Misspelled, Misused, and Mislabeled

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I recently started reading over some of my blogs. I noticed that I had punctuation errors, misspelled words, and run on sentences. I noticed these mistakes, even though I made sure to proof read the material before I clicked on the Publish widget. I am now considering that people may think I am an absolute moron, and in return choose not to read anymore of my blogs. I have to admit, I could not blame someone for such judgement. If I were reading a blog or a book with mistake after mistake then I can only assume, I would be just as any other individual. I may become uninterested in what I am reading. Its possible that I would not be able to take them seriously if they are unable to use words the way they were intended. Fact is, the persons material that I am reading has a life just as important as the next blogger, and maybe even more interesting. So why should it be so important to get each and every world correct? I think our true malfunction is our human nature. We tend to see someone that can not spell, or can not put the right words in a sentence as uneducated, ignorant, unsophisticated, and my favorite, a redneck. Personally I feel we are merely mislabeling people. Is it not also accurate truth that even the most educated person, will make mistakes? We do not all depend on spell check, or whatever other kind of software that helps you put your sentences together. Not everyone comes from an educated back ground, yet people still enjoy writing and sharing their own thoughts and life experiences with people.

Ironically, I have a slight pet peeve when it comes to spelling things correctly. Sadly it is just not a very strong pet peeve. When I reread my words, I surely made a mental note to put that on the top of my list. Do not only proof read, reread…and more than twice. 

In this specific area, Northern Alabama, there is that one little tidbit that one might think, separates the graduates from the drop outs. Pronunciation. I am here to tell you, that is just not so. Some highly educated individuals choose to stick to their southern roots, and continue to use the slang words that they were taught when they were younger. As with the drop outs, they try their hardest to sound educated and that comes with making sure each and every i is dotted and t is crossed. All words are in their correct place, and quotations are accurate .I myself am not highly educated, ( surprise, surprise) and do make mistakes, yet I find myself always correcting my children, and giving my husband a look when they say “thang”, instead of thing, or “yeller” instead of yellow. I understand that living in the south, we tend to let our words come out any ole way. Sometimes we use it as a joke, but mostly it is just the way we were taught to speak from our elders.

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Even though I am just as guilty as the next person in spelling and saying words completely wrong,  I feel speaking correctly is important. And here is why…………………..

When a person enters a place of employment and someone speaks with sixth grade grammar,  that person will feel the desire to walk right back out the door and take their business elsewhere. In a professional establishment, it is expected for the person sitting behind the desk to at least sound educated, whether that be the case or not. Our country slang is thought nothing of, as long as we are at a drive through window, or on a farm buying hay. In a bank, attorneys office, and even the people that call us wanting to sell us windows, we want someone who can speak plainly. It is no different than having a phone conversation with a foreigner. We get so uptight because we can not understand them. We want them to speak plainly. We want them to speak English. It is just a fact southerners have a slang, and we use words that make no sense at times. Unfortunately, a majority of us often misuse words, such as their, they’re and there, Or here and hear. I wonder why the people that came up with the English language did not think that far ahead. Was intelligence not a factor then? Were we way smarter at that time, and didn’t have to worry about screwing it up as we do now? Why else would we make so many words sound the same and mean completely different things?  One might say us Southerners have pretty much mutilated the English language, not to mention added to it. For example, Ain’t. It did not use to be a word. But by goodness it is now. Ain’t is used more than the word Isn’t  or am not, ever was.

Bottom line, between our southern drawl, and our mispronunciation, a lot of people see us as dumb. Add overhauls and bad teeth, and, well…..that is for another blog.

I have found myself being reserved about even saying certain words when I am joking around. I do not want my children to hear me say taters and maters, and think that is the correct pronunciation. I know this is all so unimportant, and does not change who we are as people. We can be the smartest individuals that ever walked the face of the earth, and choose to say bitness and chester drawers, just because we like the way it sounds. But just think, we have children that are following in our footsteps. Their lives will be much easier if we can teach them to speak so that their peers will take them seriously. When someone is taken seriously, it gives them determination to succeed.  If they learn to speak appropriately, then they have a much better chance at having a career with potential. I have a child that intends to go to college to be a teacher. I have a feeling it is time to buckle down with my English, so that when she gets to college she will not be caught off guard with someone says, ” what does that mean.?”

By the way, did you know Britches is an actual word? It is some sort of pant item. Like a pair of capri crop pants. I did not learn that until my early thirties. I honestly thought growing up that it was just a term that my parents used for their jeans and slacks. I always cringed as an adult, when hearing that world. Then I found out it was an actual thing…….Regardless, I still do not use it.

Mental Thought: Whether we do it for fun, or just know no better, there will always be a snobbish fixation on pronunciation.

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P.S. I am very interested in seeing how many people pay close enough attention to this blog to find my mistakes. 🙂

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Compassion

jmeslifefolio

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     Once the human race understands that life is not always black and white, then maybe we will gain some compassion in this world. We are always thinking that if someone is not “Just Like” us then they aren’t “Normal”.
Think about this for a minute,  “We have no idea what is going on, or what went on, behind closed doors yesterday, or today.”  When we see someone that is ragged, or angry, slow or just inattentive, we ask things like, “Where did this  person come from?”
We as human beings, are too nosy, judgmental, and/or fake. We are too concerned about situations that have no direct affect on us. We are too selfish to try and gain the ability of empathy.
I challenge you to release your shallow self , and open your mind to someone you find nothing in common with.  Just listen to what they have…

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The Importance of being a Housewife/Mother

I know this may get some peoples gears rusted, but it is just how I feel. I do not expect everyone to understand or agree with my blogs. They are mostly opinionated, and they state that in the category.

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I have been a House Wife, and Stay at Home Mother for more years than not. There are more reasons behind it than just wanting to be at home. I am sure there are plenty of mothers that Want to be at home but can not afford it. I am not saying that I can afford it, because it has been a struggle each and every paycheck. There have been days that I hate myself for not trying harder to bring money into the home. Those days being birthdays, and Christmas, the times we could take a vacation, but no money. The struggle is real, but somehow we always manage. I have a precious husband who loves and understands my way of thinking, and sympathizes with why I feel the way that I do. If not for him, it would be much more stressful than not.

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The way I see it, if something means so much to you, then it is probably destined for you to have whatever it is that you are wanting. A lot of the times, especially material wise, the things you want so badly, do nothing to change your life, therefore I attempt to not hold on to those types of wants. Of course I love a good pair of shoes or a nice handbag, but I also know that I do not need it to survive. I do however need my family happy, and I need the time with them that makes that a possibility. That to me is the most important thing, making my family happy. I believe with all of my heart that I was put here to give birth to my four little people, and help them venture out into this world, and stand beside the man I chose to spend the rest of my life with. I applaud the working mothers who can work from 8 to 5, come home and do dinner, eat, clean up, have time to do stress free homework, make sure everyone bathes and brushed their teeth, sets out school cloths and snacks, throw a few loads of cloths in the washer/dryer, iron the next days attire, try your hardest to squeeze in time for your husband and children before lying down and doing the exact same thing over again the next day.

I whole heartily feel that I need to be home where I can live a normal paced life. I can make sure my house is tidy, everyone has clean cloths, shop for my families household supplies, groceries, and clothing items, tend to our family pets, take my children to their dental and doctor appointments, go to school functions without asking for time off,be home when they are sick without the stress of missing work, and making the boss angry, or having to depend on family members to get my job done.

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I tried the 8 to 5 job for the first time this past year since my youngest had started school. I had no reason not to get out of the house. All of the kids were in school all day, so why not?  Within the first month I had missed work due to one of the kids being sick. There were days I was being called to come get them, ( mostly the youngest, because she has my immune system) or just having to miss a whole day of work, sometimes more, and then I myself would contract whatever the child at the time had, so then I was sick. No one wants to volunteer their time to keep a sick child with a fever, and take the chance in getting sick as well. I had to stay home when my kids were sick. I had to stay home when I was sick. Then there were the doctors appointments, check ups, dental appointments. My niece was fighting cancer during this time so there was a day I missed for her surgery. My sister lost someone in her life, so there was a day I missed to be with my niece so my sister could visit them before they left this earth. My dads wife had brain surgery and I took them to the hospital, twice. I then got terribly sick with a stomach issue and that was when I lost my job after fourteen months,  due to so many absences. There is rarely a month that goes by that I am not terribly sick with stomach, bowel, intestine issues anyway. It just makes sense (to me) to be home so that my family does not have anything at all to worry about. I do whatever I can to make their lives easier. That is my job and duty as a mother and housewife. And in return, I am not always worried that a school nurse or receptionist is going to call me to come get the kids. I am not having to constantly pray that today I want get sick ( though I still do that). When someone needs me, I can  happily say, I will be right there. The kids have clean cloths, dinner is cooked, we have movie time, you can walk through the house and not feel gross, and I am not falling over tired all day long because I have not had a moments rest.

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As I said in the beginning, I applaud the mothers who have super powers and can do it all.

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When I was a very young girl, about age 12, my mother began working. She had to start out on second shift due to a seniority thing. When the first shift jobs came available, whoever had more seniority and wanted it, got it. I suppose she never wanted it. She was on second shift for as long as I can remember. She was never home. When she was home, she was always in a bad mood. I have learned that exhaustion will do that to a person. Point being, during some of the most important years of my life, she was not there. She was Always working. We never had play dates, we never had movie nights, we never just sat and talked, such as asking me how school was, did I have a crush, are there mean people hurting my feelings, etc.There were no family dinners. There was no one to help with homework. There was no guidance. So when I was younger, I told myself then that If it were at all possible, I would not work and leave my children wondering if a job was more important than my time with them. I would not feel tired all of the time, and shove them to the side. My mother taught me a valuable lesson. In a backwards way, she taught me that my children and my husband deserved my time, more than some strangers and a petty paycheck that we would spend on nonsense anyway…When you make more money, you only find more things to spend it on. More things to go in debt for. It is possible to live on a small budget, and give my family all of me, Not just the left overs.

Mental Thought : Live in your own shoes………

A Mothers Heart

As I sit here this morning with my three youngest children, I feel privileged, honored, blessed…..Any term of endearment that describes how fortunate I am to be called mom. To be honest, no words can describe that fluttery, full feeling in my heart.

So many woman take for granted the beauty that comes with being a mother. They look at their little people that they have created as a daily task. If one could simply look into the eyes of their children, they would see themselves. The good part of themselves. The innocent part. As a parent, we have the chance to give our children everything that we lacked as a child. Some think material objects are the thing that they lacked the most, some love, some both……

I was never given much as a child. Much of either. Being Material or physical/emotional love. I am not financially able to give my children every little thing that they want, but I will definitely do without my wants to make sure they have theirs. That was not the way of my parents when I was a child. Our needs were barely met, little on our wants. I seen their wants come way before I needs. I will never be considered a selfish mother. I love being able to see the excitement in my child’s face when they know they get to go shopping, a movie, amusement park, or even just for ice cream.

A child sees our time and money as care and concern. They see that if we are willing to spend our hard earned money on the things that they can definitely live without, then they see us caring about their happiness. When we show them that spending time with them is important to us then we are showing them their presence is valued.

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I can promise you one single thing without a doubt. If you ask my children if their mother loves them, they would look at you as though you were asking the dumbest question in the world. They know. And shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t they know just how important their lives are to me?

When we think we have said it enough, then we should say it one more time…..Just to be sure. I love you, should be the last thing your child(ren) hear every night. A mothers comforting, reassuring love is all a child’s soul needs to survive. A soft touch on the head. A tickle here and there. Kiss to the forehead. There are so  many small gestures that mean so much to those little hearts. Maybe not at that direct moment, but I do know once a child reaches adulthood, having lived without those small gestures, can be fatal. Fatal to the child’s spirit.

I have four of those little hearts that came from my womb. I carried them until their little bodies were able to breathe on their own. My heart turned to mush when they were first put in my arms. Each and every birth was as though I had never done it before. The emotions that came with each new life were unlike anything I have felt any other moment. The excitement and joy that came with the looking in their little eyes for the first time.

Now I am faced with the fear as to what kind of adult they are going to become. We can guide them, and love them more than anything imaginable, but they still carry the ultimate choice…….What will they do with their lives?

I see so many children grow into adults with addiction, or become murderers, rapists, child pedophiles. Those people were once a mothers baby, that grew into a child, and then become the adult that they are. It grieves me to think there is a chance that one or even all four of my children could hurt my heart with the demise of their lives in such a terrible way. Meaningless existence. Giving nothing back.

Those things are the reason why it is of utter most importance to teach our children the power of love. Share it with others no matter how many times it is refused. No matter how many times we are hurt, we should still give our love, even to those that are not worthy. Give it ,if only for a chance, that the chain of hate with be broken.

There is not one thing my little ones can do for me to love them less. How can you love someone less when that someone is simply part of your heart? I just pray that God gives me strength when they venture into adulthood, to handle the disappointment they may bring upon my heart. The fear is great, only because of the pain that they will bestow upon themselves. A mother does not want to witness pain and agony brought upon their children no matter where it generates from, but at least if someone hurts our children, we have someone to blame. If it is by their own hand, then we shall surely blame ourselves. We had to of done something so wrong, for our children to choose a path that was not intended. Right?

I say, Wrong……….

This world has a way of corrupting even the most well taught children. God gave us ALL free will. When that free will is turned into an evil pleasure, not only the culprit becomes lost, but so do the ones standing in the path. That path could be high school, a party, college, anywhere that evil exists. We can teach our children the right way, but there will always be temptations brought on by others. We can never fully protect them.

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I have an overwhelmingly good feeling that my children will want to make me proud, and do everything not to disappoint. Because I do not filter the ways of the world. I tell them of all of the bad in the world. I share my experiences and outcomes, in hopes that they do not fall in the same pattern. If they are curious about something, and want to know, then I tell them. I am not a mother who shelters her children from the potential dangers of our world. I would rather scare them into not trying something, than them being curious of something they have never heard of.

I feel it is my job as a mother to do whatever I can to protect my little ones. Maybe I am too honest. Maybe I am too graphic. But I feel confident that showing my children what could happen when having unprotected sex out of wedlock, VIA the internet, will discourage them somewhat. I am hoping complete and total discouragement, I am hoping if/when they are put in that situation, they will remember the images of what could happen. I suppose that is something that I will never know for certain, since children do not generally share those things with their mothers. I also hope giving a somewhat detailed description of what a sick child pedophile would do if they ever got their hands on them, will teach them to keep their distance from strangers. If they are ever put in such a situation, they know to fight until their is no fight left. They know to scream and kick, and bite. They know if at all possible to come to me if able, and we will fix any situation, together.

I am a mother…..my children will be the most important people, and my greatest accomplishments…..I will always love them no matter what they do or do not do. My love for them, is unconditional.  I have A Mothers Heart…..

Mental Thought: If your child comes to you and asks you a question, then answer it. It is our job to teach them. Do not let a stranger do it.

P.S. Have fun with this life……….

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A Daughters Story, And Then Some….

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I left my last blog with the story of my dad becoming violent during a drunken ride home. If you have not read the beginning of my blog, please do, so that you may make sense of my story.
Lets go back a few years to when I was 8 years old.
I was awaken by my mother at 2:00 a.m. on a week night. She came in my room, shook me a little, being careful not to wake my two younger sisters who were lying next to me. “Jamie, wake up. I need you to wake up.” As I finally gained consciousness, she continued to explain that my dad was in the tree outside with a rope around his neck threatening to jump out of it and kill himself. She wanted me to go outside and see if I could talk him into coming down.”
Before you even consider that this stuff is not true, and did not happen, I assure you, with all of my being, each and every word I type is 100% true. Also please know that it is terribly hard to share some things, because it brings all of this stuff back to the surface. My intentions are to do some good by doing this.

Now….where was I?
I proceeded to walk outside, slowly making my way over to the tree that my dad was sitting in. Sure enough he had one end of a rope around his neck, and the other tied to the tree. “Hey dad, what are ya doing in that tree?” I asked. Silence…. I think he may have fallen asleep. “DAD!” I yelled. I caught his attention, and he yelled back. ” What the hell are you doing out of bed?” I know this sounds terrible, but I just wanted to go back in the house, crawl back in my warm bed and go back to sleep. All I could think about, was the fact I had to get up early in the morning and go to school. Maybe the reason I was not taking all of this too seriously was because these type of incidences happened on a regular basis.

I continued to tell him that mom woke me up and told me to come talk him out of the tree. ” Did she now?” He asked, in a very low tone..
I think to him, that showed that she cared some bit about him. I am sure the reason he ended up in that tree, was no different than any other time he had threatened his life, or done something to make her feel sorry for him. Time after time, he would come home late at night, just as he had this night, drunk, with no recollection of where he had been. Or some fabricated lie of where he had been. She was going to leave him, or make him leave, because she couldn’t live like this anymore. YadaYadaYada….
“Yes dad, she told me to see if I could get you to come down, and go in the house so we could all go back to bed.” I told him. ” Well you go on in and get back in bed.” he said. I told him I would as soon as he came down from that tree, or at least took the rope off of his neck, and threw it down to me. It seemed to take an hour or so to talk him down. Treating him as though he was a child. Uplifting, and positive words. Just as I was about to give up, he threw the rope down to me, climbed half way down, and fell the rest of the way. I really do not remember what happened next. All I know is that next morning was tiring.

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Now that we have come to the conclusion of how my father was, and still is, we can now turn the attention to my mother. I have spoke to my mother twice, face to face, in 4 years. We have text maybe twice, and media chatted twice. Other than that, our relationship has seized to exist. I really have no idea what brought the silence on, this specific time. I was never told. It just occurred.
I have so many memories floating around in my mind that cause me a great deal of pain. But just so you know, these memories are unlike the memories I share of my dad. These memories really bother me each and every time I share them. I whole heartily believe a child, of any age, needs their mother. Not saying that fathers do not love their children just the same, but being a mother, I can relate with what is expected or not expected from a mother. I learned quickly after giving birth to my first child what I missed out on when it came to having a mother. I long for those conversations with her telling me how proud she is of me for my accomplishments. I would love for just once for her to look me in the eye, tell me she loves me, and mean it. The thought of having coffee together and just chatting about my kids, her grand-kids, brings tears to my face…..Because those times have never existed, nor will they ever. That is just not the person she is. I know it has a lot to do with how her mother was with her. Nearly non-existent. But I refuse to let that be used as an excuse. I broke that chain when I gave birth to my children. I refuse to be a mother who leaves her own flesh and blood wondering what it is they ever done, to be loved so little. Why was I not important enough for her to break that chain?
The latest of my hurt, was when I was 21 years old. Since then, things have never been quite right. Not that it ever was before, but this specific time, took most of what I had left, as far as respect, for my mother. Lord knows that is all that kept me hanging on up until then.
Mother and I both worked in a sock mill together, along with some of our close friends. We normally had a really good time working. We would sit around the table, talk, snack, wait for our machines to fill up with socks, only to go push them down and sit some more. When it was time to go catch up on our work, we would turn the radio up, and get to it. One night, mother decided to bring a new puppy to work with her. She was in the process of house training, so she did not want to leave it running loose at her house. She had made the statement that the radio seemed to be hurting the puppies ears, so she was turning it down. Within an hour, a song had come on that another coworker and I really liked, so without thinking I went and turned the radio back up. I was not thinking anything about that dog, and its ears hurting. It was a natural reaction, that when a song came on that we liked, one of us would turn it up a bit.
The song did not even get mid way through, before it was shut off. I looked up toward the end of my machines, and my mother yelled out, ” .If either one of you bitches turns that radio back up, you will have my ass to kick  ” True Story……..Without warning these words came out of my mouth, ” Mother you need to grow up.”
This was the first time in my 21 years that I “talked back” . My mother came running down the aisle with the look only a person would have for their enemy. I knew at that moment, I was going to have to defend myself. I could not allow her to slap me around, as she had many times before. I put my hands up to catch her fist, and some how managed to hit her glasses, which nicked her nose. I later found out that she accused me of breaking her nose, all by merely defending myself. She told our coworkers that she literally had to pop her nose back in place.

My mother grabbed a hold of my hair and shoved my head toward the knitting machine handle. I am not sure how many of you have ever been in a sock mill, but these machines have a large belt on the side, that is hooked to an axle that runs ALL 60+ machines. She was trying to put my head into this belt so that it would grab a hold of my hair and scalp me.It has happened to many people in the past. That was not even the worst part of this incident. Mother had told a coworker, that someone had better follow me home, because I was going to get what was coming to me. They in fact, followed me home that night..
I would like to think, even to this day, that she was just mad and blowing off steam. She would have never actually ran me off of the road. I also hope that she would not have really shoved my head into that belt, with the knowledge that it could have seriously hurt me, or worse. I really do not know. But I do know, I should never have to wonder such a thing. This is my life. This is the destiny that I was given. I have used it to learn from. I search through all of negative in my life, and I always pull something positive from it. If I did not at least attempt to do that, then I would drive myself crazy.
I learned from first hand experience that a mother can break a child’s spirit into pieces. And more times than one. I learned how important it is to build a child up, from a very young age. I learned that without a mothers love, a child will feel worthless.
Ironically I am thankful for being taught in a backwards way, how needful a mothers love is. I appreciate the knowledge of how important it is to tell my own children over and over how much I love them. A child is just that……A child. These little people are our responsibility. We are to love them, nurture them, teach them. Not use, abuse, and neglect.
I hate to share such a horrible story without sharing something good. There have been two times in my life that mother was, well…….Motherly. I will share those moments.
I was sixteen years old. I had been grounded for some reason. Part of that grounding was from my boyfriend. I was not allowed to see him for so many weeks. I can not remember exactly, but it was a very long time. My mother heard me in my room crying, and without saying anything she come in , sat on the bed, and put my head in her lap. She held me while I cried. When I start thinking about all of the negative that she and I have been through, I go to that time and place. Just her holding me, made my heart feel so much better.
I was thirty two and just had my fourth child. The relationship I was in, was just utterly ridiculous. I do not know how I found myself in such a terrible situation. I was at the end of my pregnancy while living with my mother. She took care of me, and when it was time to have my daughter, she took me to the hospital, and stayed until I had her. She was actually in the room with me when I gave birth. That was the only time out of all four of my children that she was there with me. I had such high hopes that she would gain something from that, and hold on to it.

False hope………………………

I still dream often that my mother knocks on my door, and just grabs me. Apologizes for everything terrible that she has ever done, everything ugly that she has ever said. No excuses, just apologies. Just love me. Just want to be a mother.
I am not sure if I will be able to share any more memories. It is overwhelming to do so. My mother lives 15 minutes from me, but it seems as though it is a world away. I know she is going to die someday sooner than later, and there is all of the chances in the world to have a relationship with her right now. I know so many people will want to say, if my mother was here, I would make things right. Trust me, I want to. I have tried time and time again. I have put things that have happened in the past, just so we could have a relationship. It just hurts so bad when it happens again. It is like that hurt, adds to the already hurt. I want to forgive her for all that she has and has not done, but how do you forgive someone that does not think they have done anything wrong?
In writing these blogs, I am hopeful that it will touch a mothers heart, and give her the desire to want to be better than this. There may be a mother just as me, that was never nurtured by her own mother, and is falling into that terrible pattern. It is never too late. It can always be fixed. As long as you are breathing, you can fix it. If you do not have the courage to go to your child and apologize for things you have done, or things you have not done, then write a letter. Open that door.
Mental Thought: Never leave the love you feel in your heart up to question. It is not a very comforting feeling for the one questioning it…..

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A Daughters Story, Continued

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October was the month I was born. The year was 1976. When I look at those numbers, I feel so old. I remember once thinking I could not wait until I was an adult and could get away from this life style. From the time I could remember I was counting down the years until I could move out. I had to escape. Or at least get far enough away from all the crazy, to where it would not rub off on me.
I was a teenager when I started noticing that my mother did not love me the way it was intended. The first sign was when she started working second shift so that she did not have to be around the family. Truth be told it was such a relief off of my shoulders. There was not a day that went by that she was not ill. Just the most unhappy person that you can imagine. I do not doubt that it was tough living with an alcoholic that did not care to hurt your feelings each and every time he seen fit, or to spend a whole paycheck on beer and non sense, instead of buying groceries, and paying the electric.
I will share a story of a typical Friday night, or payday, which ever came first. My dad was a saddle maker, so payday was not always at the end of the week. Whenever he got the saddles done, he got paid. A payday always consist of heading to the line. We lived in a dry county at the time, so he had to drive to the state line to retrieve his case(s) of beer, and liquior. Next stop would be a friends house, or his brother(s). He had a nearly a dozen brothers and only one of them was not an alcoholic. I am not sure what some see as alcholics, but I see it as someone who pisses their money away for alcohol, or on the account of alcohol.
Okay, back to the typical Friday night. If we stopped somewhere and ended up staying until dad was two sheets in the wind, sort of speak, then he would always attempt to make it home before mother did. Many occasions that was not the case. The rides home were very terrifying for me as a child. Sometimes those rides ended up in a ditch. Sometimes they ended up just sitting for long periods of time so he could sober a little. Then the scariest was to find myself at twelve years old behind the wheel. To be honest, I am surprised that we were not found dead. Back then, there was not a seatbelt law, we never wore them. I suppose my dad felt as though we were all invincible.

Here is another typical payday.
My parents had separated, and my dad was seeing someone from another state. We drove, while he was drinking, two hours away, to pick up this girlfriend. While we were in that state, not only did we get the girlfriend, but we ended up bringing back one of my dads brothers, along with some more people. When we pulled up, my mother was there getting some things out of the house. I have no idea what set her off, it could have been a weekday, and she was upset that we were out so late,  but she came out of the house with a dough roller, and started whacking people. I know, sounds humorous, But I assure you, Not so much…She tried getting my dad, and probably succeeded, I can not be certain. I know that more than one person was having to hold her, while my dads brother managed to get the dough roller away from her and threw it as far as he could. Before someone was able to get her weapon of choice from her hands, she had started toward my dads girlfriend, who was still sitting in the car. This girlfriend just happen to be pregnant, and I would say about six months along, when her and dad started seeing one another. I seen my mother going toward the car, so I jumped ahead of her, locked the doors to the car and stood back. I can not even remotely explain to you how pissed off that made my mother. She came after me. She grabbed me by the hair, and slung me to the ground. She treated me as though I was some stranger that was in her war path. She called me every curse word she could come up with. I seen hate in my mothers eyes.
I did not want her to get a hold of that woman, because if she had of hurt her, she could have killed that baby. If she had of killed that baby, she would have went to jail. But she did not see me protecting her, she only seen me protecting my dads girlfriend, therefore I chose the girlfriend over her.
Things like this happened often. My family was just a circus of monkeys, still is actually. I can not even fathom how I did not turn out any worse than I did.

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A few weeks after that night, my dad and I headed back to the town the girlfriend lived in. Two hour drive. He had been drinking, but it was not a terrible ride. Until………
Driving down the interstate, a truck jack-knifed right in front of us, knocking everything in its rear, all over the road. 5 lanes of traffic cleared in a matter of seconds. I know there was at least a dozen cars hit. It was one of the most terrible things I have seen to date. We were the only car that was not hit by that truck, nor were we impacted by any of the other vehicles that were going all over the road. After we got past that craziness, it started raining. The windshield wipers went out on my dads vehicle, so he was having to manually wipe them. That consisted of him sticking his hand outside of the window and moving the wiper back and forth. We passed a police officer, who seen this action taking place and I assume wanted a closer look. We seen his break lights lighten up so Dad quickly pulled into someones driveway and turned off his headlights. The officer must have seen us pull in the yard, because he went to the store less than a block from that house, and sat there for what seemed to be an hour. Once the officer left, dad tried to back out of the driveway. I say try, because it was not happening. He had actually pulled into someones yard. It had been pouring down rain, and the car did not want to back up. The humiliation I felt, was almost unbearable. Dad went to the door and knocked to let the people know we were stuck, and to see if they would let him use their phone to contact someone to get us out, but no one answered the door. We eventually did in fact get someone to come pull us out. That yard was a muddy mess. I felt so terrible for those people. They were going to wake up to a disaster.
While we are on the dad hating stories, I have another one that is just itching to come from my finger tips.
Yet another ride to a distant land, to where everyone was big and bad while intoxicated. This particular adventure was not so bad getting there because my cousin had ended up in the same place. It made the night less boring. Usually it was just me, sitting around with the grown ups, listening to their filthy mouths, and just waiting for an argument to break out.
On the way home, instead of riding back with my dad, his two brothers and my grandfather, who are all chain smokers sober,I asked if I could ride back with my cousin and her family. They were in a conversion van, so there was plenty of room. There was also a bed in the back, and I would have been able to sleep, seeing it was in the wee hours of the morning. I tried explaining all of this to my father, but he was not having it. I told him that I could not stand all of the smoking in the car, and he became belligerent. He knocked me around a bit, then kicked me in the car. We drove about 20 minutes down the road before I got the nerve to ask my granddad if he could crack a window. I thought dad was asleep. I was wrong. Dad just went crazy and started hitting me wherever he could. He was so drunk that there was not very much force, and I was able to keep his blows from hitting me in the face. Unfortunately this was just an ordinary night.

I have more, but I do not want to bore my followers, so this is TO BE CONTINUED……….