Growing up in Michigan was eventful to say the least. I didn’t grow up poor, but we didn’t have money either. We never went without, and my parents or grandparents always found a way to come through.
I grew up in a small town called Durand with a population (at the time) of 2,784. This was one of those small towns where everybody knows everybody. Nothing gets by anyone, and you do one stupid thing (in my case more than one) It sticks with you. I didn’t have a lot of friends, but I did have a tight knit group.
Stupid decision after stupid decision, you start drowning in your own misery. Of course there are no excuses, but the lack of parental guidance didn’t really help. There were no consequences to my actions, which at the time I thought was great. As I got older I realize everything I was deprived of. No consequences or strict rules. It’s true what they say, take an orphan let him grow up in a family of doctors, 9 times out of 10 he will become a doctor as well. Well take a kid that has a mom that works her butt off to make ends meet and a father that works to drink. You get well… me.I could have turned out a million different ways, but I learned what NOT to do. & I am thriving off of that.
Growing up in a mentally and sometimes physically abusive home does take a tole on you. I can remember A specific cold Winter night. I was about 12 and my brother 7 or so. My dad would come home plastered from the bar. It’d be 2am, a school night and he’d slam the door, come in screaming. Screaming about how the dishes weren’t done, or about how lazy us kids(my brother and I) were. He’d go into the bedroom and slap my mom around, I could hear because their bedroom is right next to mine. She’d beg him to stop, they’d call each other names, until he snaps. He’d push her into the hallway, hold her up on the wall by her throat, she’d scream out “call the cops”! I’d grab by baby brother from his room, wearing whatever we could throw on, I’d run to my neighbors house, ask to use their phone, and I would. I would call the cops. My mom would be so angry with me. “Why would you do that! Call the cops on your dad?” But didn’t she tell me too? Wasn’t her life on the line? This happened often, until I got too scared to call the cops. We’d just wait it out, until he had calmed down. Even if he locked us out of the house, it was useless getting anyone else involved. We were the neighbors, with the problems that everyone overlooked.
Sometimes he wouldn’t even come home. Living in a small town a lot of local bars would stay open longer than most. We’d get in the car, around 2-3am on a school night. My mom would drag me out of bed beg me to come with her. If I came he’d listen to me. We’d go in and out, bar after bar. I remember going into one with a spinning drum set. I won’t forget it, I was only 8 years old, the bartenders would scream get her out of here! So on to the next. Finally we’d find him, passed out at the back of the bar, an empty table. He had a black eye, his lip was bleeding and he had a full beer in front of him. He’d wake up and insist on finishing his beer before we could leave. Then my mom would help him walk out to the car and help him into the house. These nights were better than most, because at least he was so drunk he would just go to sleep. I could go to sleep, only to wake up for school in a few hours.
We were branded, everyone knew who my dad was. Most of my friends had grown up let’s say a little more privileged than I. They weren’t allowed to come over. The house with no rules, the house with the dad that passes out drunk, the house with the crazy mentally unstable mother. Once any parents (in their right mind) got wind of anything going down at 201 Fauble, their kids would slowly stop coming over. I didn’t mind it, I was used to it. Besides that meant I could go to friends houses more often, get away.
My mom always wanted me to participate in sports, specifically dance. We didn’t have the money for it, but my grandparents paid for everything. My mom had me in every sport, “if you’re in sports you’ll stay out of trouble, you’ll be in with the right crowd”. What does that even mean? Right crowd? Dance was my getaway for a while. My happy place. Until it wasn’t fun anymore. I’ll never forget, I was going through some MAJOR life changes, prosecuting one of my closest family members. (We’ll get to that later) My mom told my teacher to take it easy on me. I’m going through a lot. My mind isn’t there. I shouldn’t have gone, but we had competitions every weekend, the bustle never stopped. She was the toughest on me she had been. She was mean, ruthless, she’d break me down and make me question my life. I truly wanted to kill myself. The stress at home, the stress at school, the stress at dance. How much stress can a young girl handle?
The fights got so bad, my dad started pushing my brother around, and mentally abusing me. He hated us. He had too, why else would he treat his family this way. What did we ever do to deserve this. It was so stressful for my mom. My poor mom. Driven insane by his control. At the age of 10 or 11 I watched my mom stand in the kitchen holding a butchers knife up to her self, screaming she was going to do it. She was going to kill herself. My brother and I frantic. Screaming, crying, “Please mom,Stop!” My dad, laughing, egging her on. “You crazy bi**, do it, you won’t do it. You’d make my life easier.” I wonder if my brother remembers? Remembers as vividly as I do.
I remember coming home from school, my mom in the bathroom, racing around, telling me to call an ambulance, my dad fell in the bathtub and split his head open. she had towels all over the floor, there was blood everywhere, his pants were down, he was taking a piss when he lost his balance and fell backward. He knocked over the shower curtain and hit his head on the faucet. The ambulance rushed in. I remember wishing to myself. I wish he’d die.
The older I got the more I said “fu** it” I would drink, I did drugs, I’d hangout with boys. Anything to get away. To numb my fucked up life. You’d think that I would learn, learn what not to do from my dad, but I fell down. Deep deep down into this rabbit hole. & this, this is just the beginning, I haven’t even gotten to high school yet.
This thing called Life 