In the Beginning
Where My Story Begins
The cycle of life: birth to death, from one to one hundred, womb to tomb. It happens to everyone. Everyone’s beginning is similar. Biology and physiology converge for conception. Born from egg and sperm, we are made up of atoms and cells evolved from Neanderthals. We learn to walk and talk all while exploring the world around us. Some of us are born into big families, others, small families. Blood family or adopted family. Siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents.
My beginning was much like this. To understand my story, though, we have to rewind a few years. My mother Catherine had my brother, Daniel, in December of 1982, born from a previous relationship. I was born in September of 1984. My sister, Nichole, came two years later in June of 1986 from a different relationship. Many years later my father, Phillip, remarried and together they had my two youngest sisters. Brittany came June of 1998 and Jamie in September of 1999.
My mother (b. 1962) was the second youngest of seven siblings and six half siblings. At the Yakima County fair one year, they won an honorary award for the largest family in attendance. Thirteen children in all, aged mid-teens to a few months.
I know very little of my mother’s upbringing. What I do know, is she came from a generation of farm kids that were expected to help with early morning chores and animal care. Then after school, it would be time to go and work in the field until supper. Once the meal was completed and everyone had cleaned up, then it was time for homework.
My grandmother, Beulah, kept a homestead that included geese and a custom chicken hatchery. Grandma Bea stayed home to look after the children, canning and preserving her own produce as well as making clothing for everyone. She had mastered many skills that she taught my mother and her siblings, such as weather reading, blade sharpening, and egg candling. With no real-world experience, my mother joined the Job Corps in order to work and care for our home.
I know less of my father’s (b. 1963) upbringing. He grew up with a more urban lifestyle and only one sibling, a sister. My grandfather, Robert, was former military and served in the U.S. Navy for 26 years. Grandpa Bob was elected to the Washington State Senate in 1990 where he stayed a member of Congress for sixteen years. My father was forced out at a young age and had to make a life on his own hard work so it was off to Job Corps where he learned about the restaurant industry and worked to become a culinary student.
It was at Job Corps where my parents met and married shortly after. Their marriage was short lived and they were separated before I was born.
According to my father, he had found out that my mother was cheating and left everything behind to start a new life somewhere else. According to my mother, she claimed to have miscarried me. This let my father off the hook and he left her. Whatever the truth is, I missed the opportunity to have my father in my life. Unlike my siblings did with their fathers, I didn’t get to meet my father until age 11.
I was born into abject poverty to a single mother with three children by three separate fathers, which may have contributed to her alcoholism and co-dependency on multiple different men. My mother went after my father for child support, but it was only after a paternity test proved kinship before he believed I existed.
My Early Years
My life before age 8 is mostly a blur. I don’t remember much of my childhood during that time period. According to records, I had some issues as a child. A lot of them were things my mother could not handle. I remember counselors, and going to special classes. I remember getting in trouble for cussing at a teacher, and refusing to do school work or homework. I much preferred doing my own thing or running around with my siblings.
Life with my siblings was probably like most. We had our spats, but we also had each other’s backs if we were dealing with any trouble. I shared a room with my sister, while our older brother got his own room.
I was obsessed with wanting to be just like him. If he took his shirt off, so did I. When he got a Lego set for Christmas, I cried because I wanted, and didn’t get, one too. When he began playing peewee football, I was mad that my mother wouldn’t let me on the team. I looked up to him, but I was just his annoying little sister. But I didn’t care; wherever he was, you would be sure to find me tagging along.
Our favorite places to escape to were an empty field across the street, or the sheep pasture behind the house. I thought I was brave one time, and so my siblings decided to dare me to jump the fence into the pasture.
Listen, if you grew up like I did, you never backed down from a dare. If you did, there would be a worse fate than the dare itself.
So, what did I do? I jumped the fence and landed in front of an angry herd of sheep. When they started to charge at me, I ran and climbed a tree for safety. I hid in that tree until the sheep decided to leave. Back at home, mom yelled at me, said it was a stupid thing to do and I could’ve gotten hurt. I did not learn my lesson and did the same exact thing a week later, and consequently got grounded for being so reckless.
As I have said, I was a bit hard to handle; being reckless is an understatement.
I remember my first time getting stitches, getting a hold of a bottle of aspirin and consequently falling down the stairs, a bizarre preference for eating bugs off a tree, climbing any trees I came across, attempting to run away from home (only to end up at the bottom of the driveway before turning back to the house), and trying alcohol for the first time.
The first time I snuck a drink of beer was nothing to write home about. My siblings and I found an unopened can in a ditch near the house. We didn’t want to get caught, so we went up to the tree house to try it. Obviously, the taste was absolutely horrible and I wondered why people drank it if it tasted so bad. My second time sneaking alcohol was better. The brand was called Zima and it was milder and bubblier than the first one.
By the time I became of age, the brand no longer existed, and so I never got the chance to remember the experience.
My mother decided it was best if I went to live with my father. She put me on my first ever plane ride to go live with him. This created tension in our relationship and to this day, I still have very little contact with her.
As with the rest of my family, she essentially became a stranger after I left.
Becoming an only child was a new experience for me. I enjoyed the special attention, but with no one to pester and annoy, it was easy to get bored with being alone. I missed running around with my brother and sister. I kept mostly to myself and chose books over having friends.
My peaceful, only child phase had an expiration date on it.
My time with my father wasn’t as rosy and special like it was in the beginning. My younger sisters came along and things drastically changed.
It was a very dark and traumatic time. And not something I am ready to share just yet, but I will dedicate a post at a later date to share my demons and dark side.
Until the Spark,
Speak Love. Spark Connection.
Kat
Comments