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Authors: Jennifer Saginor
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not getting yelled at. I may never forgive myself for not protecting
my younger sister from the madness of a man we both loved and
knew was volatile.
The saddest thing is, all she ever wanted was his love and atten-
tion.
Years later, my sister and I will drift apart. We won’t speak and
if we do our language is superficial, our relationship competitive. I
will continue to stay angry at my parents and push love away while
my sister will search for it in all the wrong places.
I hold Savannah close to me, smelling the sweet chlorine scent
in her hair.
Regret grips my heart and starts to squeeze for not saving my
younger sister.
When we hit puberty, our development becomes even more
important to Dad. Savannah and I try to present ourselves in ways
that will gain his approval. Though his temperamental outbursts
become more frequent, we manage to bury them, reminding our-
selves that he only wants to be proud of us. Dad is very eager to
present his daughters as glam and sexy. We are a reflection of him.
He wants others to stop and look at us, knowing that we are his
daughters, polished and sophisticated. If we were top students in
our class, most parents would be happy. This is not the case with
him. We learn that our bodies must be perfect in order to gain his
approval. We are on display, constantly critiqued and scrutinized
like the Barbie dolls we never had but over the years morphed into.
We learn that big boobs, tight asses, and flat stomachs define
the norm in Dad’s world. Hearing his analysis and critique of each
53
J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
girl he meets shows us that women are valued by their appearance.
The better you look, the further you can go.
My mother contributes to this in her own way. She’s a psychol-
ogist who specializes in eating disorders and depression. She
watches me from afar, never truly understanding that I may even-
tually struggle with the same issues her patients do. I never feel a
sense of being taken care of by her. Instead, she will acknowledge
me inasmuch as I make myself the child who pleases her. Her ap-
proval is gained through a facade of plastic image or accomplish-
ing goals she deems worthy or important.
I awake to the sound of birds chirping outside the window.
Sunshine gleams over the backyard as I get out of bed before my
sister wakes up. I run out to the game room, tiptoe into the carpet
room, and lock the door behind me. I turn on the television and
The Playboy Channel washes over the screen. I lie on my back, half
watching TV, but more interested in the mirror on the ceiling.
The light from the television flickers across my clothes and
face, giving my skin a ghostly appearance. I run my hands over my
face and chest.
In this place, in this magical castle, I want to be safe and I am,
most of the time. The memory of my father’s vicious attack the
night before pushes its way into my consciousness and I shudder.
Panic from the memory builds, seizes my lungs with hot
hands, and I want to disappear. I want to escape. I want to forget it
like the other memories of his anger.
My small hands find their way down my white Fila tennis
shorts, searching for comfort and forgetfulness.
My visits to the carpet room become more frequent.
The summer takes a turn when Dad hires Cindy, a twenty-year-old
babysitter (so he says) with feathered blond hair. Cindy watches us
54
Playground
while Carmela oversees construction on Dad’s house. According
to Dad, Cindy is both well traveled and culturally liberated, but
Savannah and I know she is just an airhead.
At the beach house, “Centerfold” by the J. Geils Band blasts
across the deck as Cindy prances around in a skimpy polka-dot
bikini. Savannah and I spy on her as she refills Dad’s cocktail.
“Total Valley girl.”
“Orange County. She is so cheese. Did you see her matching
pinstriped miniskirt and tank top?”
“Blue eye shadow?”
“Flat-ironed rooster
not getting yelled at. I may never forgive myself for not protecting
my younger sister from the madness of a man we both loved and
knew was volatile.
The saddest thing is, all she ever wanted was his love and atten-
tion.
Years later, my sister and I will drift apart. We won’t speak and
if we do our language is superficial, our relationship competitive. I
will continue to stay angry at my parents and push love away while
my sister will search for it in all the wrong places.
I hold Savannah close to me, smelling the sweet chlorine scent
in her hair.
Regret grips my heart and starts to squeeze for not saving my
younger sister.
When we hit puberty, our development becomes even more
important to Dad. Savannah and I try to present ourselves in ways
that will gain his approval. Though his temperamental outbursts
become more frequent, we manage to bury them, reminding our-
selves that he only wants to be proud of us. Dad is very eager to
present his daughters as glam and sexy. We are a reflection of him.
He wants others to stop and look at us, knowing that we are his
daughters, polished and sophisticated. If we were top students in
our class, most parents would be happy. This is not the case with
him. We learn that our bodies must be perfect in order to gain his
approval. We are on display, constantly critiqued and scrutinized
like the Barbie dolls we never had but over the years morphed into.
We learn that big boobs, tight asses, and flat stomachs define
the norm in Dad’s world. Hearing his analysis and critique of each
53
J E N N I F E R S A G I N O R
girl he meets shows us that women are valued by their appearance.
The better you look, the further you can go.
My mother contributes to this in her own way. She’s a psychol-
ogist who specializes in eating disorders and depression. She
watches me from afar, never truly understanding that I may even-
tually struggle with the same issues her patients do. I never feel a
sense of being taken care of by her. Instead, she will acknowledge
me inasmuch as I make myself the child who pleases her. Her ap-
proval is gained through a facade of plastic image or accomplish-
ing goals she deems worthy or important.
I awake to the sound of birds chirping outside the window.
Sunshine gleams over the backyard as I get out of bed before my
sister wakes up. I run out to the game room, tiptoe into the carpet
room, and lock the door behind me. I turn on the television and
The Playboy Channel washes over the screen. I lie on my back, half
watching TV, but more interested in the mirror on the ceiling.
The light from the television flickers across my clothes and
face, giving my skin a ghostly appearance. I run my hands over my
face and chest.
In this place, in this magical castle, I want to be safe and I am,
most of the time. The memory of my father’s vicious attack the
night before pushes its way into my consciousness and I shudder.
Panic from the memory builds, seizes my lungs with hot
hands, and I want to disappear. I want to escape. I want to forget it
like the other memories of his anger.
My small hands find their way down my white Fila tennis
shorts, searching for comfort and forgetfulness.
My visits to the carpet room become more frequent.
The summer takes a turn when Dad hires Cindy, a twenty-year-old
babysitter (so he says) with feathered blond hair. Cindy watches us
54
Playground
while Carmela oversees construction on Dad’s house. According
to Dad, Cindy is both well traveled and culturally liberated, but
Savannah and I know she is just an airhead.
At the beach house, “Centerfold” by the J. Geils Band blasts
across the deck as Cindy prances around in a skimpy polka-dot
bikini. Savannah and I spy on her as she refills Dad’s cocktail.
“Total Valley girl.”
“Orange County. She is so cheese. Did you see her matching
pinstriped miniskirt and tank top?”
“Blue eye shadow?”
“Flat-ironed rooster
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