In the Blink of My Eye

By Lynne Biss

Cherish your yesterdays, Dream about your tomorrows, Live your best todays

 

Reagan Kathleen McDonald was born into a large Irish family. She came into this world with a smile on her face, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, and a heart full of love. Follow her throughout the roller coaster ride of her life encompassing the humor, romance, drama, hurt, pain, rejection, yet joy of the stages she would go through, grow through, dance through, laugh through and cry through. Her loves and loses will have you on an emotional high and then drop you in to the depths of despair until you reach that last hill. Will there be a light at the end?

• Language: English
• Publisher: FUNEMINDS LLC
• Release date: Apr 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201652746

Book preview

Dedication

Thank you, Valium, for helping me survive the past 50 years, but also a special, heartfelt outpouring of love to my children, family, friends, and some crazy strangers along the way. All of whom have given me the support and encouragement I needed to create my story.

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction . Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

DADDY'S LITTLE GIRL

October 15 th , 1953 was a bright, beautiful, Indian summer day, not that I remember anything about it. My dad said I came out all smiles; I didn’t cry and held on to him really tight, which I would continue to do until the day he departed this world.

That year saw several important events and firsts. Dwight Eisenhower was elected our president, Elizabeth II was crowned Queen of England, Joseph Stalin died, and Jonas Salk finally succeeded in producing the polio vaccine.

The first color TV was sold along with the first Corvette, Ian Fleming premiered the first Bond movie, Pat Benatar was born (that story comes later) and Playboy’s first issue hit the stands with none other than Marilyn Monroe as the centerfold. She would later become a person of interest in my life in many ways.

Dean Martin sang That’s Amore, Frankie was a hit in From Here to Eternity, and Topper and The Life of Riley had families sitting together after dinner watching TV acting like truly functional families enjoying life. While the Korean war ended, nuclear testing started. Maybe that is why we are labeled Baby Boomers. Not really, but I like my concept of the definition better.

Reagan Kathleen McDonald is what my parents decided to call me. Not too Irish, you think! I was one of seven children, and that was a small family back then. I had three sisters and three brothers. If you insist, I will name them: McKenzie, Erin, Cassidy, Shane, Daniel, and Patrick. It was like County Cork exploded in Jersey City, although it was an excessively big Irish community and the McDonalds just added their 7 cents to the mix. Of course, I, as the middle child, was my dad’s favorite, and my siblings have never let me live it down. I remember being able to do no wrong where my dad was concerned. I was always thinking of naughty, mischievous things to do, not bad or evil, just nonsense. There are those that can and those that cannot. I could, so lucky me.

My early recollection of events is very sparse. We lived in Jersey City when my grandmother was alive, and she was a stout, white-haired, rosy-cheeked Irish woman. She was bedridden, so when I was at her house, I used to sit in bed and watch TV with her. She had a two-family house with her sister living downstairs and cousins for us to play with at times. She was always kind to her grandchildren, but a bit of a whip when it came to her own children.

Three of my grandmother’s sons were born in Ireland, then my grandmother had an additional two sons and two daughters who were born in the USA. My older uncles were in the Irish Mob in Jersey City, or so I’m told. In fact, when I watched Boardwalk Empire, some of my family was mentioned in the series. How exciting is that?

My uncles would hit the Irish pubs before coming back to Gram’s for dinner. One time the she-devil, Aunt Maggie, was lying in wait at the front stairs with a frying pan, ready to whack my uncle Thomas upside his head for drinking with his brothers. It was so scary, but later on thinking about it, I laughed like hell at the imagery, since no one had been hurt. She was the top sergeant, and what she said was law. If you did not sit at the table when she rang the bell, no supper. If you did not eat all your food, then not a lick of milk (which was considered a treat in our family) would pass by your lips. If you didn’t answer as soon as she addressed you, well, in the corner you would stand. Not one of the grownups dared to test her authority, yet my mom would rant and rave about her all the way home, but never once did she go back at her. Wow, a whole different world back then.

I am to understand that we lived in the heights section, and there was a park with big cement animals. I have never tried to go back there, and I don’t know why. Not interested, no time. That was then, this is now. Yet, I have wonderful memories of family and playing in the garden with the pompom flowers that we were told not to touch. Hahaha, not that we ever listened. Then one of us would get stung by a bee, and it was time out for us all. We were always given money for penny candy at the corner store, then there were my attempts at baking in my little oven. Oh my god, the baking pans were no bigger than a chocolate chip cookie, but the excitement of the bell going off and that pan coming out was a moment like no other. The worst part was I had to share. You know what it’s like to share something that size with 3 cousins, but I did, and throughout my life it taught me how to give back, be kind, and anticipate the needs of others.

There are some fleeting memories of the house we lived in, including one of me riding a tricycle, trying to get away from my mother, who was holding a spoonful of castor oil and trying to aim it into my mouth. Dear Lord, how I still remember the awful taste, the crying, pouting, and defiance in not wanting to accept this fate worse than death. Yeah, I know, rather dramatic, Reagan, don’t you think?

I believe at this time I was three, going on four maybe, and my dad set up a sprinkler in the back yard. One day, about six of the neighborhood kids were in the yard, and I must have talked one of the older kids into turning it on. Boy, did we start having a great time, then, for some unknown reason, I got them to take all their clothes off except their underwear. What a sight! Even back then, I was a leader and not a follower, and we were whooping it up, laughing, screaming, and running around like a bunch of banshees when a hand suddenly came out of nowhere, grabbing me and dragging me into the house.

The next period of time, which seemed like forever, was my mother ripping into me. I remember that hand connected to my bottom. I was sent to my room, and if my mother had her way, I was never to be seen again. The one neighbor would not allow me to play with her children ever again. I believe I was compared to a sinful harlot. Wow, at that age? However, we did move. I guess I embarrassed the family, and we needed a new start.

I was now getting ready to start school, kindergarten, to be exact. My mother, who was not exactly my best friend, decided that I needed to learn to tie my shoes. I thought that would be a fun time, but boy, was I in for a rude awakening. My dexterity was not what the drill sergeant expected, and it became a lesson in torture, with her screaming at me every time I could not get the loop right. I was sobbing and shaking with fear, not wanting to continue to try, which resulted in her throwing my shoe at me, berating me, and punishing me for my inability to perform the task at hand. To this day, every time I tie a pair of shoes, and yes, I did learn, I remember that day vividly and vowed to never act that way toward anyone for any reason. I don’t really remember any children at that time that I played with. How sad. But I do recall the rides that would come through the block. There was a whip, a Ferris wheel, and a small carousel. The man would ring a bell similar to the ice cream man and it was always after dinner in the spring and summer. I wouldn’t even have to say a word to my dad. He was grabbing my hand and out we would go to stand in line. My memories tell me there were only four children at a time on a ride, so waiting seemed like forever, but so exciting. After that summer, it was on to the first day of school, not my finest hour. My older brother and sister were given the task of escorting me there. I remember it was a far walk and my brother put me on his shoulders because I remember complaining about how tired I was walking. I really did not want to go, and at one point, I was crying and trying to make an excuse to go home.

I really don’t know what possessed me to dread that fate, which was worse than death. Staying home with mom was not a fun time, so I must have been delusional and suffering some sort of mental breakdown. That mentality carried over to the classroom and the original Peck’s naughty girl was in trouble, yes, in trouble, on her very first day of kindergarten.

The images are still there of me telling the Nun no to everything she asked me to do. I believe my dad had to come and pick me up, but nothing bad must have happened because the next time my brain started to function was when I finished second grade there. Yet, we still lived in the same place.

It’s really strange what the human mind allows you to recall at such an early age. Sometimes I wonder if other moments that I believe were real actually were real.

I remember visiting my dad’s mom and relatives in West Orange, and my Grams had a Victorian home with the wrap-around porch and pocket doors that we would play with until we got yelled at. Then we were visiting them somewhere else. I have no idea what town they were in, but I do know it was a second-floor apartment building. My grandmother was very small and said very little. My cousin harassed her constantly, but he was mentally challenged. He might still be alive, but again, I have no idea. Some families are so tight-knit and stay together, or at least know where each other are. Both sides of my family are all over the place, and once in a while, one of my nieces will say something about someone. My mother’s side seems to have fallen off the face of the earth or really doesn’t want to be associated with my family at all. I would love to know where they all are, what they are doing, and how they feel about not having or caring about a family history or commitment.

It’s like, what’s up? Are we so offensive that you have to pretend we don’t exist? Are we not as upscale as you are? We do shower, work, live in regular houses, and our pictures are not on the walls of the post office. Or are they just too busy and overwhelmed, keeping up with their own family to worry or care about extended family members? Oh well, their loss. We are a fun-loving, crazy, no-filter bunch of crazies that aren’t on meds to be the way we are.

My dad was the youngest of 15 children. Yes, I said 15! But I only remember a handful of his siblings. His oldest sister, Della, was a sweetheart, but her daughter Mary was a snob. Funny, she was only a few years older than my father. Aunt Della’s family lived locally, but then they built a home together down the shore. I never liked going there, and sometimes I had to stay over to play with her daughter Theresa, my second cousin. She was a bigger bitch than her mother. My dad was always very kind to them, but I know they looked down their noses at us. Mary’s husband was a wimp and was always being led around by the nose. Poor guy. But later on in life, when Mary died, this guy really made up for lost time. He bought himself a plane and would sometimes invite my dad for a ride. He found a very nice girlfriend, and they eventually got married. Good for him. I think his kids disowned him, but I don’t think he really cared.

One of my dad’s older brothers, Mike, had a house down the shore that he rented, and a boat that we would go out on all the time when we were down by him. Sometimes I would spend weekends at his apartment with him and his girlfriend, Jane. She was so nice and would do my nails and hair, take me to the movies, and take me shopping. I always had so much fun when I was with them. My uncle had a wine press in the basement and promised to let me help make the wine, but I don’t remember if that ever happened. Later, when they broke up, uncle Mike got involved with a Scottish family. My father said it was the death of him, and maybe he was right, but my uncle Mike was an overweight, Santa-looking person with a sense of humor like no other.

When we were staying down the shore with him, sometimes in the morning I would go down to the bay with him to check his eel traps. If there were any in there, he would bring them back, clean them, and cook them up with breakfast. It felt so awful for me to imagine, let alone watch. He was a fantastic cook though, except for the eels and liver. Somehow, I was always able to con my way out of the liver dinners, oh thank the Lord. The thought of it makes me shiver right now just writing about it, but all his other meals were like eating at the best restaurants and he was the head chef.

My dad’s next oldest sister, Beth, also lived down the shore with uncle Tim, and they were so funny. I had only one cousin to play with there, and boy, were we a handful together. My uncle would always threaten to open the Limburger cheese if we didn’t stop misbehaving, and we would run like hell.

The smell was like dirty poop diapers and would fill up the house for hours. My aunt worked at a fresh produce stand, so we always had the best fruits and veggies. Yes, we loved veggies. We had our pick every day while I was there. On Fridays and Saturdays, we would go across the bridge,