Thursday, March 3, 2011

Conditions (The Girl From The Ghetto -- 1)

My 3 Conditions
I grew up in a rather dysfunctional home. My mom and dad were divorced when I was just a wee little thing – 6 to be exact. In fact, looking back I don’t remember a time in my parents’ marriage in which they were in the same room and it did not end up in a screaming match. My sister saved me from a lot. She was 8 years older than I and looked to me as her own. She never ever let me see them fight – EVER! She was always there. Always my constant and source of security. A lot of times (or maybe the only times I can remember) we would play hospital in her room. I would be birthing a baby doll and she would be the doctor telling me to “push, push!” and encouraging me to scream and yell as I pretended to birth a baby. Looking back now it was really a brilliant move on her part because in the background were my parents scream and yells. What better way to mask it by screaming and yelling? It was all part of the labor and delivery unit feel of our play! Plus, we got to voice our fear even if we did not know that was what we were doing.
My first memory of a conversation with my Mom was the one in which I was standing beside her in the kitchen “helping” make cookies and she said “You know Betsie, Mom and Dad may not always live in the same house together. It is not your fault, but Daddy may have to live somewhere else.” That conversation terrified me. I still remember what I was wearing and thinking, but I knew not to voice it. Better just keep it to myself. I knew at that young age of 5 that my mom was not one to share a concern with. It was her way or the highway. Apparently, she did not like my dad’s way and he had to take the highway all the way to my grandparents’ house to live.
Before too long we were sitting on the front porch as people trampled through our home in hopes of purchasing it. It was a nice home. Not too big, but in a good area. My sister and I were attending a nice Christian school and had good teachers. Once my mom filed for divorce that all changed. My sister went to live with my Dad and I stayed with my Mom. We moved to the ghetto – my Mom and I. Yep, I was ripped from my nice safe house to live in the projects in the ghetto so my mom could go after her dream of being a preschool teacher. She had hopes of graduating from the community college and teaching young blank slates the basics of “1,2, 3’s” and “A,B,Cs” I would attend classes with her because there was nowhere else to go. Man, those nights were long and B-O-R-I-N-G! I fell behind is school, had to go to the “special” class, started bed wetting, and had to deal with bullies on a daily basis. But hey, Mom was getting her associates at the community school so who the hell cared what was going on with me, right?
After years of ghetto life, my Mom remarried numerous times – three to be exact and we started apartment hopping. We moved about an average of every 18 months. My dad was still in the picture. In fact, considering that their 17 year marriage fell apart he was a really good ex husband! They parented well together and my dad would take me every other weekend. He would also pick me up once a week for a hamburger. I loved seeing him because I got to see my sister too. I missed her the most I think. I looked to her as the Mama my Mom was unable or unwilling to be. Not fair to place that much pressure on a kid – but my sister was my saving grace for so many years. True, we both had issues and our own demons that would haunt us from it all, but she was always constant and always there. Later in life I knew that it was safe with her to” get my panties in a knot” and have temper tantrums. I hate to admit that, but it is true. No matter what I knew she would always be there for me – like a mom. She was the Mom to me on a lot of fronts – just like the Mom I was to my brother years later. Now, in my mid 30’s I don’t take my sister for granted anymore. I truly do look to her as my sister…..I have no other and I love her so much. I have been a butt over the years and I am sorry for that because she is my sister and I cherish her more than I think she knows.

I could get into more of the specifics. Growing up was hell – I am not gonna lie. True, there were a lot of good things that happened to, but overall it was very dark. One thing that my Mom and Dad did do was made sure we were in church. Thankfully, they were of the same religion! Could you imagine going to a Baptist Church one Sunday and a Jewish Tabernacle the next? Thankfully they both stayed true to their Christian upbringing and convictions of making sure I had my cute little ruffled bottom in Sunday school every week. My Mom was a vocalist so I was at church on Thursday night as well for choir practice. Church played a huge role in me. No it was not perfect and I have been hurt the worst by Christians, but I did learn my basic Bible stories there and that has impacted my for the positive. Plus, it kept me off the streets. That is, like, HUGE!
So moving along – past the abuse of my Mom’s last husband and past those scars – I came up with conditions for my life. The three things that I knew I never ever would tolerate or be able to live with. I was in control of my destiny. Of course God was part of my life and I told Him He could do anything He wanted in my life as long as these conditions were met. Yep, I told the maker of the universe, the man who knit me together in the womb, the guy who knew how many hairs I had on my head, my heavenly Father – that I had conditions in which and where He could use me. Of course I did not look at them as conditions. I looked at them as truths. Self proclaimed and evident truths. So really I was not telling God or giving Him conditions. I was just vocalizing and making aware of the way He made me. That is all. It was acceptance of who I was! Yeah….that is what it was…..or so I told myself.
So these were my conditions:
1) I will never live overseas – unless it is with my military husband. Then I am all about living overseas. After all I can adapt to any circumstance AND goodness knows I was gonna marry a Sailor, Marine, Solider, or Airman. I was not picky….did not matter if they were an officer or not. I just knew my future man would be a God Fearing US lovin’ military man. Goodness knows a man with a rifle in a uniform is so totally hot! Therefore, I would gladly live overseas with my military man…on a base….with other Americans. Any other travel abroad or living overseas was just out of the question. Nope. Not me. I will keep my feet firmly planted in the great USA!
2) I will never ever live in the desert. The dirty, dusty, gross bug desert was no place for me. Not to mention that, but desert places are like hot and I don’t do heat. I don’t do much with snow either, but heat…oh no. No 115 degree extreme weather for me. Not me. I sure did not want to stay in California either. Give me the east coast. The south, but God forbid I end up in the desert! Never! Not gonna happen. I can’t live like that. The southwest was out. Arizona? Never! Nasty dirty hot Arizona was no place for me. Sorry, but I don’t do rock front yards and Cactus! No snakes, scorpions, or huge ass ants either.
3) I will not marry nor date a jock – oh and fighters are the worst! I don’t like ‘em. Or so I said. Give me a surfer, book worm, nerd, bad boy, MILITARY MAN! Yeah, I will take any of those, but no jocks, wrestlers or fighters. I am not impressed with their big ass cocky heads and I am not gonna swoon. Aren’t there stupid cheerleaders for that? Not me! I will take a smoker, a drinker, a tattooed bad boy over a jock any day!
Those were my conditions. The core of who I was and what I would tolerate was wrapped up in those three conditions. I never wanted to leave the USA, I would not live in the desert – nothing terrified me more than that state – ARIZONA, and I did not want a meat head of a man.
If you know me, you know full well that my conditions were never met. My life at the age of 17 took an unexpected turn. It headed down a path that I did not want, but so needed. God was about to flip me upside down…..

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