Eating My Feelings (3 page)

“Nope, when we were on vacation in Orlando last weekend, your father and I decided to tie the knot. We brought pictures!” Stacey said as she began passing around photos of “the big day.” I sat there in disbelief. At the tender age of eleven, I could not picture my father with anyone other than my mother, even though they had tried to kill each other at least five times each. No eleven-year-old wants to see his father married to someone other than his mother, especially not if that certain someone is the whore of Babylon. I also didn’t want him to be with a woman who was so emotionally unhinged that a blind man could sense her craziness at twenty paces. “Well, I certainly have lost all desire to visit the state of Florida ever again,” my sister Jamie said as she passed the wedding photos to my brother Tony.

“I don’t get it,” my little brother Kevin said. “What about Mom?”

“Your mother will move on,” Stacey said. “Or you can call me Mom now, if you want to.”

“I am not going to be able to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth for the rest of the day. Thanks, Stacey,” my sister Kimmy said.

“Kimberly!” my father barked. “Please try to treat your new
stepmother with a little respect.” Had Stacey done anything to garner any ounce of respect, perhaps she would have.

While looking at the wedding pictures, Tony said that they needed to change the city’s name from Orlando to Whorlando now that Stacey had visited. My father quickly realized that news of his wedding was not getting the warm reception he had hoped. I could see defeat in his eyes. All he really wanted was to move on from my mother, but everyone else at the table knew that the person he had chosen to move on with was evil in its purest form. Tony handed the wedding pictures to me and I glanced through them. I quickly stumbled upon a picture of Stacey’s son, Paco, hugging Mickey Mouse.

“Wait … what?” I gasped. “Why is Paco hugging Mickey Mouse? Did you all get married and stop at Disney World on your way home?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” my father replied.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me with this right now,” I replied. I had been pushing for a trip to Disney World for the last eighteen months.

“We needed a witness for the wedding,” Stacey replied.

“Seriously, bitch? Don’t play me like that,” I said.

“Are you calling my mother a bitch?” Paco asked as he got up from his seat in anger. I quickly shut my mouth before getting my ass kicked.

“So wait a second, you took Paco on vacation, told none of us about it, then decided to get married?” Jamie said. “This is bullshit.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” my father replied. “We needed a witness.”

“I’ve been to Florida plenty of times,” Kim said. “Give a Cuban a few bucks and there’s your witness.”

“We wanted it to be special,” Stacey said.

“Wait a second,” Tony said as he looked at his watch. “I have about three weeks left to deal with all of you in person before I go off to college and decide whether or not I pick up the phone when you call,” he said. “And I drove here, so I don’t need to sit through this.”

Tony grabbed Kimmy and Jamie and left Kevin and me to fend for ourselves at the Chinese restaurant with my father, the whore-bag, and Paco. The waitress came by our table to refill our water, but quickly fled as she saw my older brother and sisters leave the restaurant in a frenzy. I don’t know if I was more pissed that my father, Stacey, and Paco had taken a trip to Disney World without me or that my father had married quite possibly the most evil person in the world and opted not to let any of his children in on it until the day of
my
elementary school graduation, the most important day of a young man’s life. Saying I was pissed was an understatement. For the first time in my life, I had lost my appetite. I had a plateful of chicken-fried rice sitting in front of me and I couldn’t eat. Stacey’s marriage to my father had made me anorexic. Well, at least for the rest of the evening.

My father drove my little brother and me to my elementary school graduation, where my mother was waiting for us. Before accepting my diploma, I told my mother I had some serious gossip for her after the ceremony. As I walked onto the stage, I heard her yelling: “WHAT THE FUCK?” I realized that there was no need for hair braiding, cookies, and gossip afterward because she had already found out the news.

Little did I know my elementary school graduation was not going to be the only important day ruined by my arch nemesis. She went out of her way to ruin everything for me, and my
father allowed her to do it. A few years into their marriage, the big question of “Who is going to die Jewish?” came into play. I believed that my father wanted to pressure Kevin and me into becoming Jewish to stick it to my mother one last time.

When I was around twelve years old, Stacey broached the subject for the first time.

“How would you like to have a Bar Mitzvah?” she asked.

“How would you like to go fuck yourself?” I replied.

“MARK!” my father yelled. “Watch your language and listen to what your stepmother is asking you.”

“It would be fun,” Stacey said. “You can have a big party and get lots of gifts,” she continued, “and if you do a good job, you can take a trip anywhere you want to go. I hear Disney World is lovely this time of year.”

“Seriously?” I asked. I knew what they were doing. At this point, they both should have known where my loyalties lay. I was on Team Trish and nothing was going to sway my vote. I knew if I had a Bar Mitzvah, it would crush my mother, and that was exactly why my stepmother had proposed this idea in the first place.

“You’re both retarded,” I replied. “I know your game, woman,” I said to Stacey, “and I ain’t playin’ it!” The only reason I even spoke to my father or stepmother was because I was court ordered to. I literally
had
to see them every other weekend and once a week. That period in my father’s life was miserable for everyone involved. I hated Stacey, if not for conversations like this one, then for the fact that she was a straight-up cunt.

I could see panic in my father’s eyes. He wanted so badly for his younger boys to be Jewish to impress his new wife and knew his window of opportunity was closing. I was already thirteen, was a borderline racist, and had a mouth like a sailor that could
preclude me from ever setting foot in any temple. Watching
One Life to Live
every day allowed me to spot a crook from a mile away. I knew Stacey’s trickery and certainly wasn’t dumb enough to fall for it. So my father focused on my little brother, Kevin. He was always an easier target because he was younger and did not watch as much television as I did.

Shortly after our conversation, Kevin came back to my mother with exciting news: “I am going to have a Bar Mitzvah!”

I think my mother may have done a spit-take in response to this, but regained her composure with, “Okay, Kevin, whatever you want to do.”

I sat there wishing I had been able to shield my little brother from my evil stepmother’s clutches, but knew it was too late.

“Stacey said that I could have a big party and take a trip wherever I wanted to go. It’s going to be so much fun,” Kevin replied. Little did he know about the three years of rigorous work he was going to have to put in before having this big party and taking this wonderful trip. Kids are so stupid. Shortly after Kevin left the room, my mother picked up the phone and called my father.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ABOUT KEVIN HAVING A BAR MITZVAH?” she yelled into the phone.

“It’s his decision,” my father said.

I know what you’re thinking. How did I know what my father was saying on the other end of the phone? Two words: Erica Kane. She taught me everything I needed to know about the art of eavesdropping, so naturally, I was listening in on the other phone with my finger on the mute button.

“He told me that you and”—she stopped herself—“I can’t bear to say her name, but that woman, promised him a big party and a big trip. Is that true?”

“Of course not. I mean he would obviously have a big party. That’s what a Bar Mitzvah is.”

“No it isn’t, you idiot!” my mother said. “You don’t even know your own fucking religion. Having a Bar Mitzvah is not just a huge party. Thank God my father is not alive, because he would kill you right now.”

“Calm down, Pat.”

“You know that if my father were alive right now, none of this would be happening. But I will not get in the way of what is going to make Kevin happy, and since you’ve already put it in his head that he’s going to do this, I guess I can’t fight it or I’ll be the bad guy.”

“He has made his mind up and we should just let him do what he wants to do,” my father said.

“No, you and that bitch made his mind up. I cannot believe that you are doing any of this, but I will tell you one thing right now. I am not paying for any of this shit. You and that slut can take care of it and don’t forget to invite my side of the family. You know they like to party.” With that, my mother hung up the phone.

My father had won this round, and my mother knew it. She looked at me after I rejoined her from the other room and asked, “Why aren’t you having a Bar Mitzvah?”

I didn’t want to tell her it was because I would forever remain on her team, so instead replied, “It’s too much work. That and I hate Stacey, so I try to do the opposite of what would make her happy.”

The news of Kevin’s impending Bar Mitzvah spread like wildfire on my mother’s side of the family—mainly because I have a big mouth. My cousins and I all stood as a united front to poke jabs at Kevin whenever we got the chance. Now, not only
did we have his big head to make fun of, we had his Judaism as well. When the holidays rolled around, I became particularly irritated.

“I don’t understand why Kevin continues to get Christmas presents when he is clearly a Jew now!” I said to my mother.

“Because I celebrate Christmas and if your brother is with me for the holidays, then he will get presents.”

“This is bullshit!” I replied. “I don’t get to have a big party or take a trip, but Kevin gets whatever he wants from both parents. It’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, Mark,” my mother told me, as if by now I hadn’t already gotten the memo on that one.

“My loyalty to you obviously means nothing,” I said.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

After realizing my mother didn’t know that the only reason I had decided not to have a Bar Mitzvah was because I wanted to remain loyal to her, I quickly retreated to my room.

However, I never stopped talking about how big of a Jew Kevin was and how it wasn’t fair that he got to celebrate every single holiday. Easter in particular pissed me off.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said to my brother. “You don’t even believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior, so why the hell are you celebrating his resurrection from the dead?”

“Because Mom is making me go to church, Mark,” Kevin replied. I simply did not understand why this Jew was even allowed in a church. Granted, he wasn’t a real Jew yet, but he obviously wasn’t Catholic anymore. He just wanted a party and a trip. In my opinion, Kevin should have been barred from all religions for being a dumb-ass. One Easter Sunday, my mother, brother, and I all sat in church and listened to the sermon. Quite frankly, I believe a good back-from-the-dead story line is best
saved for daytime television, but I can buy into it once a year on Easter. I don’t think Kevin was really listening, because he was a big Jew now, but all I could do was wonder why he was there in the first place. He’d picked a religion, but was spoiling in the riches of another because apparently the Easter Bunny breezed into Jewish kids’ homes now as well. As we were all getting ready to leave, the priest was sprinkling holy water on the congregation as they were exiting. When my mother, Kevin, and I were about to leave and I saw the priest raise the water to sprinkle Kevin, I did a slow-motion death grab and jumped in his way.

“Mark! What the hell are you doing?” my mother asked.

“Shielding the Jew from the holy water,” I replied.

“Jew?” the priest asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” my mother said as she hustled us out of the church as fast as she possibly could. “Mark, you are so embarrassing.”

“What’s more embarrassing, me blocking Kevin from the holy water or Kevin being a Jew?”

She didn’t answer. That was the last time I ever went to that particular church, because my mother had never been more embarrassed in her life. I decided it was time to put on my Nancy Drew hat and do a little digging to see what it was exactly that was going on at this mystical place they called a synagogue.

A few days after Easter, I took the bus to the local temple to see if all the brouhaha about being Jewish was worth dividing our family over. Because lines had been drawn in the sand, mainly by my big mouth, I felt confused about why I was so against Kevin having a Bar Mitzvah in the first place. I knew I did not want to appease Stacey, but perhaps I was a bit out of line in judging Kevin’s decision. After riding the bus with
several of our community’s finest toothless old ladies, I arrived at the temple ready to get to the bottom of my big Jewish question.

I suddenly felt like a real-life Nancy Drew. But instead of solving the case of who killed the man at the old mill, I was cracking the case of why the Jews were the chosen people. Had I been about fifty pounds lighter, an actual girl, and on a mission that had some sort of purpose other than sticking it to my stepmother, I really could have been Nancy Drew. I had every intention of lying to the rabbi and telling him that I was going to convert so I could get insider secrets to help me figure out why all of this religion business meant so much to everyone in my family.

“Can I help you, young man?” said a lovely white-haired woman as I entered.

“Yes,” I replied. “I would like to speak to someone about converting.”

She looked me up and down and smiled. “Of course, young man. Take a seat and I will see if there is a rabbi around to speak with you.”

The elderly woman walked down a long hallway and into a room, then shut the door behind her. As I sat and waited for someone to come out and speak with me, I looked around the temple. Gone were the crucifixes, prayer candles, and Stations of the Cross that made my church such a welcoming place. Instead there were beautiful stained-glass windows in a room that simply had a podium with a large case behind it. This placed rocked! I had already concluded that the case was filled with candies and cakes to eat every Friday night after temple ended. In my imagination, temple had one-upped church in every way imaginable. Apparently, Kevin had it right all along. Blinded
by my imagination of the wonders of what this place held, I then turned my attention back to the hallway to see the woman walking back in my direction with a short man behind her.