Thursday, January 28, 2010

A Series of Fortunate Events...Who I Am: Part One

My Childhood,  a Battery,  and Monsters

         I had a great childhood. My parents met in high school, got married and had 3 two older brothers, Chris and Eric, and myself. As kids, we had everything we needed and most of what we wanted. My father worked, and my mom raised her babies. We had a nice house, food on the table, decent clothes, and our parents stayed involved in whatever we were doing at the time. Chris was a bit odd...always running around with his indian headdresses and army gear, and Eric pretty much kept to himself, aside from making fun of Chris' eccsentricness and poking me with sticks, of course. We were raised in a Christian home, stayed involved in church, attended a private Christian school, and we had lots of neighborhood friends. We had a dog and a short, I guess you could say we had the American dream.

        I remember my mother as being my nurturer, and my father as being my playmate. My mother spent long hours cooking and cleaning and doing laundry, while my dad worked. I can't ever remember being unhappy, unless you count the times when my brothers would throw granddaddy longlegs in my hair or hang my barbie doll heads from the ceiling. Such evil creatures. I guess I deserved {most of} it. One time, when I was about 6 or 7,  I was throwing pillows at Eric while he was watching t.v. For some reason, he felt possessed to take the batteries out of the remote and lob one my way. Just as I was poking my head over the couch to launch another pillow at him, the battery whacked me smack dab in between my eyes on the bridge of my nose. I don't remember feeling any pain, but I quickly took the opportunity to get Eric in trouble. I managed to muster up some tears and went crying into my mother, who was on the phone. She looked down at me, her mouth dropped open and she said "Oh shit, I have to go", and hung up the phone. I was so dumbfounded at the word that came out of her mouth, that I didn't even notice the blood running down my face and on my hands. That was the first time I ever heard my mother say a word like that, and it dawned on me that she would need to ask God to forgive her for saying that when she said her prayers that night. It turned out that I just needed a steri strip to hold it together for a while, and I felt terrible when my mom screamed at my brother that he was grounded. Of course, I didn't feel bad enough to actually admit that it was my own fault. He did manage to give me a "I'll get you for this" look on his way up to his room. I'm sure he did, sometime or another.

       I spent most of my time outside of school playing with the neighbor kids, whom I'll never forget, and occasionally I would try out some new, cheerleading, soccer, to name a few. I never really stuck with any of them, but I remember my parents always being there and encouraging me to do my best. I remember taking day trips to the mountains with my family to have a picnic and hike. I spent many summers with my grandparents and cousins in Pennsylvania. I felt safe and secure, except for the dimes that lived in my closet, and the weevils that lived in our light sockets. I'm not sure how old I was, but one night I had a dream that I was sitting in my dad's recliner that sat by the window. I was just minding my own business when I heard something knocking on the wall. I got down on my hands and knees trying to find out where the knocking was coming from. I realized it was coming from right behind the light socket. So, I closed one eye and peered into the socket and saw a pair of glowing red eyes. I jumped up into the chair, and suddenly these terrifying little weasel like things with long, sharp teeth and blood covered claws came climbing out of the holes and creeped up into my chair to eat me. I relayed my dream to my parents, and described the creatures and gave them the name "weevils". Yikes, now that's a nightmare. As for dimes, I don't remember much about them except that they were shadowy figures that lived in my closet and the attic that adjoined my room. I imagine the name "dimes" came from "demons" that I had heard my pastor talk about. Way to scare the crap out of the church kids, people.

 I guess I had the childhood that many others at that time did (besides vivid dreams of weird creatures), and also one that many might envy. My life didn't really change until my parents decided to get a divorce. The "big D" as Chris called it, was the turning point in my life where I began my journey into depression, drugs, teen pregnancy, TTP, and eventual complete satisfaction in where I've been, what I'm made of, and who I am.

Until next time......

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