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2005-05-01 - 2:33 p.m.
My Semi-Life Story
MY LIFE STORY - PART I
I just thought I�d share, a little purging and a bit of my background so if you�re interested, you know why I�m what I am.
I was born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona. My mother apparently met my father in school through a friend of hers and my aunts. He was the cool, older kid on a motorcycle and my mother was the fresh, na�ve virgin of the 60s. (I�ve always asked my mother if she partook in any hippie activities, but she always says no.)
They fell in love and mom dropped out of high school to marry him. This was not uncommon in her generation. Although she was only a few months away from graduation, she decided her love for him and the opportunity to be his wife was more important than finishing her high school degree.
Now, throughout the years I�ve tried to get the story straight from both parents, but there are quite a few disconnects between their stories. I think grandma�s version is probably as close to the truth as I�m gong to get.
Apparently, they didn�t even make it their entire honeymoon. Their wedding night, they tried to consummate the marriage but dad was expecting a �lady on the street, but a slut in the bed� and mom was simply a lady in both respects. He got frustrated, hauled her back home, and turned nasty.
I think for the most part though, grandma still explains it best, �They were simply too young to marry. They both had different expectations of marriage and weren�t mature or experienced enough to work through them.� I like that explanation best. Mom�s is, �He was an asshole and I had to leave him.� Dad�s whole viewpoint on the subject is simply, �Only two good things came out of that marriage..you and your mom�s Chinese pepper steak. Can you get that recipe for me? Don�t tell the wife.�
Mom left soon after and they had a trial separation for awhile. I was a fluke that they both admit that they were happy about though. According to mom, sometime during the separation they decided to give it a go again. They only had sex once, but that was enough. She soon found out she was pregnant.
I believe they were together during her pregnancy. I�ve seen the pictures, but don�t remember it. Dad was overly protective of her though, because she had lost one baby before. Stillbirth. To this day he believes it was because she used to go horseback riding, although the doctor insisted it had nothing to do with it. The baby was born with the cord wrapped around its neck. I can�t imagine how devastating that would be.
However, 9 months after that fateful reunion, I was born. Oh wait, 10 months. I�ve always never been an early riser.
Mom was so excited. Her mother-in-law, a bitter old biddy then, would always exclaim how this was going to be a baby to represent my father�s side of the family. Dark hair, dark eyes. My mother a brunette herself, asked the doctor if there would be any chance the baby would have red hair. You see, my mom�s side of the family has redheads about every other generation. We�re equally Irish and Scottish. However, with my mother and father both being brunettes, her doctor replied, �There is no chance you�re daughter is going to have red hair. No chance at all.�
On the day I was born, I came out with a head full of shocking bright coppery red hair. My mom was thrilled. There is only one picture that exists of my birth (I believe partly because my father was out getting drunk with the boys at the time) and it�s the hospital picture of my mom and I just a few minutes old. She looks stunningly gorgeous. And I don�t look so bad myself. I love that picture. The epitome of a beautiful mother and child.
Mom, dad, and I lived together for awhile, but then couldn�t take each other anymore. Dad was extremely immature and too involved with racing, drinking, and pal-ing around with his friends. She left with me in tow to go live with her mother and sister in the house that they still live in today.
Times were great. I remember getting sick on the tree out back and grandma feeding me finger sandwiches. This is about all I remember. That and my kooky great-grandfather falling asleep on the lazy boy watching the news.
However, those were good times. I rarely remember my father before he met his new wife. According to mom, he did visit with me once in awhile, but those times were far and few between.
Then came my step-mother. Somehow every child has a dream of their divorced parents hooking back up again and every one living in happiness together again. And a step-parent is absolute proof that this will never happen.
My step-mother was okay, but she came from a upper middle class family. I could always feel her looking down her nose at me. I always had fun with them, but never really felt accepted. They would always make comments about my pitiful thrift store clothes, or their awful state. I always felt 1� tall around them. But on occasion we would go drive slot cars or go to the races. Those times were fun.
Soon after dad met his new wife, mom met her new husband. I didn�t think anyone could be worse than my new step-mom. Man was I wrong.
My new step-father was a jerk in disguise. Mom was absolutely in love, but once again a child knows better. Mom met him at the college she was working at doing security. They both went to the police academy together. (Before becoming a police officer, my step-father was a pastor. My father always affectionately called him the �preacher with a gun�. That still cracks me up.)
When they met, he was married with two daughters. He suckered my mom in by saying how miserable he was and how he was getting ready to divorce his current wife (which he did). I didn�t know all of this until later. When I met my two new sisters, they were angry and hated my mother. This was all put into perspective after I learned the story.
(The sad thing is much later, after I myself had married, I learned that my mother only had ever really loved one man, neither of which were her husbands. And it could never have worked, because he was married and a lot of other complicated things. Ever since learning that I�ve been grateful to have met and fallen in love with my husband.)
We moved into an apartment with one of my new sisters and my step-dad soon after they married. It was a dumpy little place in south Phoenix. One of many seedy little places in the south part of town we�ve moved into since my mother married the jerk.
My mother was the glimmer of hope and ray of sunshine in my otherwise bleak and bleary life. As for my father, since his marriage, he would pick me up every other weekend and keep me for a month each summer, however he missed a lot of these times giving excuses. All I knew is that I was heartbroken every time.
My step-father was a bitter and angry man after they married. A former marine of Vietnam he had some weird habits and was a major hypocrite of his faith. My first awareness of this came when my older step-sister used to take me for walks to the local convenience store for smokes, swearing me to secrecy. However, she wasn�t too concerned. Mom and step-dad used to sit her down and talk about the dangers of smoking and how big of trouble she�d be in if they ever found them on her. However, daily step-dad would come into her room and steal smokes from her packs.
My littler step-sister was a spitfire. She would live with her mom and us off and on. Her mother however, wasn�t in the best circumstances financially, and usually chose locations in even souther into downtown Phoenix than us and so my step-sister got involved in a lot of gangs and stuff no child should be involved in.
A perfect example of my step-father�s childrearing. My older step-sister was married at the age of sixteen upon his permission and had lived with her boyfriend since two years previous to that. My younger step-sister was involved in gangs and drugs since before I could remember. But I never could remember him doing anything substantial to show his concern for their safety or whereabouts. No intervention was ever done with either of them.
I remember nights when either one of them would show up late home from being out. He never knew where they were but would yell at them constantly. I think my only saving grace was the few years before he showed up and being raised by the women of my family.
Eventually, we moved into better homes, however he would shuffle us around at least once a year without thought to any stability for the family. My mother would get sick and he wouldn�t raise a hand to help. Very early I learned to take care of the house and my mother while he was out working or whatever.
Because of this my mother and I formed a pretty solid bond. I knew she wasn�t all that happy, but she would never admit it to me. We would frequently stay up late together watching various loved television shows and movies, eating popcorn, and just enjoying the silence and quiet when he was gone.
At one point, my father started to get more involved in my life, just simply by finally picking me up every other weekend and the month during the summer. I think he was finally becoming successful and felt less intimidated by an older child. I was about 10 at this time, and these brief periods were the most fond memories I had of my father.
My father and step-mother would still make remarks about my mother or my clothes, however they took more interest in me as a person. We would go to races, camping, movies, church and have fun. I was still the �child from the last marriage� but I felt more accepted than I had before.
Because my father was earning more money, they bought their first nice house. They would also take me to Dilliards and buy me nice clothes and toys, however I was refused the ability to take these home. They had to stay at my dad�s because he claimed they wouldn�t be taken care of if I took them to my house with mom. Little did I know how this mentality and treatment would affect me in later years.
However, at the time I became greedy. It was my first time experiencing new stuff. They gave me everything I asked for during the holidays. I became jealous and bratty because I saw the lack of pretty stuff when I went home to my mom.
My father used this to his advantage and mentioned taking my mother to court to gain custody. He asked me if I would be willing to take the stand in front of strangers and a judge to say I would rather live with him then my mother. I said yes, but my heart wasn�t really in it. I think he could see that and that�s why he never did take my mother to court. To this day, I�m glad of that.
Also, upon retrospect, not even pieced together by me until this very moment, I suppose they were going to try this when they found out they couldn�t conceive a child. No mention was ever made before or after about custody. Years later my step-mother admitted that they were having difficulties and it wasn�t until the day they were about to sign papers to adopt, that she found out she was pregnant. It must�ve been during that time, and only that time, that they decided to settle for me.
Of course, soon after, my half-sister arrived. I was excited at the prospect of having a real baby sister to love and take care of. To play with and share experiences. They told me repeatedly that they would call as soon as she was born, so I could come visit.
I sat by the phone anxiously awaiting the call. My heart leapt into my chest at each call that came through in the hopes it would be the announcement of my little sister arriving into the world. However, days passed and eventually I called them to ask why it was taking so long. To my utter horror (you have to remember I was only twelve at the time), my father said she was already born and they were too busy to have called me, but they would pick me up soon so I could see my sister. It was awhile. I was heartbroken once again. This kind of stuff would happen more often. All of a sudden, the phrase �redheaded stepchild� became reality for me.
I felt second fiddle to my new sister, and soon my new brother. Love was lavished all over them and I felt like the trailer trash coming for a visit to gawk at the lovely new children.
Visits started becoming far and few between. I think we went camping only once together after they arrived and then the trips soon dropped off. I would learn about their trips together later, without me. They got a bigger and newer house. Dad started making excuses.
I got older and step-dad moved us to the boondocks. Literally. We moved out to �po-dunk� Maricopa. We hauled our water and burnt our trash. The house he bought was incomplete, so while they still had a full room, I had to share the kitchen. My bed was in the middle of the dining room. Not really an appropriate situation for a developing teen.
My younger step-sister moved in with us for while. So in addition to sharing the kitchen, I was also sharing my living space with her. Initially I hated the desert and the isolation, but being an introvert, I quickly turned to loving it.
We stayed five years in Maricopa, the longest we had ever stayed anywhere. I finally had the ability to have a few friends without losing them within a year�s time. Of course, I had my enemies too. I wasn�t very popular being overweight, red-haired, white-skinned, and full of freckles.
My first couple of years there were horrible, however soon I met a friend named Bobbie. The kids were picking on me during P.E. and she introduced herself and protected me. She had a boyfriend named David who wasn�t altogether there but was as equally nice. (Imagine the stoner from Good Times at Ridgemont and you had David.)
I hung out with the stoner�s but didn�t get stoned. I saw them high and decided quickly I wouldn�t ever look or act like that. But we had fun and one of the things I loved about them was their respect for knowledge, their openness to opinion, and their ability to accept.
Although I didn�t get stoned, I did smoke. I probably wouldn�t be smoking today if I had simply hacked and coughed like any normal person taking their first puff, but I loved it and took to smoking like a fish to water. When mom took me home she�d ask me why I smelled like smoke, but I would just tell her, �Umm, Bobbie and David smoke. You know that. I was hanging with them.� To my complete surprise, she actually believed it even until about a few years ago when I told her the truth.
Although I had friends at school, I didn�t have my driver�s license, so I spent a lot of time at home reading books and watching television. At this point I grew to love the desert. We had a horse, a goat, dogs, cats, and even rabbits. I loved nature and the calmness of the desert. Our dogs would run with the coyotes late at night, but come back every morning to snooze in the sun.
My grades were good, but not great. I missed at least a month out of every year because my mother was sick. Also, I became bored with school. I didn�t see anything to gain by copying the book verbatim for homework. My brain begged to be used, but didn�t see any outlet for it.
We had a few goods teachers who were well worth their weight in taxpayer money. I still wish I knew where they were to thank them for being so great and opening my eyes about true education and learning.
One day my English teacher had me make a test after class. My grades at this point were about Bs because I was bored with homework and my only saving grace was the tests I scored highly on. He saw me take the test within about 5 minutes and told me to stay while he graded it. He was amazed that I scored above a 90 and asked why I was in his class. I told the truth, I was bored with homework and didn�t see any reason for it. He put me into honors English the next year, after we moved back to Phoenix.
What an experience!! I was so angry that regular classes were dedicated to nouns and verbs and predicates, that my honors course seemed like a dream in comparison. We learned poetry and read great books such as the Illiad and the Oddysey. I couldn� t believe I had missed out on such great works because no one caught on to my genius (buwha-ha-ha)
Anyway, it didn�t last long. I applied for scholarships and grants, but never heard one response back. My grades weren�t bad but apparently there was no opportunity for a student from the hicks. I had to go to Phoenix College and wasn�t really sure where I was headed.
To be continued�
Moved - 2005-07-25
New Job - 2005-07-25
Idiots in the News and Mom Update - 2005-07-21
Parents! (sigh) - 2005-07-21
More of the Same - 2005-07-19