pdxnewneverneverland

Several days into unexpected unemployment for the second time in my life has once again brought me the dark place of uselessness to sit in front of this machine to try and express the inter turmoils that have been haunting my every thought since I was allowed to independently start thinking of them. I have been told before that writing would bring me joy as I do seem to talk quite a bit and tend to express more of myself to others than I should. Funny thing. More and more in my life I have heard the phrase “the gift of gab”in reference to my communication styles. I know my father had the same problem. He never met a stranger he didn’t know. I grew up rather shy, well at least until I was comfortable enough with the person or persons to start my mouth-a-runnin. Then it usually took a harsh comment to shut it up. As I grow older it seems of course to become more comfortable to say whats on my mind. As I started to grow more comfortable in my own skin, so did the words falling out of my mouth. I have been told I could out charm a snake. I am “a social gal” yet when the time comes..the night grows quiet..somehow..its myself I find responding to my thoughts.

I was never quite a normal girl. I have been told by the metaphysical types in my life that we chose are own place in this world. That somehow before we are born we chose the family and situations we will be born into. Sometimes when I am feeling good about my uniqueness that it is true. Most of the time faced with the challenges of my very existence (self created or not) I tend to differ. I find it hard to believe that no matter how old my soul may be that I one of such head strong and stubbornness would have excepted such a challenge of this life…the life of a girl named Jia

At times it is hard to figure out the truth of the mid 70’s. Everyone seems to have a different idea of what happened in those years of activism, and community living. From what I can piece together from as many unreliable sources as possible, this history is one of twists and turns of a revolution of independence. Independence…such a fine word for saying “we are not the norm” My mother and father met as my mom was trying to fight the world as an activist. My father was in the Airforce. Trying to follow in the footsteps of his crazy drunk father who left him little about knowing how to be a man and even less about being a father. My father, ah yes. So little known..yet again..so much said. Born and raised in Iowa with a mother so scared of being a single mother she refused to admit that she ever was. She simply wouldn’t talk about it. My father grew up with so much self doubt in his little 5′6 blue eyes blond haired frame he was a perfect example of one who was not comfortable with the cards he has been dealt. Possibly it is hereditary? Who knows. Like my father..I grew up with that self doubt. Able to fine 150 excused that would all the the therapists nodding there heads in total agreement. What it came down to was environmentally we had every reason to be board certified nuts. Then again who didn’t? Oh yes..those who chose to take responsibility for feelings and emotions. Thats who and that my friend was NOT hereditary.I realize with this past few lines I have probably posed more questions that I have given information to start forming the picture…the story. I haven’t even gotten to my birth yet.

So many story’s intertwined with person opinions formed before I was even born makes the pathway to my birth a difficult one to map. So lets start…less questions more information. Ok so like I said the facts are not quite so clear as to how it all took place but from what I have gathered here is the gist. Then we can get on with my living years. Ones I know the facts. As twisted as they may have become in my own head. They are mine the way I remember.

I has been told my maternal grandmother and grandfather lived in Pittsburgh, PA. Good Roman catholics that they were had 5 children. Last one my grandmother gave birth to in her mid 40’s had down syndrome. Changed things a bit for them. No longer were the the normal Irish Italian family. They were struggling to survive. The family in and out of money as they went were coaxed by the shady uncle to move to Vegas were the jobs were plenty and anyone could strike it rich. Off they went packin the family of 7 off the the new land of promise late 60’s. As I stated before my mother in her late 20’s was an activist. It was the right thing to to for a young person at that time. She no longer embraced the normalcy of the American dream she new she would never reach. Her father dying of heart disease and watching her mothers emotional balancing act as she was trying to figure out “what the fuck to do next” Must have been a funny thing to meet my father. Corn fed Iowa boy. In the air force living the American dream yet not quite normal himself. What I wouldn’t give to have watched that unravel myself so I actually knew the facts. I have never been told about the courtship. My mother said he was cute and funny. My father never speaks of actually liking my mother. Sometimes I get frustrated with his stubborn hatred for my mother but whats the point of trying. Facts are facts. He married her didn’t he? Must have said I love you some place down the line. She didn’t create six years of marriage and two children on her own. He took an active role. He had to have.

I was only 8 months old when my parents separated. My dad has a billion theory’s about how what when and why. My mother simply states “we separated” My older sister twin in looks. Same bright blue eyes as I. Same pinkish rosy pale skin. Same brown curly mess of hair. Every hairdresser I have ever been to has always been in astonishment “you don’t really have thick hair..you just have so much of it” Needles to say its hard to get a good haircut. Only thing keeping my sister and I from being same-same is that she was born 5 years older than I. She has always had a hard time with the separation of my parents. I believe it was because she remembers it. She remembered a time when my parents were in love. She was the only child adored with creative bursts of a “new age” I don’t believe a day went by both my parents didn’t assure her she was loved and she could feel free to be a child. Sounds nice hu? Sounds nice until a new baby sister comes you are not the center of that world you see if forever changing. My heart still aches for that sweet sister of mine who had to endure everything I was excused from simply due to the placement of my birth.

My dad was asked to leave the commune farm we resided at in Oregon. Based on my mom presenting my father with the fact she knew his only need for going to college was to meet women and was well aware of his many affairs. My father wasn’t one for the solitude a county farm gave and needed more affirmation that he was still a handsome man. One affair leaving a young girl pregnant. This left little place for any of the farmers comfort. My mother left shorty after. I think my mom left simply for the fact she needed money. The self sustainable lifestyle of a commune farm can really only be taken so far when you have a car payment and two children.

I am not really sure what happened with my dad at that point. I think quite a bit of couch surfing for some years. He always had quite a few friends and always had lots of girlfriends. I don’t know how active he stayed in those years as a father but I don’t think it was much. My sister once told me a story of a few years after the separation of my dad coming to pick us up and hitch hiking someplace that she was scared. All seems weird to me. I don’t remember..so what ever. My dad was simply a lost man.

Around that time my grandmother moved out to Oregon with my down syndrome Aunt to help out my mom. Thats what she said any way but its been said time and time again it was the other way around. For my mom to help out with my aunt. We were a unit of 5 women, all crazy, retarded or getting there. This is mostly how I remember growing up. Dad was there in and out but different. We had a life with dad and a different life with mom. He was the weekend man. Sometimes. My memories start around the time he met his current wife who had to children of her own. She was everything my mother was not. German. Skinny sharp features as well as a sharp tung. She had very little patience for me. I swear I acted out most of the time in spite. That and the fact I was a child who was still trying to figure out who my dad was and what it all meant. Most of the weekend visits I have to say were not comfortable. I always felt like the visiting team.

Then came the time when all that I had figured out about my dad was destroyed. I was going into the 2nd grade. Still way to young to process all that had taken place in my few years. My dad anounced he was moving with his new familt to Atlanta, GA. I am not sure what my inital reaction was to all of this. I think I was excited that I would gwet to go visit a new place when he got settled. This is wear things get fuzzy for me. It was hard. I remember that. With ever passing month that went by, letter after letter pictures of the new life they had it grew harder. I had posted a map above my bed with map tacks showing the point from me to dad. I placed string from one end to the other often having to repace it after breaking it from tracing my finger from one end to the other as I fell asleep. As the moths went by I realized we were not going to visit him. The cards letter and pictures slowed down as he busied in his life. I waited. My mom infuriated. As I became angry at him for leaving me behind my nightmares started to evolve. I cant say or blame my dad for all of my emotional upset as I was living with my aging crazy Grandmother and down syndrome aunt who always cause a glance or a look as my insecurities grew.I think they were all factors. I was starting to “have issues” Then EVERYTHING changed. We got a letter-not a phone call. We got a letter letting us know my step mother was going to have a child soon. Soon? How long had he known and not told us? A baby boy. I was no longer the baby anymore. The boy my father always wanted was about to be born. We were old news. Just as my sister felt. I should have wept for myself.

Trackback URI | Comments RSS