown suit. Whose bright idea came up with the clown car?

Because of our nomadic lifestyle, there are many homes in my past, very few do I remember but one house I remember distinctly was off base and set back from the street. I was always afraid of that house. Across the street was the school and by the crosswalk was an abandoned house where bums and shady characters lived. One day a kid came to school, after exploring that house with his friends. He had a plastic box with cotton in it and a human pinky he found in the house.

Outside my bedroom window was a roof about two feet down. When it got dark I would imagine someone coming in my window. I was so scared that I would ask my parents if I could sleep in their room. They let me stay once