Will I ever be a grown up?

Although I have focused a lot on my childhood, today I think i will venture into adulthood.

Maturity is something that was easy for me. I never had a problem with responsibility. There was never a question about whether or not I would attend college... so, how did I end up here?

I know this is vague, but I don't have much to add. I will end with a point to ponder... What do you want to be when you grow up?

Toilet paper squares

Clean, cold porcelain pressed against my legs while sitting on the toilet, legs swinging, age 2 1/2.

I was going potty... Yeah, going potty. I was potty trained early, so this was not a new feat for me. While sitting there, the door opens and in walks my mom's boyfriend. He was a mean guy when he wanted to be and he had a very scary presence about him. He was angry; very angry. He told me that I had to fold my toilet paper in perfect squares. Take off a square, fold it over, fold it over again. I think the idea was that he didn't want me to waste toilet paper, but it went beyond that--it had to be folded properly. He sat in the bathroom to ensure I followed his directions and from that point forward he would pop in every now and then to check my work when I went to perch on the bathroom throne.

Now, this memory sticks with me, and has since I was very small. To this day, I still have to fold my toilet paper into a square. I don't do it on purpose, but I find that each time I visit the restroom, it just happens.

If I reflect back, I am sure my following the directions was out of fear. He was scary. He would be in a perfectly fine mood and then all of a sudden start throwing glasses. Shattering glass brings chills to my spine still. He would yell, grab my mom, throw her down, pinch, bite--you name it. I was taught to run to my room.

Even in the sanctuary of my room, the screams and yells hit me. I was terrified. I didn't realize at the time that something could have really happened to my mom--he hurt her in a bad way--she could have died. However, it was so regular, it was almost normal. I had a sliding glass door to a little backyard outside my room. This was my escape route, if it got really bad I would get out of my room through the sliding glass door and go to a friend's house. But how does a 2 year old determine if it is "really bad"?

You know, when you live something regularly it becomes a norm. Well, this all became a norm. I was a happy child, a bit more adult like than necessary, but I am sure that was my coping mechanism. Even when I would go to my room to play with my Barbie dolls and each of them had their heads ripped off (done by my mom's boyfriend), I would just put them back on and move forward. Maybe at first I was upset by this--even got in trouble until my mom realized it wasn't me--but I grew out of it.

To be continued...

The sex talk...

1987, my mom was getting married to my friend's uncle whom she met through me (unfortunately). I was excited that my mom was getting married because, finally, I was going to have a dad... or so I thought... but that will be another story.

Because my mom was getting married, she thought she should sit me down, 3rd grade, age 8, and tell me the truth about sex and where babies come from (not the stork).

So, there we were, sitting in my bedroom in our nasty, roach infested, welfare funded, gas leaking, poop brown apartments on Greenback in Citrus Heights (they're still there... they refaced them). I am not entirely sure how we got our hands on my bed (probably dumpster diving--gross!), but it was big, probably a queen or a king (huge to an 8 year old) and consumed the majority of my room.

We sat, legs extended, right next to each other. It was like an after school special. Remember those? My mom, pretending to be a good parent, her arm around my shoulder. Me, snuggled up against her side.

"I want to talk to you about sex and where babies come from."

"Okay."

"Well, first, when a girl has sex for the first time, the guy pops her cherry."

***SCREECH*** Are you freakin' kidding me? Do you really say this to your 8 year old daughter? Second, there is no body part called a cherry. Really? No, really? Are you seriously a 29 year old woman telling an 8 year old child that when she has sex for the first time some guy is going to pop her cherry? By the way, cherries were my favorite fruit!

"Does it hurt?"

"Well, it can. But really, having sex feels really good. Really good. You will really enjoy it. I really enjoy it. All of us really like having sex." (By all of us, she was speaking of the women in my family).

***WHOA*** Again, are you trying to tell your 8 year old daughter she should be having sex? Because now, it sounds very enticing... Like a lot of fun... something everyone should be doing.

"Okay. Well, how does a baby get in there?"

"Well, when the boy put his private into the girl's private, he shoots these things out that look like tadpoles and they go into the egg that the girl has inside her."

"How does the baby come out?"

"The girl pushes it out from her private, down where she goes pee."

From this point forward, I thought if I got pregnant, if I went potty the baby was going to fall out into the toilet. I was scared and thought it was gross.

I know, it's sad--and this is only an excerpt. I wasn't ready for the sex talk--not even close! The worst part is, I don't think she knew any better. I really think she thought she was doing her duty as a parent. I guess I will give that to her--she tried to give me the sex talk--when so many parents just don't talk about it at all.

Lesson: When you talk to your kids about sex, try it from a more clinical approach. Telling them how fun it is makes them want to try it!

Dance

Not all my memories are bad or sad. I have some great ones too. Memories that will stick with me forever...

I remember while living in our duplex (the same one mentioned in yesterday's blog) my cousin lived with us for awhile. Unlike my "aunt," she is really my cousin, my uncle's daughter. She was a teenager and in high school. I remember thinking she was so cool, I wanted to be like her so badly.

Now, for those of you who don't know my cousin, she is one of those females who knows how to do everything right for her appearance. She is cute and tiny, she does her hair, her make-up--everything, she is always decked out. At age 5, I was in awe of my cool, beautiful cousin.

Sometimes after she got home from school she would watch me. I always liked it when she was babysitting rather than my aunt. She played with me, we watched MTV together, she braided my hair... Plus she was always encouraging, she teased me about boys, made me feel pretty. We always had a good time, or at least I did, when we were together. But one particular time stands out--she taught me how to dance.

I can't say she taught me a "dance" per se, but I remember her putting on the Michael Jackson Thriller album--that's right, a record--and teaching me to listen to the beat. She told me to snap my fingers, and move each time the beat hit, to to follow the rhythm. I must admit that I am not a dancer, never have been, but we had so much fun dancing around the livingroom to Michael Jackson, I felt so grown up.

What made it even better was that I wasn't allowed to listen to Michael Jackson because my mom didn't like him or his music. Michael Jackson was my favorite... It was the early 80s after all!

To this day, every time I hear Thriller, or see the album cover, I am taken back to when I was dancing with my cousin in the livingroom.

"Where are my..."

Stench rising in my room, wailing from the baby in crib that sat at the far side of the bedroom. I loved that baby, I loved to hold her and play with her. I wanted to help, but I was too small. Alone, 5 years old, I couldn't reach to pick her up and pull her out of her crib and my aunt... well, she was out again.

My aunt, really a family friend but I called her my aunt, was always apart of my life growing up. She was one of the few people who knew both my mom and father (who I didn't know). I thought she was exciting, fun, and cared for me like her own child.

When I was about 4 1/2 we moved into a duplex. She moved in with us. I was so excited... She had a little baby girl and I loved babies! I had wanted my mom to have one so badly--but of course, I didn't understand that they didn't just come :)

Anyway, I had no idea that my aunt was really doing a lot of drugs. I remember waking up with her baby in my room and no one else home. I was too small to lift her out of her crib. My mom was at work and my aunt was supposed to be babysitting me. I wasn't allowed to eat without permission--so I would stay hungry and so would the baby, although she was sitting in a dirty diaper in addition to her tummy grumbling.

Things got worse. I guess my aunt had fallen victim to drugs and sex. She was always with a different man (her husband was in prison at the time), leaving her baby, out for her next fix. She started stealing from my mom. My mom didn't realize it, she just noticed things disappearing. I remember once, I was severely punished.

"Honey, where are mommy's colored pencils?"

"I don't know mommy."

"You were using them, where did you put them?"

"I put them back where you told me mommy."

"Well, they aren't there, you must have forgotten to put them back. Where are they?"

"I don't know, I put them back."

"Stop lying."

Sobbing, "I'm not, I promise, I put them back where you told me."

The belt came out, I was punished for missing colored pencils. I cried and cried. I didn't understand, I wasn't lying, why didn't my mom believe me? I couldn't use her colored pencils anymore, I was crushed. My butt hurt.

This was just one of the many times I was blamed for things that went missing. Each time my punishment more severe. Five year olds don't understand. You don't realize that these things aren't right, you think you are supposed to be protected and loved by your mom and your aunt. I was hurt, and it seemed no matter what I did--I did something wrong again because something else went missing.

Eventually my aunt was kicked out. My mom (FINALLY) recognized her crazy behavior. Wouldn't you know it? As soon as my mom started packing my aunt's stuff up, she found her colored pencils among other items that had gone missing.

I hope her guilt was punishment enough...

Lesson learned: If you are going to have tweakers living in your house, give your kid the benefit of the doubt!

Cigarettes

"Hey kid, go get my cigarettes for me," my mom says to me, age 2 1/2.

As an adult, I think, would I have ever said this to my child? Hell no! Really? First, why get your kids involved in your nasty habits? Second, are you so lazy you can't get up and do it yourself. Third, why should a 2 1/2 year old know what a cigarette is!?! Okay, I must admit, I am not above asking my child to get something for me while I am being lazy... but otherwise, I just emphasize how disgusting cigarettes are on all levels.

Well, being the helpful 2 1/2 year old I was, I dutifully got my mom her cigarettes. I did not stop there, however.

"Mommy, can I do it for you?"

I was referring to the cigarettes. I wanted to help, I wanted to smoke it for her.

"You really want to?" What a response from a mom!

"Yes, Mommy, I want to do it for you."

Well, you can guess what happened. I smoked my first cigarette at 2 1/2 years old. My mom placed it in between my lips for me. Told me how to hold it with my fingers. I wanted to be just like her. She lit it for me while I gripped it with my baby lips. Once it was lit, I sucked in, just like my Mommy did.

I thought I would die. I coughed so hard. I turned all sorts of colors. My mom, well, she stood there and laughed and laughed. "Guess we need to work on your technique," she said.

I was so sad. I just wanted to be just like her and for her to be proud of me. I didn't know what I was doing. Instead, she laughed. I think this was the moment that defined my social anxiety. How can I ever do anything in front of people without worrying that I will get laughed at--even if I am trying my best to make them proud.

Fast forward twenty some odd years later, my mom still tells that story as if it is the most humorous story of all time. She has no regrets, she doesn't see anything wrong with allowing a small child to smoke, she just found it the most entertaining thing.

Lesson: As a parent, I think, "what would my mom do?" Then I do the opposite.

Introduction

Wow... I never thought I would do something like this.... It's completely new to me. I had this idea that some day I should write a book. You hear, wow--you couldn't write this stuff. Well, that's pretty much how I can describe my life. I think each day I will write a little bit about me. Could be my family, my experiences, whatever... But maybe in the end it will all come together. So, thank you for visiting!