When you are barely learning to walk around on your stubby little legs,a bathroom closet is 500 feet tall. I stared up into that closet as far as I could, which was about the second shelf from the bottom, and came to the conclusion that the stool momma told me to get must have vanished. Grabbing a towel from the floor of the closet I walked back to the living room confident that a towel was just as good as a stool.
Category Archives: excerpts from books im writing
That is my first memory, and the details are still clear in my brain like a dusty file in my life cabinet. I know that I must have been at least one because I was walking without falling too many times, and I know I was not yet two because I celebrated my second birthday in the man’s house.
My mom asked of me in that first memory to find a stool so that I could join her in her mission to be in top top shape for the next man in her life. My mother was never by any means a loose woman. Though she is the Webster’s dictionary definition of a hopeless Disney fairy tale romantic. I am sure this is normal for any woman in her twenties. My first memory of finding the stool was as I was soon to find out the first of many times when my mother would ask of me to find a way to step up.
My mother’s story is not mine to tell, but to understand mine you must know the basis of hers as well. At eighteen my mother married a man she was surely under the impression of being in love with. Names seem to be a legal issue to do with character deformation now a days so lets call him, ” the Florida abuser” Now, I may be biased in my opinion of th man and as the story teller I feel I should make you aware of that. To be honest the only reason I do not like him is because he beat my mother and almost killed his own daughter while my mother was still pregnant. So as you can see it is just a personal via and I do hope as the reader you will do well to make your own opinions. My mother got smart quick saved money and headed back up north to her parents house. Thank god times have changed, the generations have grown older, and eighteen year olds do not still go running off to mommy when they make a mistake…..oh wait. Well, never mind then. This Florida flake is the sperm donor to my oldest sister brittney.
When my mother arrived back up north, a certain fellow came back into her life. She had known him since she was twelve, and he was her brothers best friend. Let us call him, ” prince friend zone” Well if you ask me I hear he has the best children then again I might be biased since he is my father. Though like every other beautiful friend zone fairy tale and romantic comedy, this is the moment where u throw popcorn at the book (or whatever it is you do to a book) and scream at the mother for leaving the good guy. My mother left because after she had moved with prince friend one to Texas , she realized he was young and had a life and she had two kids so back up north she went.
This time she did not go stay with her parents, she stayed in a shelter with my one year old sister and me in her tummy. She then stayed with friends until one day when she was working at the pet store and a man walked through the doors. Let’s call him “the man” for he is the premise of most of my life. I would spend my second birthday at his house and stay there till I was eighteen. He would teach me how to ride a bike. He taught me how to read. He also taught me discipline. He taught me that if you are rude, your nose belongs half way through the corner of a wall. He taught me that if you lie to cover up for your sister, your ear would be pushed so far against the floor boards that you would hear the earth’s crust move. He also taught me other invaluable things like the fact that a plate cannot in fact travel through you no matter how fast it is thrown and that if you can dodge a chair you can dodge a tv.
A lot of people who write about childhoods like the one that I had will sit there and cry over what happened but I refuse to. The man had a problem and no I am not making excuses for him. I am making certain I don’t make excuses for myself. Many people let an abusive childhood break them I let mine make me. The same man who scared me after two many beers also never missed a dance recital and always pushed me to prove him wrong. If you only see the way people hurt you, you miss out on thier side of the story. This book is about all the sides of an abusive home not just the ones that make the reader cry. If that appeals to you, go read a fiction novel because no truth is one sided.