Chapter 2 My Story Begins

Friday, July 7, 1961- My Birth

Johny called the hospital to see if Mette had given birth. He was told he had a baby boy.  He brought flowers for Mette and congratulated her on their new son. Mette asked him, “What son?” She was still in labor and had not given birth yet. It turned out that someone else at the hospital had just given birth to a baby boy. Johny was not allowed in the room while Mette was giving birth, he was asked to go to the waiting room. They would come to get him when the baby was born. 

This is where my story begins. I was born at 9:07 a.m. I asked my mom to tell me about my birth. This is what she said:

“After I gave birth to you, the nurse placed you in a crib next to me. You started to cry, and I was tired, so I kept wishing you would be quiet. You kept crying for two and a half hours! You found two of your fingers and started to suck on them until you fell asleep. Finally, I could get some rest!”

I was surprised to learn she never picked me up or tried to feed or comfort me. I suppose you could say I learned right from the start to rely on those two fingers, and that my mom wouldn’t make too much of a fuss over me when I cried or needed her help.

Me, Ada, her husband Herbert

While we were there, Ada could tell I was trying to walk on my own. She bought me a pair of shoes so she could teach me how to walk. Ada practiced with me until I was able to walk on my own. At the end of our three-week visit, Dad drove to Germany to pick us up. Dad stayed for the weekend, and then it was time to go back to Denmark.

My parents had rented a summer house. We spent a few days there. It was the only family vacation we went on together before they got divorced. I was only 18 months in the picture. Even though I was young, I still remember being frustrated trying to eat the orange with all those seeds. 

I tried to ask my brother to help me with the seeds. He just smiled, because he didn’t understand what I was trying to say.

January 1963

The only family picture ever taken of all four of us. The photo was taken just before they got divorced.

January 1963

Mom had been baptized a member of the Mormon Church, but had stopped going to church when she moved away from her childhood home. Mom was having a hard time in her marriage, so she decided to go back to church.  Dad didn’t know anything about the Mormons, but he didn’t mind that she started attending the meetings on Sundays.

June 1963

In the ward Mom was attending, there was a lady named Agnes.  Mom told Agnes she was thinking about separating from her husband. Agnes told Mom that she was welcome to move in with her until she could find a place of her own.

While Dad was at work, Mom arranged for a moving truck and a few members to come and help us move out. Dad told me later that it was tough on him to come home from work and find his family gone and the apartment empty. After that, he never liked anything that had to do with Mormons.

One of my first memories happened while we were living at Agnes’ house. I was twenty-three months old at the time.  Mom was about to put me in the crib so I could take a nap. As mom was about to let go of me, I saw a scary shadow in the form of a man on the wall. I couldn’t talk yet, so I started to cry and pointed to the shadow. I desperately tried to cling to her. Mom just pulled me off of her and laid me in the crib, and then proceeded to walk out of the room. I was doing all I could to try to help her understand how terrified I was of the shadow.  It was looking at me. I could hear Agnes say, “It sounds like there is something wrong with Anne-Mette.  Shouldn’t you go pick her up?” I could tell Agnes understood something was wrong, so I cried even louder, hoping to be understood. Mom said, “No, she is fine, she just needs to go to sleep!” I felt hopeless. I looked over at the shadow on the wall, and I could see it was laughing at me. I hid my head under my blanket so I couldn’t see the shadow, then I cried myself to sleep.  
This memory bothered me for years. When I got older, I asked my mom about the evil shadow on the wall and what had happened right after she had moved away from my dad. Mom said, “You couldn’t have remembered, you were too young!” She then proceeded to tell me;

Agnes, the lady I was living with at the time, said, “Something is wrong because your baby is acting strange, and so is the cat and the birds. It’s as if they are looking at something present in the apartment.” Whatever was present started to throw a basket of clothespins all over the apartment. Agnes said, “There must be evil spirits here.” Agnes and I decided to try to cast them out by raising our arms to the square and commanding them to leave. It was quiet for a few minutes, but then things started to fly around again. Agnes and I realized we needed to get in touch with a member who held the priesthood. We needed to have the apartment blessed. Agnes didn’t have a phone, so we rushed to a phone booth on the corner. We made a few phone calls and then got in touch with the missionaries. When the Elders arrived, things stopped moving by themselves. We told the Elders what had happened. The Elders then used their priesthood authority and cast out whatever evil was present. After they had blessed the place, a peaceful feeling filled the apartment.”

Mom was shocked that I could still remember and recount what had happened that day.

I remembered many things from a long time ago. I also remember that while we were staying with Agnes, Dad came by and asked Mom to go out to dinner with him.  Sander and I came along. While we were eating, Dad pleaded with Mom to come back. I felt bad because Dad was crying. I had never seen him cry before. He kept saying, “We can work it out!”  Mom just sat there, shaking her head. Dad said, “Please give it another try. What about the kids? Think about them!” Sander said, “Yes, Mom, can’t we go back to live with Dad again?” Mom just kept shaking her head no. Her mind was made up. She wanted a divorce.

August 1963

Mom found a job and an apartment in Glostrup, where we were to live. Sander and I had to go to daycare. It was something new and scary for us. I cried the first few times we were left there. It didn’t take long for me to understand that no one seemed to care if I cried. Since Sander and I were not the same age, we were placed in different rooms. We had to adjust to a new life and meet all new people. I think if we had been allowed to stay together, the whole ordeal would have been much less terrifying for me.

When Sander and I were allowed outside to play, we could see each other through the chain link fence. We ran towards each other; I stuck my fingers through the fence, and Sander held my hand until it was time to go back inside again. Whenever I was allowed to go outside, it was comforting to see Sander through the fence.

Going to the daycare took some time to get used to. I watched parents drop off their children while their kids cried; they would walk away. I wanted to tell the kids not to cry because no one was listening. I wanted to say, “Can’t you see, your parents are leaving, they are not coming back just because you cry!” Since I was so young, I didn’t know how to communicate with the crying children. Instead, I stood by the window with my nose pressed against the glass, watching their parents leave, and then I looked at the children as they cried, wishing I knew how to comfort them.

Sander started to act differently. He seemed angry about being at daycare all day. One evening when Mom had picked us up, she put me in the baby carriage just like she always did. Instead of going home, we went down to the corner store that day. Even though Sander was only four and a half years old, she asked him to watch me while she went inside the store. As soon as Mom was out of sight, Sander grabbed the handle of the baby carriage and started to shake it back and forth. I was scared of falling out, so I began to cry. Sander didn’t care; instead, he continued to shake the handle even more violently than before. Finally, he managed to tip the baby carriage vertically. Luckily, there was a cover on the carriage that kept me from falling out.

When Mom came out of the store and saw the carriage, she asked Sander what had happened. He just stood there looking at the ground. I wanted to tell her what he had done, but since I was only two years old, I couldn’t say much. Instead, I cried really loud to let her know I was scared. Mom tipped the carriage back on its wheels and told Sander to be more careful with me.

Picture taken when I was almost a year old.

Over the next few years, his behavior grew worse. As we got older, he started to slap and punch me. Mom would be right there. I would call for her so she could stop him. At first, Mom would say, “You two stop fighting!” Or “I will knock your heads together if you don’t stop!” Or “Here we go again!” Then she would turn to me and say, “You just had to provoke him again, didn’t you?!” Since I knew Mom wasn’t going to come to my defense, I would do all I could to stay out of his way, or I would give in to his demands. No matter how hard I tried, he would still find an excuse to hit me. When I called for help, Mom would tune me out by singing a song called “When There’s Love at Home.” I grew to hate that song!

Meanwhile, Sander would proceed to hit me and pound my head into the floor. The louder I yelled for help, the louder Mom’s singing got, and the harder he would hit me. When she sang, it was as if she thought she was an opera singer, and she seemed to enjoy the sound of her voice. I learned to survive by holding still until he decided I had had enough. As I got older, I also learned that if I bit him as hard as I could and hung on long enough with my teeth, he would eventually stop hitting me.

Fall 1963

Mom got Sander a bike and taught him how to ride it. She also got one for herself. It had a child seat attached for me to sit in. I hated going in the seat because whenever Mom had gas, she would press her behind as hard as she could into my face and then fart. She thought it was so funny whenever she was able to do this. Mom would then look over at Sander to see if he had seen what had just happened. Then they would both laugh at me. I could not say many words at this age, but I had learned a few curse words from my dad, and I used them because I wanted her to stop. The more I cussed, the more she would laugh. I could not understand why she would do this to me, or why she thought it was so funny to humiliate me.

The hours at the daycare seemed to last forever. I was so happy when Mom finally came to pick us up. By the end of the day, she was tired and didn’t seem to have much time or energy for us. She was easily frustrated. I remember spilling my milk. She slapped me really hard across the face and told me how stupid I was. I accidentally spilled my milk again a few days later. She told me never to do it again. Each time she would slap me, and it seemed to be even harder than before. She slapped me so hard I could hear ringing in my ear. Neither the slapping nor the name-calling taught me to stop spilling my food. Instead, it made me feel clumsy, stupid, and terrible about myself.

Friday, November 29, 1963

My parents’ divorce was finalized. Mom wouldn’t let Dad see Sander and me very often, so Dad went to court to try to get custody of us.

Spring 1964

Sander and I were told we had to go to court. The court would decide who we would live with. On the way to the courthouse, Mom kept asking us over and over again, “Who do you want to live with?” We were to answer, “You, Mom.” Sander started to question it. After we had rehearsed it a few times, Sander said, “I am going to say both of you!” I wanted to be brave like him, but I was afraid, so I answered her question the way she told me to.

Dad fought hard to get legal custody of us, but in those days, fathers seldom won this battle. He was ordered to have part-time custody of us. Friday evenings, when Dad was done with work, he was allowed to come pick us up. He was to bring us back again on Sunday evening. He was also supposed to have us when he was on vacation.

On Friday, Mom picked us up from the daycare and took us home. She didn’t want to see Dad, so she told us to wait on the street corner until he came to pick us up.

I light up whenever I see my dad. When Sander and I were with our dad, and Sander would start hitting me, dad would put a stop to it immediately! When Sander would tell him that I started it, but Dad would not hear of it. Dad made me feel safe! I soon learned to count down to Friday. During the week, all I could think about was seeing Dad again. I wished we had never had to part!