Wow. Today was hectic from the get go.
A little background, if you hadn't figured it out, I had my daughter just after I turned 19, my son, 16 months later.
Further background, this is where it gets sad and mushy, Tony. I don't have many clear memories of my mom. See, my parents divorced when I was 3-4, but I have memories. The apartment, my friends there, the night we moved and mom burned my thumb with her cigarette. Of the Abused Women's shelters. But we weren't abused, at least not then, and never by my dad. That was later. Of the HUD house in Lebanon, and the Plastic factory she worked in for a while, the chocolate factory we discovered once; that I soon frequented. The Reserves base, and the quick-stop employee who instead of calling the cops on me for snatching wallets and stealing food, said, "Come back everyday, take these [donuts]. These [the wallets(2)] go in the lost and found." And then, "How many of you?" Did she think I was an orphan? A runaway? "Four." I say, it was true. My big sister, me, the cats, and the dog. My big brother (14), he lived with my grandpa. He was always my Favorite. My guardian, defender from the hatred a big sister (10) earns through struggling to keep her wild kid sister alive. I got bologna, cheese, two 8-pak donuts, and soda. We ate in the field.
I remember crowding 'round my mom when she had food. I remember lot's of things, particularly one instance, I took money from my mom, the quick-stop lady, she broke a smaller bill. Would only let me spend ones. I walked to the dairymart, bought more food. She called the cops on me. They took my money, stuck it in a manila envelope, wanted my phone number. We didn't have a phone, so I told them where we lived. For some reason I went on my way; I was walking to the school to see my big sister, to bring her my goodies. I remember she was angry when she came to the office from class. So I left, crying. To the park, then a walk around Lebanon. A lady jogger kept me company, later found out she was one of my doctors. Met the woman with her Dalmatians who would later babysit us. And as I was walking the train tracks that ran between the park and our house, running into my mom and going home, listening to fairytales. My mom, she's paranoid schizophrenic. I was 5-6 years old.
Last time I talked to her was 10 years ago. And not for lack of trying.
Jump to the present, I've been babysitting for the past three years. I love kids, I'm good with them. This month, I made a new "friend." Been babysitting nearly everyday for her, got to know her. She's one of the broken, the kind I can't fix.
You see, most of us are some degree of damaged. Abandonment issues, in my case, mostly. But some people, they're broken. No degree of love, kindness, or support can fix them. Everything, and everyone is just an opportunity. My kid's bio-dad was like that. My new "friend" is, too. I knew, but I ignored my instinct. You see, I like to fix things. Some things, some people, you just can't fix. There've been a lot of those people in my life, but I've been lucky.
I don't babysit for my "friend" anymore, and she's not my friend now. But I've got the friends and support to keep going forward. Take my wonderful boyfriend, Tony. He's perfect, sweet, kind, funny, affectionate, supportive. He's been my best friend, for geez, just about forever. And I'd been in love with him, well, forever. I never thought I'd get my chance with him, damaged as I am. But I got him. And bit by bit, he's been fixing me.
I've got to go to work now, so, later.
A little background, if you hadn't figured it out, I had my daughter just after I turned 19, my son, 16 months later.
Further background, this is where it gets sad and mushy, Tony. I don't have many clear memories of my mom. See, my parents divorced when I was 3-4, but I have memories. The apartment, my friends there, the night we moved and mom burned my thumb with her cigarette. Of the Abused Women's shelters. But we weren't abused, at least not then, and never by my dad. That was later. Of the HUD house in Lebanon, and the Plastic factory she worked in for a while, the chocolate factory we discovered once; that I soon frequented. The Reserves base, and the quick-stop employee who instead of calling the cops on me for snatching wallets and stealing food, said, "Come back everyday, take these [donuts]. These [the wallets(2)] go in the lost and found." And then, "How many of you?" Did she think I was an orphan? A runaway? "Four." I say, it was true. My big sister, me, the cats, and the dog. My big brother (14), he lived with my grandpa. He was always my Favorite. My guardian, defender from the hatred a big sister (10) earns through struggling to keep her wild kid sister alive. I got bologna, cheese, two 8-pak donuts, and soda. We ate in the field.
I remember crowding 'round my mom when she had food. I remember lot's of things, particularly one instance, I took money from my mom, the quick-stop lady, she broke a smaller bill. Would only let me spend ones. I walked to the dairymart, bought more food. She called the cops on me. They took my money, stuck it in a manila envelope, wanted my phone number. We didn't have a phone, so I told them where we lived. For some reason I went on my way; I was walking to the school to see my big sister, to bring her my goodies. I remember she was angry when she came to the office from class. So I left, crying. To the park, then a walk around Lebanon. A lady jogger kept me company, later found out she was one of my doctors. Met the woman with her Dalmatians who would later babysit us. And as I was walking the train tracks that ran between the park and our house, running into my mom and going home, listening to fairytales. My mom, she's paranoid schizophrenic. I was 5-6 years old.
Last time I talked to her was 10 years ago. And not for lack of trying.
Jump to the present, I've been babysitting for the past three years. I love kids, I'm good with them. This month, I made a new "friend." Been babysitting nearly everyday for her, got to know her. She's one of the broken, the kind I can't fix.
You see, most of us are some degree of damaged. Abandonment issues, in my case, mostly. But some people, they're broken. No degree of love, kindness, or support can fix them. Everything, and everyone is just an opportunity. My kid's bio-dad was like that. My new "friend" is, too. I knew, but I ignored my instinct. You see, I like to fix things. Some things, some people, you just can't fix. There've been a lot of those people in my life, but I've been lucky.
I don't babysit for my "friend" anymore, and she's not my friend now. But I've got the friends and support to keep going forward. Take my wonderful boyfriend, Tony. He's perfect, sweet, kind, funny, affectionate, supportive. He's been my best friend, for geez, just about forever. And I'd been in love with him, well, forever. I never thought I'd get my chance with him, damaged as I am. But I got him. And bit by bit, he's been fixing me.
I've got to go to work now, so, later.
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