Bad Grandma… A Quickie.

My older brother Michael and I (Kevin) have been raised by our grandmother since we were little. Our father was never in the picture and our mother had a serious drug problem that eventually lead to her losing custody of us. Honestly leaving her was for the best, but moving in with grandma was only a slight improvement.

It seemed the apple didn’t fall far from the tree with her and our mother. She gave birth to our mom young, and our mom had us young, so she found herself a grandmother of two before her 35th birthday. Just like with us, our mother never had a father around, so we never had a grandfather. Grandma hadn’t wanted to be a mother in the first place, and now didn’t really like having to take care of us (which she let us know, daily). But when we were sent to live with her she reluctantly agreed, mainly for the government assistance.

She wasn’t like other grandparents, first of all she’s much younger, and prettier than most, but she also isn’t warm or caring. She smokes and drinks heavily, and undoubtedly uses drugs. She hasn’t been in a relationship with a man in the 10 years we’ve been living with her, but we’ve seen many come and go. She has a small 2 bedroom home where the room Michael and I share is right next to hers, and it’s never bothered her to have loud sex within earshot of us. This was probably less of a concern when we were 5 and 6, but now that we’re teenagers it’s far more noticeable. After puberty hit me, I spent more than one night masturbating in the dark, peering through cracked doors as I watched her getting fucked by some random guy.

But the worst part was that on top of her questionable parenting choices, she was also incredibly strict, to the point of abusive. We grew up being hit by her constantly and for the most miniscule offenses. Wetting the bed, spilling a cup of water, or even just basic childhood misbehaviors like talking back or crying because we didn’t get something. I’m not saying we were perfect kids, but the punishments didn’t really fit the crimes! She’d say things like

“If you’re going to live with me you’re going to respect me!” or

“I will not have you turn out like your mother!”

“It’s not my job to love you, just keep you alive!”

Who knows, maybe she has good intentions, but it has never felt like it. Michael and I regularly complained to one another, and talked about running away or telling someone, in particular, our social worker, Nicole.

We were technically foster children to our grandmother. And as such we had a social worker who was required to check up on us. We always kept our mouths shut about being mistreated, mainly our of fear, but also because we wanted a reward. Our grandma usually started being really nice the week leading up to the visit, taking us to a theme park, and out for ice-cream, that way when Nicole would ask what we’ve been up to, those were the first things that came to mind. The nice treatment usually lasted a for a few days afterwards too, because Nicole would always give us her card again and remind us that if anything is bothering us to call her, so grandma tried to keep the charade going while that was fresh in our minds.

We had a visit coming up and Michael had a bruised and swollen cheek from my grandmother. She had told him to take the trash out and he didn’t do it fast enough so she hit him with a shoe. This was just a week before the visit so he was determined to say something this time. Grandma took us to the movies and out to eat and shopping in the days leading up to the visit, but Michael wasn’t having any of it, he made it visibly obvious that these petty bribes were not going to sway him, he told me a dozen times a day that he was fed up and was going to make her pay for being such a bitch to us.