Going, Going Back, Back to Cali, Cali!

This post marks the halfway point of my goal for the year. Number twenty-six of fifty-two posts I planned for this year! This may seem like a small feat to you but to me its monumental. This time last year I could barely eek out a single page, double spaced, with sixteen-point font!! I was…

Don’t Know Body Want Cho Ass!

I didn’t know how to date. Honestly, I am not that good at it even now. I just wanted to meet the ONE and be together. #Neo on a side tangent. It’s silly but every time I hear the phrase “the one” I think of Neo from the matrix! Back to my point though, I didn’t want the process of dating this guy or the next guy. Didn’t want to spend time trying to figure out who they were and getting past their representative.

The drinks were many and good decisions were few.

I never thought I would be the drill team type. That sounded like extra work and it would take away from my weekends and so I was not really interested. The tour was just a formality, something that was standard stop on the base tour. Once we reached the home of the Crackerjacks (they were named after the traditional navy uniform) I was a tad intrigued. I was told that while being on the team did require some of your personal time, there were major perks. All students in A school had to meet up early in the morning and march in large groups to school, team members did not. All students had to have monthly uniform and room inspections team members did not. I was sold!!

Moving… Again

We would challenge each other, we made a pact that we wouldn’t become statistics and had a strict no profanity rule.I was able to developer friendships that extended past school hours. I was with them when the news about Marvin Gaye died.
We sat on Tasha’s steps and cried. After the last tear had been spilled, we combined our loose change and went to the corner store for a bag of penny candy. Squirrel Nuts, Mary Janes, Jolly Ranchers, Jaw Breakers, and loose Now & Laters. Life was good.

Fire!

Nights in the apartment produced voices that only my mother heard. She would fight against the voices with prayer and reading the Bible. She would sit us in a circle and read to us from the Bible. If our young eyes got heavy, we would be awaken by yells or a hit upside the head. Some nights my mother had to compete with our neighbor who would play Queen’s Another One Bites the Dust. I never recall meeting this neighbor, but my young impression was he was crazy. I was becoming fully exposed and recognized crazy.

M&Ms Part II

Riding on the train from New York to Chicago was pretty uneventful. My mother sat quietly for the majority of the way, I honestly think I was getting on her nerves with all my questions. When she would talk, she would mention the M&Ms and how she couldn’t wait to share them with me. Chicago…

Price of Telling Your Story

I am blocked. It’s not a true writer’s block, more like I might not be ready to deal with the aftermath kinda block. The first eight years, I was able to romanticize the abandonment I felt as a result of both parents not being in my life. I skipped through the sexual molestation I experienced…

Playing at Love

Love is another one of the words that I have struggled to truly understand. I grew up in an environment where I didn’t feel loved in the way stories, movies, and TV shows described it. I knew my parents cared about me, but I honestly didn’t feel loved and therefore had no real-life reference for what love actually felt like or really was. I had only the perfect stories from sources not based in reality. The sad part is while I longed for that perfect love, deep down I didn’t feel that I deserved it or would ever actually have it.

M&Ms

There was as a buzz of excitement in my world, my mother was traveling from Chicago to pick me up so I can go to stay with her and my little sister in Chicago (apparently I have a little brother too, but I never met him). Grams had managed to find my a full luggage…