Crazy Aunt Penny

My mother's family tree is riddled with mental illness. Her father committed suicide when she was very young, her older brother jumped out a window and broke both legs while attempting to kill himself and her sister, Penny, is manic depressive and I believe, deeply evil. How my mom turned out normal is truly a phenomenon. In contrast, on the other side of the tree, my father's family was somewhat mentally healthy. It was only mildly strange that his mother(my grandmother) would respond to the question, "How are you?" with the consistent answer of "Like the weather". Only after making sure that she realized it was a beautiful, sunny day would she explain that she was certain it was raining somewhere. However, for the purposes of this post, let's focus on my Aunt Penny.

She has never liked me. Ever. She has always made this crystal clear. My 11 year older brother, Alan, was the Messiah and I was gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe that she could never completely scrape off. As evidence, when I was around 8 years old my parents had me stay overnite at her and my Uncle's apartment. My Uncle Jack was a kind and loving man who I liked to spend time with so I thought it was a good idea. Even my Aunt seemed unusually excited for me to visit. When I got there my Uncle was still at work, so Aunt Penny seduced me with Shake and Bake chicken and a vanilla Yoo-hoo. As I sat at her glass coffee table sipping my Yoo-hoo through a straw, I made the mistake of dripping exactly one drop onto it. Suddenly, I was no longer a welcome house guest. I was a sloppy, pig that had defiled her precious, (piece of crap) glass coffee table. Even though I immediately cleaned it up, she continued to rant like the lunatic she truly was. After screaming that my brother would never have dripped anything on her furniture, she proceeded to show me her costume jewelry and tell me that I would never see any of it because she never put me in her will. Her pasty jewelry would only go to Alan, lest I spill Yoo-hoo all over it. The fact of the matter was that no one would ever sit next to my brother when he ate a bowl of soup because they would be wearing it by the end of the meal. Unable to accept bullshit even as a child, I screamed that she was crazy and I left. I ended up waiting out in their apartment hallway until my Uncle came home confused and angry at my Aunt.

There were many incidents when my Aunt went off her medication and went into what we termed her "highs". Usually, they entailed her calling and screaming at my mother for apparently ruining her life, calling me to remind me that I was garbage, or screaming at my Uncle that she hated him and knew he was with hookers on 42nd street. Frankly, who could blame him. Then she would drive around in her ancient car that she named "Betsey" and shop incessantly, upset the public at large, and sometimes disappear for a while. Always ending with my Uncle Jack having to forcibly hospitalize and medicate her.

Her final "high" took place about 13 years ago. By this time she and my Uncle had moved from New York to live in the same Florida neighborhood as my parents, much to their chagrin. I had cut off all ties to her and would only visit with my Uncle at my parent's home or at the community pool so I could avoid the witch. My mother called to warn me that my Aunt was off her meds and would likely call to remind me of the fact that I was shit, or worse show up at my doorstep in New York to tell me in person. Luckily, she and "Betsey" stayed in Florida harassing my parents and Uncle, as well as the entire population of Melbourne Beach. When her beautician would no longer deal with her, she cut off her own hair transforming her appearance into the true mental patient that she was. When the Chinese restaurant refused to accept her coupon for the Italian restaurant, they called the cops and had her thrown out. When she was selling mechanical toy dogs outside a shopping mall for half the price she paid, she was shut down by security. When she drove on the landing strip of Patrick's airforce base and nearly caused a plane to crash, the military police surrounded her with M16's, carted her off and called the name of the doctor that she claimed was her physician. The name she gave them was my father's. He holds a doctorate in health and physical education and never practiced medicine or had the right to, in his entire life.

That was the end of the road (or landing strip) for my Aunt's highs. Lithium has been coursing through her veins religiously ever since and "Betsey" has been garaged and will remain that way until she drops dead.