Chapter 2:The past

We had money, but my parents just misappropriated it. We had great clothes, took many nice trips and had all the toys

imaginable, but the tenement houses and the schools were hardly fun! Other children

around us thought we were rich – if only they knew!

I liked having three sisters and a young brother around. We had a lot of fun playing

together even though we moved around a lot and lived in houses we never owned. We

grew up in the crummy areas of South Boston and Dorchester. I think we may have lived

in as many as nine houses, or I should say apartments. When I was 25 I got out of there

and followed an ex-boyfriend to San Francisco.

I don't mean to imply that Dorchester was a bad place to grow up. There were a lot of fun

things to do, especially in the summer with the beaches of Dorchester Bay. Many a night

we would go to Carson Beach or Savin Hill Beach to dig for clams and then take them

home to feast. Only a New Englander would eat slimy black clams out of Dorchester

Bay, but they tasted great.

I think I was 13 when I had my first kiss on the beach. His name was Ron, and I

remember he was older than me, about 15 I think. He had jet black hair and bright blue

eyes. I thought he was extremely handsome. I was with two of my girlfriends standing on

the water's edge, all of us in our bathing suits trying to look good for a couple of boys

from our school who were hanging out and trying to look cool. They eventually came

over. Ron was just staring at me with, and I can still see them now, with those beautiful

blue eyes and long, dark eyelashes. My heart was beating so fast. I don't remember what

he said, but later that afternoon we separated from the others. He kissed me lightly on the

lips, and I think I thought I had gone to heaven. The experience still brings a warm glow

to my heart. He was a kind person, actually.

South Boston is known for being an Irish Catholic district, some might say enclave, and it

has many churches, some of them extraordinary structures built in the 1800s, and church

schools. We were Catholics and poor. Amazing how the church could collect money

from the poor parishioners and build such huge buildings. I loved going into them. We

would go up Dorchester Street to Broadway, which ran all the way to the end of the

peninsula to Boston Harbor, and turn down E Street to the magnificent Gate of Heaven

Catholic church. Gate of Heaven was my favorite church. The inside was so big and the

roof so high, I would feel tiny, tiny. I would save pennies to buy a small candle just so I

could light it and place in the votive. Then I would kneel down to pray to the saints and

watch the flame flickering along with all the others. It was quite surreal being in such a

beautiful place, while close by were the decaying and bug ridden apartments we lived in.

I remember telling Margaret, ―No way! No way am I going to live this way for the rest of

my life. Crummy houses, crummy schools; I'm going live in my own home, a nice home

in a great neighborhood and send my children to private schools, or I'll home school

them.‖

Margaret was sitting on the edge of her bed tying her shoe laces didn't even look up.

―You are always going on about what you are going to do. How do you think you can

afford to live like the rich? You could find a rich guy and marry him, I suppose.‖―I would never, ever do that, Margaret. I can take care of myself; even if I have to work

four jobs, I'll save for what I want, and I'll have what I want. I'll go to college and get

good jobs.‖

Little did I know then that no matter how much I worked at building a life away from the

circumstances of my childhood, the lives of my mother and siblings would impact me in

a far more dramatic and consequential way than I could have ever thought possible. And,

guess what, it would be Adam, the cute little brother, the little guy I adored, born eight

years after me, who would innocently re-enter my life and then in a few short years drag

me and my family to the edge of the hell he was creating for himself.

• • •

In 1989 I married Jack. He was one of those ruggedly handsome Australians with the

charisma that make so many of them such great leading men in Hollywood movies. Errol

Flynn, Peter Finch, Mel Gibson, Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Guy Pearce are a few of

them. Jack was my Mel Gibson, the swashbuckling hero with the winning smile and an

eye for the ladies. He has that Gibson devil-may-care twinkle in his eye along with the

same brilliant smile.

In his own way, Jack was as courageous and ambitious as those stars when he came to the

United States at 18 to make his mark. It can't be easy to move from your home country,

but Jack has done extremely well and today is a Vice President of one of America's

prestigious and successful companies. I met him in San Francisco at work. He swept me

off my feet, and I had no resistance when he asked me to marry him.

The wedding was held in Boston. Jack's company had moved him to Syracuse a couple

of years earlier. Boston wasn't far away, and I was always going back home for visits and

then for planning my wedding. Perfect. Well not quite. Adam was there, and he

was...well, being Adam.

The guests were tapping their wine glasses with spoons, a tradition not lost on Jack. He

turned and kissed me. ―I love you, Amelia.‖

―I love you,‖ I said to my handsome husband, returning the kiss and enjoying the tingling

sensation running through my body. Our guests responded enthusiastically with a

resounding cheer. As I looked around them, there was Adam, pouting, and Susan sitting

next to him wearing a most inappropriate cowgirl outfit with a short skirt.

I saw Adam turn to Susan and say something. In unison, they stood up and then started to

walk toward us. I could see Adam was really angry. He scared me. He really did. He

reminded me of some kind of gothic deviant.

―We're out of here,‖ Adam said. ―We're hungry. You can't eat any of the fancy crap

served up here. This food is for you and your friends, not us. We're going to Burger King

to get some real food. Besides, you wouldn't allow us to even bring the kids, right?‖

―Yes, that's right. As much as I love all my nieces and nephews, none of them were

invited. I didn't want children here. I wanted a strictly adult wedding. Now, I know you

don't like that, but you did exactly what you wanted for your wedding.‖

―How could you know? You weren't even there.‖