How I Met My Father–Pt. 1

I am going to start this post by saying, there are going to be multiple parts because it is my life story so to speak. But, I need to pour it out. I have been going back and forth between should I or shouldn’t I. The truth is. I need to. So, I am going to start the New Year with a very raw and in depth look at my life.

I also want to say that this is so out of character for me. I am not really one to spill intimate details or deep dark secrets, but I feel that this will free me of some of the burden that I carry. I also am not one of those popular blogs that come from well known bloggers. I am doubtful that there are people that even read this, but that doesn’t matter to me. I have a terrible memory so some day hopefully this will be a place I can come back and read and make fun of myself, cry about what I have gone through, and be proud of what I have overcome.

Hopefully my story will help someone else to not give up.

I don’t come from a family of money. My whole entire life has been struggle and living from moment to moment wondering how to get through. I do not have the ability to go out and purchase whatever I want. In fact, my income is probably below the current poverty level. But, you know what, as much as I hate it, and I want out of it, I don’t wallow in my own pity. Yes, I am depressed about it but I know one day, I will come out of it and I will be better for what I have experienced. I am thankful to a great boyfriend, helpful parents, friends, and people whom I have never even met that have helped us pull through when needed. If it wasn’t for them, who knows.

I was born in Florida in 1982 to my mom when she was 17 years old, much to my grandmothers chagrin. My mom ALMOST had an abortion because of my grandmother but thankfully my mom’s conscience got the best of her & here I am. When I was young we moved to Alaska to take care of my great grandmother who was ill with breast cancer. After my grandmother passed we decided to move to California where my dads family lived.

I am not going to say that I had the perfect childhood because I would be lying. It was not the greatest childhood, but it was not the worse either. I have very fond memories of leaving my house after breakfast and going outside to play all day long. Our rule was that we had to at least be in the yard by the time the street lights came on. We would spend all day riding our bikes on trails we made in the sage brush fields, hanging out at friends houses, or sneaking down to play in the river when parents said we couldn’t go. I went to school and got pretty decent grades. I never got into major trouble. The worst thing I did at school was get suspended for 3 days for fighting. With my best friend. Over another friend. And I got suspended off the bus for 3 days for “throwing paper out the window”. I was falsely accused. They couldn’t even prove it, but the bus driver claimed it was me. Plenty of nights spent at my friends house annoying her older sister, playing lion king with her younger sister, playing with barbies & cabbage patch dolls, and endless amounts of trips to the movies where we snuck in soda and candy. I also remember a terrible Christmas when I peeked at everything under the tree. My parents showed up at my BFF’s house to bust me out in front of all of them and take me home. I denied it. I blamed it on my brother. I still got in trouble.

A lot of trouble.

My childhood wasn’t all sunshine and roses. In fact, these are the things I remember the most about my dad and its probably the worst things to remember. I do not have a good relationship with him. I was abused by him. It was terrible. If I did something wrong, I remember getting smacked on the butt. Usually with something other than a hand. His favorite was a belt. I am not going to lie and say that I was a perfect child, because I wasn’t. I probably deserved to have my butt handed to me a few times. I know I would get popped in the face a lot because I have a mouth on me. It tends to get me in trouble. I remember having to wear my hair in a pony tail when we went shopping because he would wrap my hair around his hand so I would run off or get into things. If I wanted to spend the night at my friends house or have her spend the night at mine, I had to do a laundry list of chores or promise a laundry list when I got home. And I better have done it as well. There was plenty of days I spent after school doing laundry, dishes, cooking dinner, watch & take care of my brother, etc. I often felt more like a maid instead of a kid. Where was my mom during all of this? A little nervous to step in because she would get hollered at if she said otherwise. My mom still feels guilty to this day. But its whatever.

During this time when I was about 8 or so years old, I was going through some papers with my mom and I came across my baby book. I wanted to look in it because I wanted to see stuff about me. I came across the page with my parents information. As quick as I saw what I saw, my mom snatched the book out of my hand and said I was not allowed to look at it.

There it was. Plain As Day. Something I never, ever forgot and I never ever will.

A name I didn’t recognize.

A name that was not my dad’s name. But someone else’s.

A name I held close to me forever….

You can find other parts of this story by clicking:
How I Met My Father Pt. 2