First There Was

I grew up in Western New York in a very regimented house hold. That era was when divorce was taboo and you felt bad for the kids that were a part of the “Banana Split Club” Now separated households are so common we need a support group for children whose parents are still together!

My father was a hard-nosed factory worker slaving away to be the bread winner of the family and my mother was the loving and attentive type. We went from a few rental properties in the city to buying my mom’s dream house in suburbia.

I can remember my parents switching work schedules when my mother started working nights and I just could NOT adjust to that. Everything my father cooked included corn – and not like the vegetable side – like MIXED INTO THE FOOD. Spaghetti sauce and corn, rice and corn – sweet corn – cream corn – corn, corn, corn. Bless his heart. He had no idea what he was doing and with 4 kids at night, well I think we can say despite my tireless cries for my mother – he was doing the best that he can.

So – the last rental we had was in a small neighborhood that was built during the war housing boom. Cookie cutter houses to accommodate the vets returning and industry taking off. I was able to play with my friends in the street and stay out until the street lights came on. People talked to each other – sent cards and cookies during the holidays, looked out for each other’s property – helped with projects etc. I have to this day one of my lifelong friends from that time of my life. 28 years we have known each other! And I hope for 28 more.

That yellow house that I was growing up in – so much happened behind those doors, those challenges and memories are what contribute to who I am today. Some good and some bad, but all mine.

Moving to a more affluent part of suburbia when I turned 10 was CULTURE SHOCK. We were the first Hispanic/blended family in the neighborhood and most residents worked for one of the other major employers of that time aside from my father’s well-paying GM job. I remember being teased because some kids parents worked for X employer, and their houses were bigger, my skins weird etc. I would cry at home – unable to understand why my race or my dad’s job wasn’t good enough. I thought I had great skin……..those kids back then are the same ones putting themselves at risk by baking in tanning toaster ovens. (neeener, neener, neeeeeeener)

So yeah, then I headed into my rebellious teenage ways. I knew everything about life, love and learning. I pierced my own belly button in 8^th grade. Yes. That happened. With an earring, operative part of that being it was an EARring. Oops. It got terribly infected and I got terribly grounded for defacing my body. Well, I didn’t take it to seriously because by 16 I was legally pierced and tattooed. But in my defense…..ok……….I don’t have one.

Parents started their divorce when I was 15 – I was excited about it – only to be devastated a short time later. I believed that I would be able to live with my mother and get out of the iron fist of my father but to my SURPRISE – mom ended up not being my biological parent and my father saw to it that she lost any legal rights to us, despite having raised us from infancy. Sometimes life throws you lemons. Turns out I am not 25% German, 25% Irish and 50% Puerto Rican – Tell that to my temper!

So 15 years ago I set out on my own. Me and all my teenage wisdom – my halfwit love of a high school boyfriend. We were bound for failure. His dad flew a confederate flag. They were ACTUALLY Irish and German and apparently not ok with their son being in love with a Hispanic orphan. No I wasn’t really an orphan – the technical term was emancipated minor. So after a handful of years and a series of terrible decisions that ended – then started – then ended again. I am talking BAD decisions – like sticking your finger in a socket bad. Thank god those years are behind me.

HELLLLLOOO 20’s at this point I was a legitimate adult. I could vote, smoke drink and go to jail. Pretty much all of which I did. Before you get your panties tied up – it was a holding cell and the charges were dropped. I according to NYS do not have a criminal record.

At 23 I became a mother and really actually started to pull my life together. I was SURE I knew what I was doing, I had a good guy, a house, a baby – I was damn near living the American dream. There was this whole section of life that I didn’t know. The work that it takes to keep a happy and healthy relationship. That chapter I skipped in the manual, and because of that so died my American dream. Happy thoughts turned into laborious chores and smiles turned into snarls. I moved into a townhouse in the city and we became co-parents to this rotund busy body of a little girl. My daughter. Amazing.

The doors are opening and you are beginning to see, what experiences and choices shaped me.

Thanks for reading –

Day dreamer