Growing Up

         I grew up with hippie parents. Well, a hippie mother anyway. My parents divorced when I was three, and my mother moved in with this guy named Keith. Now, try to follow me here. Keith was married to my biological father’s sister years prior to my mother moving in with him. Which means, technically, at one time, he was my uncle by marriage. But, hey, he was good to me and I was only five, so what did I care? He is a truck driver, so he was not home very much anyhow. He and I became very close, eventually. They later married, and, to this day, he is my dad.

         My mom threw outrageous parties. I mean, I saw and knew things at five that I pray my kids never see or hear. I remember knowing how to roll a joint at six years old. I also recall all the party people thinking that was the coolest thing. I even sang a little song about how great pot was. I still remember the words. Maybe some of you remember it from your wild and carefree days. It goes "Homegrown's alright for me. Homegrown's the way it should be. Homegrown is a good thing, so plant those fields and let it rain." My mother's friends thought that I was the funniest kid around. I thrived on that attention.

         I remember having to step over passed out bodies in the morning to make my way to the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal. I vaguely recall a short period of time where there were mirrors and straws laying around, too, but it didn’t seem like that phase lasted very long. They mostly popped pills and smoked pot. I used to think that it wasn't such a bad thing because my mom would trade pills so we could have grocery money. I didn't realize until later that my dad had already given her grocery money, but she spent that on dope.

         We lived out in the country. The people my parents rented the house from kept their sheep in the fields on the property. I recall one of the party-goers being so drunk that he leaned over the fence and puked all over one of the sheep. I’m sure if the sheep would’ve been able to climb that fence, he would have bucked that idiot into sobriety.

         I don’t remember exactly when it hit me how wrong this lifestyle was, I just remember feeling that I didn’t ever want to be the person my mother was. Now, I know that she sounds like a horrible person and in reality, we probably should have been taken away from her. But, I love my mother. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve understood a little better why she did some of the things that she did. I’ll never completely understand, especially now that I have kids of my own, but she has changed dramatically and I forgive her.

         Despite all of the parties and drugs, I did very well in school. I was on the honor roll and I had friends who had never seen a drug, much less tried one. They were my salvation. I think that, when you grow up in an environment like I did, you either follow the same path, or you live as far opposite of that life as you can. I chose the latter, thank God.

         The one thing my mother did that still stays with me, she read bible stories to me. Not all the time, but once in awhile. That has always stayed with me. She never took us to church, but, those rare occasions that she would put everything aside and read to me, made a huge impact on my life. I now read those stories to my kids and I take them to church.

         I’ve made my own mistakes with my kids. I’ve been divorced and I yell at them too much. I used to blame my mother for all of my problems. I hated her for awhile. But, hate never got me anything. I spent two years in community college. I work full-time and we have a pretty decent life. I have a good husband who has beliefs as strong as I do.

         One thing still bothers me from time to time. When my kids ask me what my childhood was like, I’m not sure what to tell them. I don’t want to lie to them, but I don’t want them to think that their grandmother was a bad person. She is wonderful with my kids and would never dream of doing anything like that around them. I stopped by to see her last week and she told me that her and my dad got saved at church. I was so stunned. I'm so proud of her and I'm so grateful that God has answered those prayers. Talking to the kids about my childhood haunts me a little, but I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.