Ring My Bell

Picture it: Christmas break, probably 1994 maybe ‘95.

It all started innocently enough. My mother’s youngest sister and her husband who were pastors in the Salvation Army and were in Kansas City at the time and I was in college a couple hours south in Missouri. As most anyone who goes near any retail or downtown area between Thanksgiving and Christmas knows, the Salvation Army posts people with handbells and buckets to collect money. My mother’s youngest sister and her husband were in charge of that. 

The words “It seemed like a good idea at the time” have bitten me in the ass so many times I’m surprised I have any ass left. But I digress. 

When the idea of me being a bell ringer for about a week before flying home to Chicago was initially proposed I was told that I would be inside a fancy mall so I should pack nice clothes to make a good impression on the shoppers whose ears I would be accosting with my handbell. However, when I got there I was told that for some reason I would be outside in the elements. 

I had not packed for that. 

I did it one day and nearly got frostbite and no that is not hyperbolic. Kansas City can get hella cold in the winter. 

I called my mother to update her on the situation and got no support. Instead I got a double whammy of guilt and shame with some religious guilt thrown in for good measure. Another example of my mother taking the other side and one of many times her youngest sister and her husband fucked me over. 

NOTE: Karma has come around for them, probably more than once if I had to guess so it all evens out in the end. 

Back to the story: They begrudgingly allowed me to not freeze as long as I did other physical labor. The next few days were spent painting various rooms of their house. They weren’t home during the day and it was before I started smoking (a bad habit I picked up at bible college, go figure) so the days I had left were bearable. 

I was only there one weekend and was graciously allowed to stay home from church so I could keep working on the projects I had left before heading to Chicago. They had left for church with their kids so I waited until I was sure they were gone to go upstairs to grab coffee and some sort of breakfast. I was staying in the guest room which was in the finished basement with a half bath. That will be relevant in a moment. 

I got to the top of the stairs and the door standing between me and coffee was locked. 

They fucking locked me in the fucking basement. 

I was furious but trapped so I decided to write about it in whatever journal I was using at the time and then go back to sleep since there was nothing else to do. 

They got home from church a few hours later and claimed it was a force of habit to lock the basement door before they left but I call bullshit on that. I think they didn’t like me (and it’s probably still the same) and did some harmless micro aggression that would be nothing more than an inconvenience. Now you see why the half bath in the basement was important. 

Another call to my mother and the same thing. It was somehow my fault. No matter what happened it was ultimately my fault. I made the same mistake of doing work for them over Christmas break a year or two later. That was the last time. 

I’ve seen them a couple times over the last ten years or so and not much more than a hello and “I’m fine, thanks” and that’s probably all it will ever be. I have no reason to see or speak to them. Especially now. 

None of them are vaccinated and these are the people my unvaccinated mother chooses to live near and spend her time with. There’s some weird beholden-ness with them too where she’s spending her time taking care of her youngest sister’s grandson and hasn’t seen her only grandchild in almost three years and has no plans to. 

People make choices and have to live with the consequences of their choices. 

I choose to stay away from people with a track record of fucking me over and then trying to gaslight me into thinking it’s somehow my fault. 

For the mental and physical health and well-being of my own family I am making choices too and my choices do not include allowing actively toxic people into my life or my family. 

This has been a portion of my Festivus Airing of Grievances.