Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Good bye New York, hello Massachusetts!  Back to my home state, my home town, the place where I officially became the Mass hole I am today!  It doesn't take long, living in Mass, to become a true Mass hole.  You don't necessarily have to be born there, although I was, as well as my father and his parents before him.  This is where my life's story should get a little amusing or, at least, slightly interesting.  It will definitely be heartwarming and sad.

It was summer of 1984 when we went back.  My grandparents had decided they'd had enough of New York and wanted to move back home.  For several weeks through that summer, dad, my sister and I living in a camper in a KOA campground.  For most, living in a campground wouldn't be "normal".  For us, it just felt like we were camping.  Before school started, dad had found an apartment to rent and we promptly moved in.  Our new landlord lived upstairs from us and was an old friend of dad's.  He was married and had a daughter who was about 2 or 3 years old and a son who was 6 years old.  Me being the total tomboy that I was, he and I became fast friends.

The school year started soon after.  I was in second grade and my sister was in fourth.  Life became routine.  Wake up, bus, school, bus, home, dinner, sleep.  Unfortunately for my sister, life in our town wasn't very easy.  She was teased and bullied on a daily basis.  Some thought she wasn't "normal" because she didn't have a mother... or it was because she was being raised by her father.  Either way, she was picked on for everything.  My sister started developing before many of the other girls in her class, she was friends with a mentally handicapped girl, she had acne.  She was simply a target and everyone shot at her.

I remember one incident on our school bus.  Damn was I proud of my big sister!  One of the snotty, snobby, prissy girls was picking on my sister yet again and my sister got up and slapped that big brat right across the face!!!!  Our father didn't condone violence or fighting.  But in this case, he was proud of her as well!  He knew that the harassment was a daily occurrence and was very happy to hear that my sister had finally stood up for herself!  My sister (and the other girl) were suspended from the bus for 3 days.  Do you think my dad was pissed.... nope!

The teasing and bullying didn't end completely after that incident, but those who participated didn't have the guts quite so much any more to continue.  It happened every so often... maybe over the clothes my sister was wearing one day or something petty like that.  But it wasn't as constant as before.

I myself never really got picked on too much.  I was a very quiet student.  I had a lot of friends in second, third, fourth and fifth grade.  In the fourth grade, I started learning how to play the flute.  This was the beginning of more friendships for me.  I wasn't a social butterfly or anything like that.  Just a quiet girl who had been through a lot in her young life.

Elementary school was easy for me.  Yet I always felt.... different.  Don't ask me how.  I just didn't feel like I fit in with the rest of the kids in town.  I soon realized once I got to junior high that I WAS different.  I was being raised by my alcoholic father, didn't have the same "cool" clothes as everyone else, wasn't involved in too many activities, didn't really give 2 shits what people thought about me..... THIS made is even more difficult to get through junior high and high school.

Coping With the Loss

After my mom went back to Cali, it was time for dad to get on with his life and take care of two very young little girls.  My sister was now about 4 1/2 and I was 2.  Dad had to work.  So he found a wonderful home day care to put us in.  The woman became an amazing surrogate, in a sense, as we began the journey of our lives.  This new life was not easy for my father.  He would get us up in the mornings, feed us, dress us, make sure we were at day care so he could be at work on time.  Often, my sister, who, being older, had many more memories of mom and missed her terribly, would start the ride off by kicking the seat in front of her yelling, "I want my mommy!  I hate you!  I hate you!"  I, of course, would join in.  Not exactly knowing what I was saying or how it was affecting my father, but simply following along with my big sister.

We would get to our day care and dad would have a hard time getting me to stop clinging to him.  I had attachment AND separation issues galore!  What 2-year-old child who'd just lost her mother wouldn't?  It would take some time for my dad and our sitter to pry my little body from being wrapped around him in every possible way my tiny hands, legs and arms could!  I would scream and cry for him to stay with me.  My father has told me that after those mornings, he would cry on his way to work and even throughout the day while running the machines in the shop.  I'm quite sure he felt so in over his head, but was determined to make our lives work out for the very best.  This is what we do as parents.  No matter the situation, we do the best we can with what we have and what we know.

So, even though our mom didn't pass away, this was still a big loss for my sister and I.  How do a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old cope with this type of loss?  Not only was our mother gone, but our father was not on the best path in regards to his personal choices.

I do know that the next year or so was fairly routine for the three of us.  Dad worked full time, we went to day care each day, dad picked us up, brought us home, fed us dinner, made sure we were bathed, read to and tucked in for bed.  The next day, we'd start the routine all over again.  Dad was told at one point by the father of one of our babysitters, also a professor at the nearby college, that dad would have a hard time eventually raising two little girls on his own.  If only my dad knew how much trouble!  Don't worry!  We weren't out whoring at 10-years-old or anything like that!  But the issues he faced were hard enough for any parent.

Sometime during 1981 my grandparents (dad's parents) decided to move to New York state.  They asked my father if he would move us there and live with them.  So off the three of us went.  This is the point in my life that I can safely say I have some very vivid, wonderful memories!  My sister was in the first grade that year and I was put in pre school for a few hours each morning.  Dad was able to find a job fairly quickly.  His job was third shift, so he was home during the day, but would sleep until the afternoon.  My grandfather, the most amazing man I've ever known, took care of my sister and I when my dad was getting his sleep.  Although my gramps was still young enough to work, he had retired early due to injuries he had sustained when he was working.

This is a picture of my sister and I after moving to N.Y. I'm the short one.  I no longer have that bright blonde hair!  :-)

My gramps was such a role model for me!  My dad was as well, but my grandfather did things that many people simply do not WANT to do.  He chose to do these things out of loyalty to his family.  When my grandfather was 12, he was the only one out of 8 children to quit school entirely and go to work to help his parents.  He wasn't even the oldest of 8.  All of his 7 siblings were able to finish high school and some were able to go to college and get their degree.  Not grandpa.  He had such an amazing work ethic, love for his family and loyalty!

Throughout my two years in pre-K, my grandfather would drop me off and pick me up.  I remember our daily routine so well!  When he would pick me up from school, we would go to our local market and pick up whatever groceries we needed.  He would always ask me "Pokey" (because I was a slow poke!), "do you want a pack of gum or a candy bar today?"  Remember Hubba Bubba?  Whenever I did choose gum, that was my gum of choice!  So sugary!  And sweet!  And tasty!

On our way home, he would ask me if I learned any new songs that day.  I would sing to him from the back seat.  Even if it was a song he'd already heard, he never let on that I had sung it to him another time.  I'm telling you!  BEST grandpa ever!  We would get home, he would make lunch and we would eat together while watching "The Price is Right".  Every afternoon, gramps would take a nap.  Instead of napping in my own bed, I would curl up on his bed, at the end, like a puppy, with my Winnie the Pooh blankie and fall asleep.  He always woke before I did, so he would move me from the end of the bed onto the pillow, cover me and go out to the kitchen to start dinner.  By this time, my dad would be up and my sister would be home from school.

Every night, between 5 and 5:30, our family would sit down to have dinner.  Gram, Gramp, dad, sister and me.  This became the norm in my life for a very, very long time!  I looked forward to our family dinners and Sunday lunches at the dining room table that my grandfather would prepare.  I can even remember the smell of some of the meals he would make.  During the winter, beef stew and american chop suey were made often.  I try very hard to model my beef stew to my grandfathers!  His was the best ever!

Life in New York was wonderful!  I loved my friends and having my grandparents so close to me that all I had to do was walk into another room and see them sitting there.  Again, life was routine for about 3 years.  We were there until the summer of 1984 at which time, all 5 of us moved back to Massachusetts.

Where It All Began

1977 in southern Massachusetts was a great year!  Why, you ask?  Because I was born!  The day I was born fell on Good Friday that year.  It was close to 8:30 a.m. when my little 7lb 12oz body came into the world.  I became the fourth member of my family, which consisted of my mom, dad and my big sister, Wendy.  She had been born almost 2 1/2 years earlier in December of 1974.

Our parents had met as children.  Although they didn't grow up as close friends, their families knew each other.  My parents dated and after finding out that my mom was pregnant with my sister, married on July 27, 1974.  They were both very young.  My mom had just turned 18 in April of that year and graduated high school a month later.  Dad was 21.  Their story is not one I know very well, but from what I've been told by each of my parents.

In the beginning, I know that my father loved my mom very much.  Maybe a little too much.  Maybe it was his way of being dependent on someone other than his own family.  For the most part, my dad was left to do his own thing from a young age.  Maybe his issues with alcohol came about because of a lack of attention starting at a very young age.  Maybe it is a result of some of the abusive behavior he had to endure at the hands of his older brother.  Maybe he just needed more love as the youngest of 4 children.  Who knows.  Maybe it's just that gene they say many alcoholics have.  At a young age (about 17 or so) my dad started drinking and doing drugs.  At this time, he was by no means an addict or an alcoholic.  It was the 70's man.  It was "cool" to be high... or something like that.  Even my mom did her share of partying.  But it took a hold of my father in a different way.

There came a time, very early in my life, when my parents fought over everything.  There were times that the police were called, times when their frustration towards each other went above and beyond anything civil.  I can't quite say when it was that my mom decided to leave, but it was within my first 18 months of life.  My father was difficult to live with, as I would learn as I became a teenager.  He had a hard time letting go of anything or anyone he felt was his.  I have to add that he was not a physically abusive man, yet, the emotional strains were enough for my mom to get out of the relationship.  I can't say I blame her, after having the experiences I have had with my father over the years.

My sister and I took the long flight with our mother from Massachusetts to California where we lived with her and our Nana for a period of about 6 months.  During this time, divorce papers had been filed and the 'rents were moving forward with going their separate ways.  In April 1979, the divorce was final.  I had just turned 2.  My father was awarded full physical custody of my sister and I.  From what I know, because my mother did not want to reside in Massachusetts for at least 1 year, as a condition of her being awarded custody, that is why our father was given custody.  My mom wanted to remain in California.  So, she flew with us back to Massachusetts where dad met us all at the airport.  He actually asked my mom to stay, despite the divorce.  She gave us to him and got back on a plane destined for California.

The Story of Me

This is the story of me.  Who I am, the life I've lead, the experiences I've had.  What's so special about my life?  Well, I'm not sure to tell you the truth.  I've been encouraged, in the past and very recently, to write a book about my life.  I suppose it may inspire.  For those who tear up easily, it will surely make you cry.  I've gone through many ups and downs throughout my life.  I've decided to blog about it before attempting any kind of real book because I tend to jump around a lot when I write too much at one time.  Trying to tell my story without starting from the very beginning is difficult.  Because the events of my life (my entire life) have molded and shaped who I am now at the age of 32.

Of course, the same is true of all of us.  However, not everyone chooses to learn from their experiences.  Hell, it's taken me a great deal of bad choices before I finally got things right!  Would I go back in time if I could and change things?  Probably not!  If I did, my children wouldn't be who they are today.  I may not have found my way back to the most amazing man that's ever entered my life!  That in and of itself would have been such a shame!

Who am I today?  Well, I'm a mother of 4 + a soon-to-be step-son.  I'm engaged to an absolutely wonderful man who is a drill sergeant in the Army.  I am going back to work full time after almost a year of being home with my youngest.  Everything will come out in each of my posts... I promise!  :-)  Some posts will be funny, endearing, silly or sarcastic.  Those qualities, after all, are part of who I am!  Some posts will be serious, sad or heartbreaking.  Don't worry.  There is a happy ending!  I promise you that!  :-)  The point of writing about my life is to show people that no matter what you may think stands in your way, you can overcome it.  It doesn't matter if it's an addiction (something I've never experienced myself, but did grow up with someone who did), abuse, a learning disability, etc.  We all face adversity in some way, somehow, at some point.  It's those who strive to overcome those difficulties and follow their dreams who come out stronger and happier.

I'll take you back to the day I was born in tomorrow's post.  Tell you about my parents and sister and the family dynamic that we had at the time.  I hope you'll check back tomorrow for my first post in which I'll start chronicling my life from 1977 to present.