Free There Was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me by Brooke Shields Page B

the varied living arrangements.
    •   •   •
    One night when I was a bit older, maybe five or six, Mom and I were with my friend Lyda at a dinner party at a friend’s house way out in the potato fields. My mother and Lyda’s mother had been pregnant at the same time and were both single mothers. They had a special bond, and in turn, “Lydes” and I became the closest of friends. Her grandmother had a house out in Southampton and much of our summer was spent with them.
    On this particular night Mom had been drinking pretty heavily throughout the evening. The adults were all sitting around in the living room after dinner, and the kids were playing on the floor. Mom commented on one little girl’s beautiful head of hair. She then reached out to touch it and, in doing so, lost her balance. Mom always wore many rings, sometimes on all her fingers except the thumb. One ofMom’s rings got caught in the little girl’s hair and she got yanked down with Mom’s hand. The girl’s mother got very angry and accused my mom of purposely pulling her child’s hair. She said she wanted her to stay away from her daughter.
    Mom, uncharacteristically, did not put up a fight. The plan had been for all of us to spend the night, but the ring incident shook us all up. Lyda called her grandmother, who soon arrived. Lyda said to me, “You know, Brookie, you can come to my grandmother’s if you want.”
    I explained that I had to stay with my mom. I needed to make sure she was OK.
    Even then, I realized something wasn’t quite right. “You’re so lucky, Lyda, that you have someplace to go,” I added.
    I was a young child, but I was more worried for my mom’s safety than for my own. Sure, I would have preferred the warmth and comfort and safety of the cozy and beautifully decorated guest room in a drama-free home, but I had a deeply embedded sense of loyalty and obligation to my mom and her well-being. I could never abandon my mother by choosing to stay with my friend over her. I was the only one around to take care of my mom and I was constantly worried that something would happen to her. I had made an unspoken promise to continue to be by her side and protect her from harm, and I wasn’t going to let this episode change that.
    I am pretty sure we never socialized with that particular family again, and I imagine that this incident fueled gossip about my mother’s drinking and her conduct. I never understood why Mom did not convince others of her innocence. It had begun as a warm gesture toward this little blond girl. Also, why would a grown woman purposely yank a little kid’s hair? It all seemed kind of unfair to me, and I felt embarrassed and sad for my mom.
    Over the years, I also had fun memories of both the beach club and hanging with the year-round local community. I remember beingwelcomed by the polarized world and not really even noticing the differences.
    For many years, I was too young to understand social barriers. I had been taught very strict manners by my mother. Other mothers would comment on how polite and well-behaved I was, and I was always invited for playdates. On one particular playdate I brought my plate to the kitchen sink at the conclusion of the meal. I was quickly reprimanded by the mother and informed that I needn’t do such a thing.
    “But my mommy said I should always bring my plate to the sink.”
    When I returned home, my mother got a phone call from this particular woman, who said, “Please tell your daughter that we have people working for us who clear the table. When she visits, she does not have to bring her plate to the kitchen sink.”
    “Well, we don’t have people who do that for us, and you need not worry about her doing it again in your home, because my daughter will not be returning there again for a playdate. Good-bye.”
    Mom laughed when she told the story later, loving that a woman from Newark had taught her daughter better manners than people who had more money than we would