30 Day Blog Challenge - Day 4

Day 4: Your parents

My parents. They are not perfect people. They do not know God. It's amazing that I made it out of that house alive at times. It's amazing that I found God after struggling through life.

Lets be honest though, it was not my mom's fault. Maybe it wasn't my dad's fault? Parent's really can screw you up if the child isn't able to adapt. Maybe they couldn't adapt to their home life. Dad's parents were hoarders. They had paths from place to place, inside the house, in the garage, out in the barns. Everywhere. They weren't ever there to help my parents out with us kids, we only really spent time with them if Mom or Dad were there. I can remember ONCE when my Grandpa Sawdy watched us when our parents went out shopping. We watched Cops and played Trouble. It was a good day.

My Mom's family were her savior when it came to raising us girls. They watched us every day in the summer when mom was on days. Aunt Patty took us places when she was on 2nd. Aunt Kathy used to take us places too, but that is a story for another day. The unfortunate story is that Grandma had a mental breakdown when her mom died, and from having five children her bladder isn't what it used to me...mixed with her not being "all there" she has accidents, all the time. Grandpa was an alcoholic. Not the violent time, the type that would sit around and drink himself into a stupor. He was a good man, but a man with issues. Grandma slid downhill after grandpa died.

So imagine growing up in these circumstances. How would that shape you? It shaped my parents. And in turn their parenting styles shaped me. Mom did great at making sure family vacations happened, that us girls were involved in extracurricular activities. She pushed us to do good, because it made her proud. She did these things because she missed out on them in her childhood.

My father was the opposite. He missed out on these things, so he wanted us to stop. No more girl scouts, no band, vacations were stupid until he got on them. To be honest, he has an anger issue, and probably some bigger underlying psychological problem. I can remember being afraid of him. Then I realized if I cowered in front of them, who would stand up for us?

My mom worked nights or second shift all through my school period, except in the summer, when she worked days. If I am honest, child protective services probably should have been called on dad. But even then, when we were older and they were involved with a case, it didn't help. All of my memories with my father are clouded mostly with pain. If not from the imminent story in mind, from pain causes shortly after. Disappointment, fear, pity, and disgust.

Along with my mom telling me sex wasn't anything big. I had my father tell me in seventh grade that all boys would want me for was sex. How is that for warm and loving? When playing games as a child, such as Don't Wake Daddy, he called me a wench when I beat him. At one point I called him out on his abusive language and actions. He threw the phone, it hit my leg, bounced on the floor and broke, not just the hand set either. He riped the entire station off the wall and threw it. I remember a pot of hamburger helper tossed into a trash can because us girls "didn't save him enough" when he was glued to the computer. His addictions: the computer/internet, hoarding, porn, and other women.

My first true memory of my parents is from when I was in DK. I remember dad sitting there with tears in his face, balloons and flowers. With mom cutting dad out of all the photos in the scrapbook. I never knew what he did, but now I do. He cheated. Mom forgave him. Second grade, same story another day. Except this time divorce papers were drawn. I remember the night he didn't come home. We left early in the morning to something, and came home. Dad and mom got in a fight, and dad threw a hammer, over our heads at our new big screen TV that mom had financed. These are my memories of my father.

He missed out on my wedding day because of his choices. Do I forgive him? Often, but it is a struggle to let him in. Because how many times do you allow yourself to hurt? But part of me says, what about him? Could you lead him to Christ? Isn't he hurting? For now, all I can do is pray. I am sure these emotions will come bubbling up to the surface more and more when James and I get closer to having children of our own. For now, it'll be three years in November since my father and I have spoken.

What about my Mom? She did the best she could. She stuck it out for us girls, it was a time when I believe women believed that it was better to have a poor father figure in a child's life than no father at all. Yet, she also failed to protect us at times. Failed to believe me. But, I remind myself of her past. And remember that no one is perfect. And instead think of times to the park, the zoo, vacations, girl scout outings, buying my clarinet. I think of these times and am thankful. I was blessed as a child, just not from both parents.

I think of my trying times as a child and wonder how I made it through some days. How my sisters are making it through. What ramifications will it have on their lives. Are they strong enough to thrive? I know that God made me the woman I am today, starting with the struggles I have had to endure and jump as a child. While others will become down cast, I will rise like a warrior chick. Out of the ashes I will become beautiful. I am beautiful. I am enduring life and struggles. God knew what he was doing, even if at times my parents did not.

♥ Jessica