An Ode to My Sisters

This post got me thinking...

When I was 7 years old, my single mother went to a Bill Gothard Basic Seminar and ate up every word.  Not only did she swallow every man principle he spewed forth, she also fell in love with the man.  Romantically.

This meant that, like how a fundie says, "If the KJV says jump, then jump....only afterward do you pray and ask God if you jumped high enough", she felt the same way about the G-man.

We began to dress like Bill wanted us to.  For the boys, it wasn't so bad.  It essentially meant that we couldn't wear shorts (which was only sparsely enforced due to the need to have gym clothes in high school), T-shirts alone, and shirts not buttoned to the top.  Even one button was slightly scandalous, though we did it anyway.

We were very poor because Bill wouldn't allow my mother to go out and get a job.  He said that it was the woman's place to stay at home.  Thus, we lived off of welfare and handouts throughout my entire childhood.  This meant we shopped at all the local thrift stores and wore the last decade's clothes.

When everyone was wearing tight jeans in the 90's, we were wearing their old bell-bottomed corduroys.  When the Air Jordan's came out with those cool full-width see-through air pockets, we were wearing flat-bottomed FILA's, given to us by the professional tennis player, David Wheaton.  He must have needed to clear out his old dusty inventory.  The bell bottoms weren't so bad because we could pin them tight around our ankles.  If you were creative enough, nobody would be the wiser.

It was different for my sisters.

Modesty for them was the boring old jumper.  Sometimes it was denim.  Other times, it was a print with huge flowers.  If it wasn't a jumper, it was the dreaded coolots.  Or, the skirt that had so much material in it, you could make curtains for three large windows.  Some of them may have been curtains at one time. 

My sisters' clothing was out of style before they ever bought them (or were given them...most likely people throwing away their ancient closet stuffers).  They were washed so often, all the material was severely threadbare.  The hems were shaggy with white strings dripping off of them like icicles.  In a Minnesota winter, being forced to wear a skirt was torture.  They could not wear snow pants so went with leg warmers.  That brought the house down with laughter.  People hadn't worn leg warmers for centuries.

While in school, I knew my sister's were coming around without having to see them.  All you had to do was listen for the "swoosh swish" of their skirts and you knew.  They even wore them for gym clothes.  My mother petitioned the gym teachers to allow a religious exception for my sisters to wear skirts while me and the other boys got to wear the correct wardrobe.

From what I remember, my sisters were so picked on that they hated school.  They were always hanging their heads when passing students in the halls.  They had very few friends.  Those they did have were foreign and could hardly speak English, and barely knew the latest styles.  They suffered much.

I've never put myself in their shoes to understand what they went through.

Now, after reading Darcy's post, I think I know.

I am so sorry.