I am proud to say my age- 52 this past June 16th, 2013. There are plenty of gray hairs in my red head status to prove I earned the title ‘mature adult’, and as my grandmother would say. I never hesitate to speak up as an adult.
I am an outlaw from way back, but more of a Robin Hood on a thirteen year journey of healing from loss and self discovery. I am Gemini – known as the twin sign, but I am rarely in touch with my darker twin. Growing up, there were influences which gave me positive, I had no choice but to wallow in the positive.
This doesn’t mean I never tasted tragedy.
My father was an unstoppable alcoholic after the age of thirteen, and my mother was bi-polar paranoid schizophrenic who was un-diagnosed until I was out of the house.
In early youth I spent a lot of time in on the land owned by my father’s family acreage in west Texas, dirt so black only cotton got use of it, but eventually oil rose up through drilling rigs in the 30s and his family didn’t have to break their backs plowing. We still lived like our early pioneers did and found our own food- I grew up learning to rive (age 12) a car and tractor, fish, hunt, and grow a garden. My great-grandmother had a well in the back-yard. I never really knew my mom’s family outside of my grandfather who we visited in Nawlins. My father moved us to Dallas for a better job situation. My mother never worked outside the home. She tried one summer, worked as a seamstress in a bean-bag factory, but leaving three kids behind an easy open latch caused all kinds of problems.
At 18, I was robbed at gun point during an 11-7 AM convenient store job while in college. It happened while I was studying behind the counter for exams one early morning, 4:30. I was attacked emotionally and physically, and it shook me up for many years.
At age 20 I entered an abusive marriage (he was a good upstanding Christian member of church locally, his father was a minister). After 3 years I finally walked out, realizing no one would ever brutalize me again. At 25 I had my first live birth, a daughter Anelisa, she was born with CHD Congenital Heart Disease. There was no cure or surgery to fix her. We were told she would not live past four or five years old. It did not hit me until she was one year old that she would not survive. I walked out from the cardiologist office and carried her fate with me in silence, but she lived another thirteen years before her heart quietly stopped at 1:50 AM. I credit my own families strong endurance through life, and my good caring nature (and healthy cooking).
I have a wonderful (26) son who soon followed my daughter and is a joy in so many ways.
Six years passed as I still walked in the fog of grief trying to find reasons to go on. Raising my son and meeting my current partner in life held me together. I began writing again. It was the best damn thing I could have ever done.
I am back, stronger than ever, and a force to be reckoned with. There is a lot to catch up with, all these younger MFA savvy writers out there, but just try and stop me!
My newest genealogy discoveries are-
I am Cherokee, father’s mother’s side- grandmother who was taken during a raid in Stamping Ground, Kentucky under the watchful eye of Daniel Boone.
Both sides of my family in the long run are of Scottish descendants- My father comes from William Akin, who arrived in in 1729, and was part of the “Lists of Scottish Rebel Prisoners Transported to America in the Aftermath of Culloden-1746.”. It was interesting to discover he did not come over on his own free will. And my mothers side- Kennon; the descendant arrived at age 90 on the shores of Virginia, only to die six years later, and has embedded lineage in the Founders of Jamestown, Virginia, and grandaughter who married into the Robert Bolling family. Due to war records I could also be part of the Daughters of the Revolutionary War, but at this point there will be no pursuit.
Why would I share such strong negatives and personal information with you? Because we are all meant to touch each other if for a second or a lifetime, so lets touch…