My first impression
While farm life wasn't a our life all the time lifestyle, the memories I have of the farm will always be with me.
The first Christmas I can remember going down to the farm was probably the most memorable because everything was so new, fresh and smelly. Cow manure smelly.
Cows were everywhere, horses were in the Barn. Green pickup trucks with the words Fralinger Brothers Farms in white letters. I could go on and on with descriptions of just how great the farm was.
The truth is, what I found interesting could not possibly be interesting to anyone else.
Why?
Because there was something off about it. And I couldn't put a finger on what it was. I just knew something about that farm wasn't just right.
Let me be quick to point out these are observations. And they aren't exactly coming from a male brain either, okay?
Good!
In the first place, most farms aren't run by three women the size of munchkins.
Second, as soon as I get out of the car, they are all on top of me like I was some kind of celebrity.
Third, I have a sister living there that didn't even bother to come out of the farm house and greet us.
Fourth, these women weren't right in the head.
Fifth, the farm was beginning to show signs it was dying.
Sixth, there wasn't a piece of farm equipment on the farm that looked like it had ever been used.
So, it felt more like a movie set then a true farm.
THE FARMGATE COVERUP
If you remember Foghorn J. Leghorn, well you know he would say things like: "That's a joke, ah say, that's a joke, son."
That's what Aunt Clara -- or should I say, Grand Mother Clara -- would do when she called us up and wanted to talk to my mother.
I know my aunts never told my mother that one was her real mother because when my Great Grand Mother died in 1973, she told me that my Grand Mother had just passed away, she was referring to Mary Fralinger
Aunt Clara -- my real Grand Mother -- didn't die until 1985.
Now, before we move forward into the world of the farm past this revelation, I want to go through some facts about me that will help the farm stuff make sense.
I AM THEREFORE I AM
But that wasn't the thing that was making me the most uncomfortable. What was making me very uncomfortable were these facts:
Now, let's start talking about the farm again instead of the extra padding I have on the left side of my leg.
So the first time we go down to the farm, Its Christmas day and the entire family, including Jean was going to sit down to a three course meal.
Once we arrived, the very first thing the aunts did was to make a big deal about me. No kidding, it made me feel very uncomfortable. "Now he's the one to watch. He look just like his father. He's going to go far. He this and he that."
It was sickening!
And what was Paul? Roast Beef? Second string?
On top of that, I have munchkins for Aunts!
Why were they making such a fuss about me. And more importantly, what's with all the "He" about?
So we go inside. But before we do, I'm drinking in the sights sounds and smells around me and I'm wondering, is this a real farm or one that has seen its better days. Because it reeked of neglect and of a farm life tittering on ruin.
There was a white building where the smells of dinner was emanating from. Aunt Ceal pulled me over to the side, "I am one of your godparents," she said.
What the heck is a godparent? I would find out soon enough. I just smiled like I knew what she was talking about.
We walk into the back area of this very large building. This was where all the canning took place and the servants worked. To the left were two doors.One that went up to the top floor where five bedroom were. My sister's was straight up the stairs, to the right was Aunt Lizzy's room, down the hallway and straight ahead was the bathroom, To the left was where Aunt Ceal slept and to the right was where Aunt Clara slept.
Back down on the main room, the other door opened up into another large room filled with all sorts of interesting things. An antique organ with pedals that breathed air into the pipes, Tiffany lamps, a barometer, some more antique furniture with places for reading the paper and smoking cigars and cigarettes.
In-other-words, it looked like the Manor House in Moorestown, NJ. On the far corner near the wall was a fireplace, painted with Christmas cards and stockings. None had our names on them. To the left was a very large tree with what looked like a hundred presents.
Again, none had our names on them. We left the presents for Jean in front of the other presents.
If you were to turn towards the porch, there was another room. It was dark, lifeless, as though death had visited this place. Everything tainted with a fond memory. A spark of life no longer present.
Back in the kitchen, there were two doors to the right. One led back up to Aunt Ceal's room and the other led into another small room about the size of a bedroom. But was now being used as a place where some of the stuff the deceased used. There was a Standup radio in that room with #1,2 and 3 RCA Radio tubes were in their boxes.
Past the barn, outside, was where the black folks who worked the farm lived. There were two of these houses heading out and off the farm property.
Oddly enough, the first time on the farm was, indeed stimulating in two ways, it showed me what a farm life was, and it left thirsty for more. But it also gave me a very uneasy feeling, too.
Like they couldn't wait for the intruders to leave.
The first Christmas I can remember going down to the farm was probably the most memorable because everything was so new, fresh and smelly. Cow manure smelly.
Cows were everywhere, horses were in the Barn. Green pickup trucks with the words Fralinger Brothers Farms in white letters. I could go on and on with descriptions of just how great the farm was.
The truth is, what I found interesting could not possibly be interesting to anyone else.
Why?
Because there was something off about it. And I couldn't put a finger on what it was. I just knew something about that farm wasn't just right.
Let me be quick to point out these are observations. And they aren't exactly coming from a male brain either, okay?
Good!
In the first place, most farms aren't run by three women the size of munchkins.
Second, as soon as I get out of the car, they are all on top of me like I was some kind of celebrity.
Third, I have a sister living there that didn't even bother to come out of the farm house and greet us.
Fourth, these women weren't right in the head.
Fifth, the farm was beginning to show signs it was dying.
Sixth, there wasn't a piece of farm equipment on the farm that looked like it had ever been used.
So, it felt more like a movie set then a true farm.
THE FARMGATE COVERUP
If you remember Foghorn J. Leghorn, well you know he would say things like: "That's a joke, ah say, that's a joke, son."
That's what Aunt Clara -- or should I say, Grand Mother Clara -- would do when she called us up and wanted to talk to my mother.
I know my aunts never told my mother that one was her real mother because when my Great Grand Mother died in 1973, she told me that my Grand Mother had just passed away, she was referring to Mary Fralinger
Aunt Clara -- my real Grand Mother -- didn't die until 1985.
Now, before we move forward into the world of the farm past this revelation, I want to go through some facts about me that will help the farm stuff make sense.
I AM THEREFORE I AM
But that wasn't the thing that was making me the most uncomfortable. What was making me very uncomfortable were these facts:
- I was born in Bound Brook, NJ but my sister and my two brothers were born in Mount Holly, NJ. Yet my parents were already living in Moorestown in 1949 running the Criterion Movie Theater
- While there was almost a three year difference between me and my oldest sister, my parents decided to have another child 1 and a half years later. In 1951. And my youngest brother was born in 1957. This would average to exactly 3.5 years apart.
- When I asked my mother why that had Paul so close to my age, she said she and dad thought I needed a friend to play with. What if Paul had turned out to be a girl?
- The year that Paul was born, Jean goes to Bridgeton, and currently lives at the farm where she was raised.
- As I grow older, I begin to dislike boys. Finding them mean, aggressive and just plain stupid. I felt most comfortable with the girls, washed and dried clothes, learned how to sew, cook food, clean and mop floors and enjoyed wearing an apron.
- By 12, after playing Cowboys and Indians with the girls when they tied my hands up as a captive, I felt a warm tingling through my body. When my brother showed me a centerfold from Playboy, I was completely repulsed by it. How could a woman expose herself like that.
- By 15, I took the PSAT tests and scored in the top 3% of the country. The school got involved at this point and this led to a conversation with a doctor from I believe was John Hopkins University whom which I confided in about the physical, mental and sexual abuse. And then we talked about what I felt like having sex with my father. And how our face to face encounter with him rubbing the left side of my leg got me so hot and bothered that I climaxed with a pillow over my head I was making so much noise. He checked that area out and discovered that I had a little something extra and then asked me if I wanted to be a girl or a boy. I said girl. He said that was a shame because I would lose 15 year of my life and, being dyslexic, I took him literally and then said no.
- My male harmonies kicked in and with body paint on the female flesh, I could now see depth and so I pinned all my male interests on learning photography and body painting women. But I also know what I am under the hood. Know that a Swiss seat for obvious reasons turns me on and that I have to watch myself around men who can see right through me, say the right words and have me down on my knees unzipping his pants. I've only had my buttons pushed that way once in my life. It was like taking a mud bath and not knowing how deep the mud was I was too much in a trance to care. The image below shows you why the Swiss Seat rubs me the right way and why I stopped wearing underwear.
Now, let's start talking about the farm again instead of the extra padding I have on the left side of my leg.
So the first time we go down to the farm, Its Christmas day and the entire family, including Jean was going to sit down to a three course meal.
Once we arrived, the very first thing the aunts did was to make a big deal about me. No kidding, it made me feel very uncomfortable. "Now he's the one to watch. He look just like his father. He's going to go far. He this and he that."
It was sickening!
And what was Paul? Roast Beef? Second string?
On top of that, I have munchkins for Aunts!
Why were they making such a fuss about me. And more importantly, what's with all the "He" about?
So we go inside. But before we do, I'm drinking in the sights sounds and smells around me and I'm wondering, is this a real farm or one that has seen its better days. Because it reeked of neglect and of a farm life tittering on ruin.
There was a white building where the smells of dinner was emanating from. Aunt Ceal pulled me over to the side, "I am one of your godparents," she said.
What the heck is a godparent? I would find out soon enough. I just smiled like I knew what she was talking about.
We walk into the back area of this very large building. This was where all the canning took place and the servants worked. To the left were two doors.One that went up to the top floor where five bedroom were. My sister's was straight up the stairs, to the right was Aunt Lizzy's room, down the hallway and straight ahead was the bathroom, To the left was where Aunt Ceal slept and to the right was where Aunt Clara slept.
Back down on the main room, the other door opened up into another large room filled with all sorts of interesting things. An antique organ with pedals that breathed air into the pipes, Tiffany lamps, a barometer, some more antique furniture with places for reading the paper and smoking cigars and cigarettes.
In-other-words, it looked like the Manor House in Moorestown, NJ. On the far corner near the wall was a fireplace, painted with Christmas cards and stockings. None had our names on them. To the left was a very large tree with what looked like a hundred presents.
Again, none had our names on them. We left the presents for Jean in front of the other presents.
If you were to turn towards the porch, there was another room. It was dark, lifeless, as though death had visited this place. Everything tainted with a fond memory. A spark of life no longer present.
Back in the kitchen, there were two doors to the right. One led back up to Aunt Ceal's room and the other led into another small room about the size of a bedroom. But was now being used as a place where some of the stuff the deceased used. There was a Standup radio in that room with #1,2 and 3 RCA Radio tubes were in their boxes.
Past the barn, outside, was where the black folks who worked the farm lived. There were two of these houses heading out and off the farm property.
Oddly enough, the first time on the farm was, indeed stimulating in two ways, it showed me what a farm life was, and it left thirsty for more. But it also gave me a very uneasy feeling, too.
Like they couldn't wait for the intruders to leave.
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