Santa Will Pass Us By

There won't be much of a Christmas for us this year. Santa Claus will pass us by and leave us nothing again. I hate to share that this isn't the first Christmas where we won't have any presents under our little fake ghetto Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. We can't even get a lump of coal for being naughty. We just don't come up on that man's radar, or humanity's radar for that matter.

I'm sure by now, the shop that had my Betty has sold her out from underneath me because I just couldn't come up with the cash to pay for the repairs she needed. I've spent the whole year unable to find work. I'll work for H & R block for this up coming tax season, but that begins in January, after Christmas. And after April 15th, I'm back to being unemployed. Although, I'm trying to be hopeful that I will have found a new full time job by then. One with some benefits would be nice. I haven't been to the dentist in nearly ten years now. I have a broken molar that could use some attention. Thank goodness it doesn't hurt.

What does hurt is not being able to give my children a Christmas with presents. Yes, I see it as a gift and a miracle that we still have a roof over our heads and aren't homeless. And thanks to foodstamps, we'll have a decent Christmas meal at least. But it's hard for my children to grasp the gravity of the situation. They know there's no Santa Claus, that Mom is the one responsible for making sure there are presents underneath the tree. But they really don't get why Mom is failing to live up to her responsiblities. And since their fathers have never been active participants in their lives, they know not to even expect a Christmas card from them. My mother will come through on a few gifts for them. But she's elderly and disabled, so it won't be the things they're wishing for.

As for me, all I want for Christmas is to be gainfully employed, to know every month that the bills will be paid and how I'm going to pay them. To be able to afford a decent vehicle so I can take myself to the grocery store and not have to bother anyone else for a ride. To be able to afford the American Dream of my own home for my family, where I could make sure they are all safe and warm forever.

I've tried writing Dr. Phil. I've tried writing Oprah. I've even written President Obama twice, but nobody seems to care. Even those that have plenty, are afraid to share. I don't get it. I've never been rich. But if I have a way to help someone out, I do. I guess my story isn't interesting enough. No one cares about a little interacial woman and her two interacial children, a son who is ADHD with Torrets Syndrome and Schisophrenia, and a daughter with Asberger's Syndrome, a form of Autism. As they get older their needs become greater and I fail them daily.

I know I have no one to blame, but myself. I had no business having my son at fifteen. I did stay in school and earn my high school diploma. I did go to college and earn a Bachelor of Science in Education, but I've not obtained the right education or something. I continue to be a unique individual which just seems to rub many people the wrong way. I'm horrible at making and keeping friends because I don't like to let anyone get to close. Because it seems like when I let people get close, I always get burned.

So Santa Claus and the spirit of Christmas and the charity that goes with it will pass us by again. As usual, there won't be anything under our tree. I keep wondering why God keeps me around when I can't seem to get anything right. And I don't have the balls to do the world a favor and stop myself from sucking the oxygen away from everyone else. I don't mean to be a drain on society, but it seems that I am. And I just don't know how to make things better. Nothing I've been trying works.

Identity for Sale

Identity for Sale.
Anybody out there want to be me?
I'll happily sell you my life. Maybe you can do better with it than I have. There's only my crazy mom-ster to put up with who may or may not kill you. And my dad who's a drug dealer/pimp. My son just recently lost all his marbles and shot an arrow at the Lorain City Police in Ohio and threw a sword at them. Thankfully, the police weren't trigger happy and only tazed him. Tazing's good. My boy's still alive at this point and charged with two felonies and a forth degree misdemeanor, and he's my good kid. My daughter lives with me here in Utah and she's my difficult child who's driving me crazing with her hate for cleanliness and organization.
Once you take over my life, you'll also have to put up with being unemployed despite having a Bachelor's of Science in Education. Oh, and you won't have a car either. You'll have to take the bus and bum rides from others. Your best friend will have slept with your fiancee and you will find yourself very alone in the world.
The perks are despite only being 5 feet tall and weighing about 210 pounds, you will look much younger than you actually are and when you tell people you're the mother of a 23 year old and a seventeen year old, their mouths will drop open.
You will also be nearsighted and unable to find a good man to spend your life with. You'll also be an LDS convert and unable to drink, smoke or have sex with anyone that's not your legal spouse and you don't get a spouse, sorry. And right now I would really like to have a beer, a cigarette, a roll in the hay with a reasonably good looking man and a cup of nice hot stale truck stop coffee with lots of cream and sugar would really hit the spot. But you won't be able to have a cup of coffee or tea either, sorry.
You will enjoy writing short stories and poems, but no one will be interested in reading them. You'll also enjoy sketching and drawing floor plans for homes. But you won't get to live in a house. You may experience brief bouts of homelessness, but currently you'll be residing in a two bedroom basement apartment that was built in the fifties and is way over due for some serious remodeling and repairs. And there's no shortage of spiders down there.
If you are interested in purchasing my identity or have a reasonable trade to offer, you'll find me in Layton, Utah which is a nice little city. I'll either be walking about or on the bus. Just look for a short roundish Native/African American woman who looks about 28. But I'm sorry, you'll actually be 40.

Sing A Song Of Freedom

I sing a song of freedom,
I sing it from my heart.
I sing it loud, I sing it proud,
I have from the start.

There are many ways to be a slave,
To find yourself confined to a cage.
Perhaps you smoke, perhaps you drink,
Perhaps you work for minimum wage.
Maybe you're owned, maybe you owe,
Maybe you're out there all alone.

Yet no matter what your bondage,
You too in your heart can be free.
If you sing a song of freedom,
Just like me.
By: Ms. Renetta M. Corn 10/12/2009

Cyber Beggar

I have become so desperate that I have resorted to Cyberbegging. I have posted an ad on Craigslist to beg for help. The bill for my Betty's repair is so expensive I can't even get my church to help me with it. I've completely run out of savings and had to close my savings account. And I finally had to apply for public assistance.

I will say that they give us a generous amount of food stamps. But as for cash, it's only $399 a month. My rent is $500 a month and the only things included in that are the trash and water, thankfully. But the rest of the bills: phone, electricity and gas are all mine. No we don't have any luxeries like cable TV.

You don't have to be a mathematician to do the math on this one people. How long do you think it will be before we're homeless? Some of you may have plenty of family and friends to turn to, but we don't.

My add in Craigslist is headed: Need Help Paying 4 Car Repair, but I need money for a lot more than that. I have a job interview tomorrow and I'm on a list for potential employees for the IRS.
Wish me luck and say a pray for us. And hey buddy, you got a quarter?

Gruesome

Gruesome limb-from-limb a wander Warrior Hunter had Delilah, a beautiful pure princess of light.

Gruesome hard, cold, evil Dark Demon stole her away, stole his lighted love.

Gruesome was the hollow empty pain of the Warrior Hunter as he wandered alone searching for his Delilah.

Gruesome was the fight between the Warrior Hunter and Dark Demon to free his love Delilah.

Gruesome were the limb-from-limb remains of the dark evil hearted Demon that will harm the Warrior Hunter's Delilah no more.

By: Renetta M. Corn
Sept. 16, 2009

Assistance Please

I'm still job hunting and my car is still at the shop. The good news is my car is running again. The bad news is I don't have the money to pay for the repair. Total for an engine and suspension work: $3,186.86, OUCH! I got laid off back in December. I ran out of savings like a month ago and had to apply for public assistance.

Where am I supposed to come up with 32 hundred dollars? My car broke down back in January and it took them till last month to get to it. Now, I'm hoping they don't sell my car out from underneath me while I try to see if I can get a couple of agencies to split the bill. Problem is no one wants to cough up that kind of money for an old car. Except me because Betty is my baby. I'm open to suggetions. What do I need to do? Post a donations accepted here sign. Lay in the middle of the rode screaming, "I'm a single mom! Please, help me!"

Your guess is as good as mine. And there's nothing like good old reliable public transportation, NOT! Three different buses and two plus hours for something that should be a thirty minute ride sucks.

Trying to Have Faith

Okay, I'm pretty cranky right now because I'm hungry. I'm hungry despite the fact that we have been approved for food stamps and I was able to go grocery shopping today. Not just try to keep us from starving by buying as much as ten or twenty dollars would allow, which isn't much. I really got to grocery shop. For the first time today I used all of my reusable grocery bags.

The reason I'm hungry is I'm fasting and praying. Praying I do everyday anyway. Fasting is usually only done the first Sunday of the month. But when you really want and need something, you fast and pray on it. Or so my current religion tells me. I guess I'm about to find out if it really works.

My car broke down at the beginning of this year in January. It has been sitting at the shop since January 20th. They have put off fixing my car over and over again, telling me that this job is ahead of me and that job is ahead of me. When my car first broke down I had just been recently laid off, but I had money in my savings account.

Well as time has gone on, I have slowly drained my savings account paying my rent, utilities and buying groceries. All I have left in my savings account is $100. They finally said we have it in and we're working on it. I say I need an estimate, I need to know how much it's going to cost. Not the first time I asked for that. I'm told call back in a couple of days and we'll have an estimate for you. So I called back yesterday, Thursday, and they tell me it's going to be $3100 and it should be ready by the end of the day tomorrow.

Now, my church is awesome. It's full of great people. And I have an awesome Bishop that has given me a referral to the storehouse for groceries more than once. And a lady from Relief Society was happy to run me to two grocery stores so I could do all my grocery shopping this morning with my food stamp card. But a $3100 car repair?

I have an appointment with my bishop this Sunday at the end of the block. At this appointment I will inform him what the cost of my car repair is. What his response will be, I have no earthly idea. $3100 is a lot of money.

I pay my tithes and I make fast offerings. Of course, with no job, their hasn't been much by way of tithes and fast offerings from me. I try to make it to church every Sunday, I was really sick for a while and missed like a month or two. I'm not a person with a lot of faith, but I'm trying. I don't know where God is in all of this. Sometimes it's easy for me to see where God has stepped in and gotten me through hard times with the help of good friends and good Samaritans. Other times like now, I just don't know.

So as I sit here hungry with plenty of groceries in my apartment for the first time in a few months, because I'm fasting and praying that my church will come through for me, I'm trying to have hope, and I'm trying to have faith.

I really miss my Betty. Trying to job hunt without a car is a bitch. You can only do so much with the bus. And when a potential employer asks if you have reliable transportation, they do not want to hear: I live within walking distance of bus 627 and 470.

Sucks to be Me

I'm 39 years old and I've been a single mom since I was 15. I've already spent more than half my life being a parent. And while I love both of my children, being a single mom sucks.

Now, I said I love my children. That doesn't necessarily mean I like them. Because I really don't like my daughter much right now. The pictures I have up are from when I did like her. Now she's a 200 plus pounds cow with a bad attitude. She's not a jolly fat person. She's a bitchy one. The only thing I'm looking forward to with her at this point is that she will turn 18 in less than 2 years and I can put her out on her grand fat ass that's too good to wash a dish or pick up after herself.

If I sound bitter, I guess it's because I am. Can you have postpartum depression when your baby is 16 years old? I'm tired of everything always going wrong. Someone at church said God gives lots of difficult trials to those he loves best. I need a little less love if that's the case. I had another friend say that if he hadn't witnessed it for himself, he wouldn't believe it possible for someone to suffer through all the unlucky stuff I have. It's so bad that I pray to die in my sleep almost every night.

It's All A Big Joke

Sometimes I wake up and asks God why am I still breathing. After being unemployed for over six months I can't stand it. And I can't even draw unemployment because both of my last two employers were non-profits which do not pay into unemployment. So, I'm just SOL.

I've managed to stretch my meager savings out this long, but it really can't be stretched any further. I had a job interview yesterday, but I won't know until the end of next week if I got it or not. At this point it's hard to be optomistic. I got laid-off last December. Then my car broke down in January and it's still sitting at the shop.

Somewhere someone has got to be having a good time at my expense. Must be fun watching me struggle, watching me question my own selfworth, my own faith in myself, God and humanity. It's a nightmare that I can't wake up from. Sometimes people will say, "One day we'll all look back at this and laugh." Well, I don't think so.

Gold Dust

Me and my baby, we don't have much, but we've got love and beautiful dreams.
It's just like gold dust blowing in the breeze.

We work hard, even though it doesn't get us far.
Chasing that gold dust in the breeze.

Sometimes we're sad. Sometimes we're so blue, but we've got each other, and the gold dust blowing in our dreams.

Is it all gold dust blowing away from me?
Is there a happily ever after for those that dare to dream?

We want for so much, but all we have is our dreams.
I hope it's not just gold dust blowing in the breeze.

Cruel Irony

Irony is standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus a half a block from your own car.

Irony is while your standing there waiting for the bus hungry because you haven't eaten all day, you are surrounded by food: Kentucky Fried Chicken, Burger King, a steakhouse, a fish house, Bajio (mexican food), and Maddox chicken. But you can't have any because all you have is your two dollars in bus fair to get you home.

My Piece of American Muscle

Take a look at the pictures of the car on the left. That's my 1981 Chevy Camaro. My first muscle car. I call her Betty. I've own her for about six years now. And she's been sitting at the shop since January 20th, 2009.

Most women don't and won't understand my attachment for this piece of machinery. Most men will understand. I've had more than one person say to me that I'm overdue for a new car or at least a newer used one. But I don't even have the money for a newer used car, so it's not really up for discussion. Yet even if I had the money for something new, big and fancy, I wouldn't give up my Betty. They just don't make cars like this anymore.

I'm not saying that's an entirely bad thing because yes Betty is a humongous gas hog. I would really like to see her be more fuel economical, environmentally friendly and I wish she were a stick instead of an automatic :( But your average new car just isn't built to last. It's all about just buy a new one. They really don't want you to buy anyway. They make more money if you lease it. And I have no intention of making a house payment on a car every month no matter what. And I'm definitely not interested in owning a Fix Or Repair Daily (Ford).

I'm having trouble just paying my rent right now. If I don't find employment soon, like two months ago, we won't even have a car to sleep in. I don't think the guys at the shop would appreciate finding me and my daughter camped out in my car out front. Besides, Betty's bucket seats don't recline.

It makes me wonder. I saw on TV the other day where our first lady spent $550 on a pair of kicks (athletic shoes). What's it like to be able to throw money away like that? $500 is my monthly rent. And rent can get much more expensive than that around here. But this was what I could afford at the time and I can't even afford this now and public housing won't accept us because my credit is bad. Isn't that what public housing is supposed to be there for? For people who are having trouble financially?

Now I'm not mad at the first lady for her good fortune. I think it's wonderful that she's got a good man and her daughters are simply adorable. I'm mad that God doesn't love us all like that. Thousands of people are loosing their jobs and their homes here in the good old USA everyday. What does that say about our country right now? This is supposed to be the land of opportunity. But so many of us are never offered a real opportunity. We're set up for failure from the start with crappy parents and grandparents. And unless you were born with some extraordinary talent, if at the bottom you were born, then at the bottom you shall stay.

It's so unfair. I didn't pick my parents. And if I did, I want a redo. I'm tired of being passed over for employment I'm more than qualified for because I don't look the part. I'm a hard worker and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. So, what's the deal? Well, I'm definitely crippled transportation wise right now. There is a bus and a train, but neither runs twenty-four hours a day and not at all on Sundays. A potential employer isn't going to hire some one who can't make it all the hours and days they need you. It just makes me want to scream. It's got me spending way too mush time looking at my gun.

So, the next time someone has money like that to throw away, they should come pay my rent, or buy a bunch of canned goods and take them to the nearest food bank. Anything but waste it on an item of clothing you're only going to wear a few times. Just do something useful and helpful with it.

Color

Color, the world would be so boring without it. Yet it makes life so difficult for some of us. Color? Simply how we perceive different light rays. White, as far as light wave lengths is concerned, is actually the presence of all light wave lengths that make different colors. Wikipedia explains it differently, but this is how I understand it. While Black is technically the absence of light or light waves that we can perceive. Black is technically a non-color.

So, how did this thing called color come to be an identifier of race? Hell, if I know. I just know it's been a pain in my red, white and black ass my whole life. What's wrong with simply being a member of the human race. Why is it when someone meets me they feel the need to categorize me according to the color of my skill? And some people find it disturbing if I don't fit into the niche that they are comfortable with.

Now as far as my skin color is concerned, I'm quite fond of it. I have a year round, head to toe tan. People buy lotions to rub on themselves to try and appear as if they have what I've got. They spend hours laying in the sun or pay to lay in a tanning booth. Or if you're on Dancing With The Stars, they spray it on you. None of that nonsense for me. God blessed me with the skin I'm in and I like it.

Problem is many other people don't like it. My maternal grandmother was quite ashamed of me and my younger brother when we were growing up. It was as if we were a stubborn stain on her favorite blouse. The funny part is my grandmother wasn't as white as she believed herself to be. Her mother was Native American, but we don't know what tribe. Her mother had been taken away and given to white people to raise and they married her off to a German man when she was twelve or thirteen. Now as far as this man was concerned, his wife's heritage was not up for discussion and he raised his children to believe they were white and to live nice white lives.

That man would of hated my mother. With her beautiful thick chestnut brown hair and her green eyes, my mother, like her mother, easily passed for white. But the last thing my mother wanted was a nice white life or a white man. She seemed to gravitate to the darkest brother she could find just to make my grandmother squirm. And despite any and all shame my grandmother had for me, she loved me. I know that with out a shadow of doubt. Not every grandma would spit on your principal out of love for you just to make her point. That poor man. I wish I could remember his name, but I have trouble remembering my own.

Try to imagine my dilemma when my own preference for men is white men. Oh, there have been some very upset parents after meeting me. I was always up front about being part Native American, because I knew that African American would cause trouble. Where I was growing up in Ohio, it was a much bigger sin to be part African American than Native American.

Except no matter where I go or what I do, I'm wrong. I cannot ever be considered white. This is a fact. And it's a fact that doesn't bother me. No spray tan for me, thank you. I already have my own.

The problem has been that I'm not black enough. I act too white. I'ld like to hear someone tell Oprah that. Now it's not my fault I never learned to be a proper black woman. I really didn't have my father or his family to show me how. I understand my blackness through the eyes of my mother's family. A family that was ashamed of me and my younger brother. As far as white people are concerned, they don't care how well educated you are or what a good person you are. You're not one of them and never will be.

When I gave birth to my daughter, a very kind white nurse was good enough to inform that even though it seems I actually have more Native American blood than anything else, if there was any amount of traceable black blood, no matter how distant, you were black. But she called herself doing me a favor by listing my daughter as Native American instead of black. As if it were going to affect how much I love my child.

So I grew up with my mother's family that was ashamed of me. I really didn't start to really get to know anyone on my father's side of my family until I was in my teens, but I was already me by then. Other black girls often wanted to beat me up because of my hair. Apparently, I was supposed to think I was better than them because I had hair. Black men are often interested in me which doesn't help me get along any better with other black women even though I rarely meet a black man I'm interested in. Then there are those nice white boys that no matter how much they love you don't have the balls to stand up against the pressures of their families. They marry nice white girls to make their moms happy and live unhappily ever after themselves.

Me? I'm still hoping to find happily ever after. And no I'm not only attracted to white men. Others may apply. I'm also attracted to Asian men and Native American men, occasional a Hispanic male. Ricky Martin watch out. I've got my eye on your bonbon. And the last thing I need right now is to learn I'm not red enough. Some life lessons we can really do without.

Waiting For Light

My daughter is sixteen years old now. She made a couple of comments on my blog here. She doesn't often have anything nice to say to me, but her comments meant a lot to me. In a couple of years she'll be eighteen and I can put her out on her butt if she continues to be uncooperative.

It could be worse. As a person with Asperger's Syndrome (a form of Autism), she's not a people person. She's loud, rude and obnoxious. Sounds like a typical teen, I know, but she's not. Things I'm grateful for with her, she's not running the street getting high or anything and she doesn't have a boyfriend or anything so I don't have to make him disappear. She's actually fairly smart, but not smart enough. She could be a straight A student if she applied herself. But she won't, so she's basically a straight F student.

I just can't seem to get her to understand that this is the foundation of her life she's laying. We don't all grow up to be beautiful movie stars. Most of us just count ourselves lucky if we can have a half way decent middle class life style. I know I hate being alone. I hate that my children's fathers are assholes. It's not fair that all they had was me. But it could have been worse. My daughter understands this much. She's spoken to my mother on the phone a few times and her reaction is that grandma is crazy.

Crazy? I'm not sure I know what sane is. I just get up everyday and hope that today will be better than yesterday. I think that after a spend a few minutes trying to remember my name, and spending a couple of minutes being pissed that I woke up still breathing and I'm still me. I know it could be so much worse. I just don't want it to get any worse.

I'm one of those people who needs to be busy. I like to work and I'm a hard worker. I like being self sufficient. I don't like asking for help. I'm really bad at that. Usually, by the time I do that, asks for help that is, things have gotten really bad. So, by the time I asks for help I usually needed it months before that. I'm trying so hard not to be depressed, but it's hard when you're fumbling in the dark waiting for a little light to shine, just a little illumination.

TV Sucks

I shouldn't watch TV. It just pisses me off. I was watching some stupid show and they showed this guy interviewing Paris Hilton. I don't now much about this chic. I don't know what she's famous for or anything like that. I do know her parents are the hard workers and own Hilton hotels or what ever.

This chic, her parents must be so prous, seemed to have trouble stringing words together to make a sentence. And what this reporter guy was asking her about was her new buzz word: huge. I wonder if she can spell it. So apparently this chic, Paris, has graduated from using three letter words like hot to four letter words. Everybody give that poor pathetic girl a round of applause. And the dumb ass reporter is asking her how to say it, what's the proper way say this new word huge.

I've been speaking English here in the United States my whole life and huge is not a new word. Dude! Not only did I graduate from high school, but my Bachelor's Degree is in Education; specifically, elementary education, kindergarten through eighth grade. If you need directions on how to pronounce and say the word HUGE, come to me. don't waste your time asking that twit.

This chic couldn't survive a week of my life. My mother would of beat her dumb ass to death. I bet my father's advice that she's "sitting in a gold mine" would of went a long way with her. Oh wait, isn't she in some kind of sex tape. So, she is taking my father's advice. Well, I guess she'll never be broke. I guess I just have a little too much self-respect. Somebody's mother didn't teacher her how to respect herself.

I don't get it. I don't get how anybody could be that dumb even managed to make it to eighteen years of age or survive past that. That's why I rarely watch television. I don't watch any day time dramas. Once in a while I watch Oprah and Dr. Phil, the local news and I have a couple of shows I like. But my life has enough drama all on its own. I'm never bored. There are endless books to be read, endless things to be learned, endless things to experience. At the top if my bucket list is learn to ride a motor cycle. I can drive cars, automatic or stick, doesn't matter. I can drive an eighteen wheeler and I've even driven a small bull dozer. But I really want to learn to ride a motor cycle, and I'ld like to see my car, Betty, properly restored.

I don't know why more men aren't interest in me. I like a lot of the same things they do. Oh yeah, that's right, I remember. I don't take any shit from anybody. I would never let some guy tape me and him doing it. That's just so classless.

Failure

One day you're be-boppin in along in your eighteen wheeler thinking everything is fine and dandy. The next day you get a call from child protective services in South Carolina telling you they've taken custody of your children because your father has abused your daughter.

You cannot even imagine how hard it was for me to wrap my head around this. And at first I couldn't do it. It just didn't make sense to my brain. How could the man that's never even spanked me have abused my daughter? And the nature of the abuse left no eveidence. It was basically his word against hers? Who do you believe? Your daughter who does have a tendancy to fib alot and did admit to being up one night and watch something like this on TV when she should of been in bed? Or your father who you also know isn't a saint but you've not known him to do something like this? It's just not his M.O. (M.O. is short for mode of operation)

My father was a drug dealer and a pimp. His crimes were about money: how to make a dollar, and preferable a lot of them fast. Imagine my surprise when I would learn my father had been accused of something like this before back home in Ohio. But when there's a minor involved, for the protection of the minor it often isn't in the news anywhere. Things are kept quite. And then I would learn that a younger sister of mine had taken the rap for our father, saying she had had the inappropriate relationship with the accusing minor. My sister being a minor herself at the time about the same age as the other girl, what could they do? But I've learned that my father has a habit of getting his children to take the rap for him. That he got my oldest older brother to cop to a drug charge for him.

I guess when you have twenty something children like my father, none of them are special to you. They're just shields you can throw up as needed to protect yourself from being responsible for your own actions. My father told me I was too attached to my children. That my children weren't really his true grandchilren. That children by his sons were like children he fathered himself. But chilren by his daughters, my children, were "some other motherfucker's kids."

Both of my parents are great rationalizers. The laws that the rest of us abide by and follow don't apply to them. And I've figured out my father's rationalization on why it was okay to use my daughter to satisfy himself. Remember, I'm his "bastardly child." My parents were never married and my mother had had contact with other men near the time of my conception. His name isn't on my birth certificate and he's never claimed me legally. There were no DNA tests back then and one has never been performed. So, in his mind there is still the grand possiblity that I'm not his at all. And even if by chance I am one of his biological chilren, it's still alright because I'm his daughter not one of his sons. And somehow that makes it okay for him to molest my daughter because she's "some other motherfucker's."

My father really is a smart man. He was counting on my love and trust for him to trip me up, and it did. I had a hard time accepting and dealing with this, still do sometimes.

I was able to get my son back rather quickly. They let me have him back after about six months. I was very cooperative and did everything the child protective services asked of me. Yet it still took me four years to get my daughter back. It's made us both very different people. She's about hundred pounds over weight now and is the biggest pessimist I know. She was diagnosed with a form of autism called Asberger's Syndrome, but that doesn't explain the loss of the child I knew before this. That four years she spent in the system did ever so much more damage than the crime my father committed and got away with. It left a rift between us that I don't know if will ever be truely mended.

The only consolation I take from this is that I know my father is going to hell. While it might not say so in the Bible, I have it on good authority that there are some things even God doesn't forgive. That some crimes are unforgivable even in the eyes of our Heavenly Father. Doesn't stop me from wanting to kill my father. I think he should die a miserably long and painful death. I would put him down much too quickly and kindly. I really would like to see what would happen if he and my mother were in the same room now.

Ooops, sorry, there's another one of those unsightly holes in me. I'm leaking away. Be careful. You don't want to get any of me on your shoe. I'm really tough to get off. You'll have to toss them out and buy a new pair.

Except I don't do my daughter any good sitting in jail for killing my father, pity that. So, for my sake and my daughter's sake I moved us again. This time instead of going south I went west and landed in Utah. Not my idea, but God's. I wanted to live in L.A. where we would blend in better racially. No one here in Utah has been unkind to us concerning our race or anything like that. The schools here are really very good. I'm quite impressed. But neither me nor my daughter have made any close friends so far.

It's hard to let people get close to you after you've suffered through what we have. And I know all too well how my daughter is suffering. I was molested by a preacher when I was about three. Another one of those people you're supposed to be able to trust. And I really believe child molesters should get the death penalty. Why? Because when an adult violates a child like that, it destroys part of the child. Physical damage may heal and you may find aways to cope with and survive the unwanted and unasked for attention. But part of you dies. It leaves on of those holes I've been talking about where you start to leak away. I guess the lucky ones are dead or find a way to stuff up the hole. But I have so many holes now. I'm leaking away in places I never thought I would leak.

I attended church fairly regularly and go to the temple when I have the chance. My poor broken Betty isn't taking me anywhere lately as she sits at the shop here on Main St. in Layton, UT. Betty can be fixed eventually. But I'm afraid there are too many holes in me now for me to be considered viable. I am on speaking terms somewhat with my mother. But she blames me for what my father did to my daughter. I blame me too. But I still don't know how I was supposed to really know the Lord didn't bless me with at least one parent I could turn to. So, my mother's in Ohio which means I can't go back there where I actually have friends even if I'm a little short on reliable relatives. And the only people I miss in SC are a couple of old bosses. I really didn't leave behind any close friends.

So, here I am in Utah. A very pretty state by the way with lots of nice people. But without a job or a car on top of everything else, I'm feeling like a really big failure. I've failed my children and I've failed myself.

Alive and Kicking

Lord must have a plan for me because I'm still here. I didn't expect to be tho. I expected to die. Especially after I called the local PD for help and the officer dispatched to my home blew me off. Said they couldn't do anything because she hadn't threatened me directly and some other crap. Basically he said they couldn't do anything until I was dead. I was in my twenties with two young children. I didn't want to die. But I prepared to.

About a week after that talk with the officer who didn't bother to write a report and blew me off, my monster, I mean mother, was arrested by an undercover detective and charged with Conspiracy to Commit Agrivated Murder. My mother owned her own gun. Seems she didn't want to use it because it was registered and she didn't want it to be traced back to her. So, she attempted to buy a gun off the streets that couldn't be traced back to her. The undercover detective had made an offer to dispatch me himself for a modest fee. But my loving monster, excuse me, mother, declined his offer. She told him she wanted the pleasure of seeing my face as she put two bullets in my head herself. I feel so loved. Can you feel the love people?

About a year or so before this my father had moved to South Carolina as part of his retiring from drug dealing and pimping. He had informed me that they were really hurting for teachers and I figured while my mother was incarcirated was a good time to relocate. So I went down for a visit and attended a teacher recuitement seminar and obtained a teaching position for the following school year. I was sad to be leaving my job at the YWCA, but looking forward to a fresh start.

Except teaching in South Carolina didn't go well. From my experience, Southern hospitality is a myth. They still seem to be upset over loosing the Civil War. And my students' parents hated me. Apparently, they didn't want "no damn mixed yanky girl teachen" their 'childrens nothin." I decided I need a new career.

I decided to become a truck driver. But as a single parent with two school age children I needed assistance to attempt thjs. My father agreed that we could move in with him and he would look after my children for me while I was establishing myself as a truck driver. After I had obtained at least two years of over the road experience I would be eligible for local driving jobs that would let me come home every night.

It's really sad. I made more in one year as a truck driver, no college education required, than I did as a school teacher. We can pay a man millions of dollars to chase a ball up and down a field or a court and put it in a hole, a hoop or a goal. But we don't value the education of our children enough to pay their teachers a decent wage. And sad that people would be more concerned about a teacher's racial and geographical background than the fact that they're a good teacher.

I really enjoyed truck driving but I only got to do it one year. Remember? I trusted my father to care for the two most precious things in all of existence for me, my two children.

I love my father very much. He may have been absent from my life alot but I had a lot of respect for him. He was who he was and he made no apologies for it. Selling drugs and pimping were simply my daddy's job. Maybe your daddy was a doctor, lawyer or mechanic. That's very nice for you. I knew what he did was illegal but that was just the way it was. That was normal for me. He had never been mean or cruel to me. I had always felt I was special to him. He has never even once spanked me. Occassionally, there would be an off-color remark from him but that was to be expected. I understood that you had to take half of what he said with a grain of salt and the other half was just bullshit.

But he was retired from all that nonsense. He even got a real J. O. B. I really love my daddy. And I used to have a lot of respect for him. After all, he rarely drank and didn't abuse drugs himself. Number one rule for being a successful drug dealer is not to be a drug addict yourself. You can't make it if your using your own product.

Ah, but there would be a price to pay for my love and trust for my father. I just thought it would be monetary. I paid him $500 a month to care for my children and he had access to my checking account in case anything else was needed. I thought everything was fine. At least everything had seemed fine when I came home for my down time. But my daughter would pay the price for the love and trust I had in my father. I just didn't want to believe it. It wasn't part of his M.O. Turns out I'm no more special to my father than shit on his shoe.

My Own Worst Enemies

Everyone has someone that just hates them for no reason. Usually this is harmless. Everybody has somebody they don't get along with, just like they have at least one really good friend. But what do you do when the two people you love and trust more than anyone else on the face of the earth, do you the most damage?

I've gotten sone good advice from both of my parents from time to time. Best advice I ever got from my mom, "If you would be afraid for me to find out you're doing something, then you shouldn't be doing it." Best advice I ever got from my dad, "Just don't be anything like your mother and you'll be alright." LOL!

Then there are things I wish they'd never said. My mother, "Don't sleep with any ugly guys. I don't want ugly grandchildren." And "Trust me. I'm your mom. I only want what's best for you." That second was a flat out lie. My father, "You're a woman. You don't ever have to be broke. You're sitting on a gold mine." You need to keep in mind my father was a pimp for many years.

My mother raised me and I used to believe she was my very best friend ever. She didn't freak out when I got pregnant at fifteen. Her happy dance freaked me out worse than if she had been pissed. But she had been very supportive, watching my son while I finished high school. Offering to sign me out of high school if it was too much for me, I took a pass on that. I knew I had to finish. Then baby sitting for me while I went to college. Again she said if I dropped out, she wouldn't be disappointed in me. She knew I tried and that I was working hard, but she understood if it was too much for me. I don't know what made her say that because I never considered quitting college. My father had freaked out when I got pregnant at fifteen and wrote me a very nasty letter from his prison cell. Somehow I didn't take him seriously. How was a man, my father or not, going to tell me about my life and what I should be doing with it from a prison cell.

When I graduated from college, that's when things really started to fall apart between me and my mother. Up until that time I had always lived with her and I had never been on my own. But I was ready to leave the nest and nothing she could say or do now would convince me to continue to live with her. I had tried to move out before while I was going to college. While I was pregnant with my daughter, my second child, I applied for public housing. Living togehter in my mother's house was me, herself, my son and my younger mentally challenged brother, who was 19 with no independent living skills, and I was expecting my second child. The house wasn't going to accomodate us all comfortably. The logical thing in my mind was for me to get my own place for myself and my children. What would you do?

Well it can take a while for pupblic housing to come through; especially, if you need a two or three bedroom. While I was waiting and continuing to go to college as my belly expanded with my daughter, behind my back my mother signed my 19 year old mentally challenged brother with no independent living skills up for public housing. He being single with no children, only needed an efficiency or one bedroom. He got an apartment before me and suddenly my mother had me helping her move him into his little apartment a few blocks away from her home. After he was all moved in she said to me, "There, now there's enough room for the baby. You don't have to go anywhere. See what I've done for you. See how much I love you." And there was no reasoning with the woman. She made me feel obligated to stay and I still had more than a year of college left so I let my plans fall to the way side.

Now you need to remember that with my parents if they do something for you; especially something of significance, there is a price to pay, something they expect in return. I didn't quite understand this yet. It would take me a while to realize that that woman wanted nothing less than my soul, every little last piece of me, to the point that there was none of me for myself.

She kicked the manipulation and controlling into high gear. My college graduation present was a vehicle she never put in my name so when she got mad at me she could say, "and don't drive my car!" We began arguing on nearly the daily basis. My son had so many match box cars that he was busting them up with a hammer. I said not to by him anymore because he's just destroying them. She continued to buy them for him behind my back. She offered to put the car in my name and give me $6,000 if I gave her my children. Then she started making false reports to children services that I was abusing and neglecting my children. I was working, but I wasn't making enough. I signed up for different housing programs but they were taking too long. A social worker had to come out nearly everyday to check on the condition of my children only to note that my children were fine. They were healthy happy children. I was working three jobs and she used the money I gave her for the household bills to pay an attorney to sue me for custody of my children. But on the advice of the attorney, if she was suing for custody, I couldn't live with her. So she threw me and my two children out.

I took my son to stay with his father and step-mom so I didn't have to pull him out of school. My daughter was just a toddler so I took her with me to stay with relatives in a nearby town. She got an emergency custody order based on a bunch of crap, and I found an inner strength I didn't know I had. I called her attorney and started telling her things she didn't know about her client. Like how when I was 18 she held a gun to my brothers head threatening to kill him and herself if I didn't come home because she thought I was moving out, she thouhgt I was leaving her. I was threw keeping her secrets. I had my children back that same night.

I wish I could say that was the end of it but it wasn't. Stupid me, I love my mother, and I wanted a peaceful somewhat normal mother daughter relationship. I tried to mend things with her, but she just couldn't stop meddling. I ended up in court over the one time I actually did loose my temper with my son, and my purse was stolen. Because of the stolen purse, my rent check bounced. The landlady had me arrested for the bounced check and I spent my twenty-fifth birthday in the county jail, as if evicting me wasn't enough. Because of the eviction and my mother was making nice at that moment, I moved back in with my mother making it perfectly clear that this was only tempory until I found a new place.

Well, she did eveything in her power to hinder that process. I almost bought my first home, but that fell apart when my mother showed up at one of my jobs and raised hell. They didn't keep me after that and the deal on my house fell thru. My mother tried to cut me off from the world by setting the phone up so you had to put in a code to dial out. If I wanted to call someone, I had to walk to the payphone. It became so bad with the constant arguing, accusations of abusing my children, that I was a junkie and a prostitute and an alcoholic, I finally started to fall apart. I tried to check myself into the metal ward at the local hospital.

Finally after months of documenting everything they had observed, children services emergency evacuted me and my two children from my mother's home. We were technically homeless and in a motel room for a couple of weeks, they helped put a rush on some housing assistance for us and we moved into a three bedroom duplex. She had lost her case for gaining custody of my children, and had even lost her grandparents visitation rights. I had tried to reason with her, told her that with her mental instablity in her background they would never give her custody of my children. Asked her if what she wanted was for her grandchildren to grow up in foster care. And her response to me was, "If I can't have them, neither can you."

Anybody want to trade mothers? ...Anybody? ...Anybody?

You would think it would be over. She lost her bid fo custody and she even cheated herself out of her grandparents' visitation rights. But no she wasn't finished with me yet. Your probably asking yourself, well, what else could she do? The answer: she could kill me.

Obsticles

Having children has been a big motivator for me. Because I had my son at 15, I stayed in school and got my high school diploma. I don't know if I would of done it with out him. I just remember thinking I didn't ever want him throwing in my face that I didn't finish, and he can't.

College, I wasn't so sure how I was going to pull that off, but I enrolled in my local hometown community college and started there after high school. I decided I would worry about where to transfer for a four year degree when the time came. You know what they say: Where there's a will, There's a way. And when the time came, the community college had hooked up with a university for a university partnership program that allowed me to get my Bachelor of Science in Education right there at my local community college.

Such a blessing. I was so motivated then. I really believed that I was capable of great things. Now, I'm just tired. Tired of struggling just to get ahead a couple of inches, only to be shoved backward several yards. It's seems no matter how hard I try, I never make any real progress. I'm always picking up the pieces of my life and trying to put things back together. The problem is there's always a tiny piece of yourself you can't find, that is lost forever. After a while, those pieces become holes where you start to leak away.

My biggest obsticles have been my own parents, their greed, their selfishness, their constant lies and manipulation. I know now why they couldn't work things out as a couple. They are too damn much alike. Always trying to get over on somebody. Don't expect any favors from them. There's always a price, and it just might be more than you're willing to pay.

Damaged

If there's one word that describes me better than any other, it's DAMAGED. I come with a whole host of issues. But through it all I have managed not to become a substance abuser. That would be totally counter productive. I grew up watching the people I love destroy themselves slowly with drugs and alcohol. The people I loved best were my prime example of: How Not To Live Your Life. But I really didn't get to observe the opposite of that. Least wise, not full time. I got little peeks into how things could be better when I visited friends homes or went to church with them. But I was stuck trying to figure out for myself how to get that big house on the hill. I still haven't quite figured it out. Or I wouldn't be sitting here in a two bedroom apartment, jobless, carless, waiting to become homeless.

Yet I didn't make it to adulthood without ever screwing up along the way. I basically failed my freshmen year of high school. My mother wasn't a strict parent. If I went to school, fine. If I didn't go, fine. I never got in trouble for bad grades, but she would give me money for good ones. My freshmen year I spent hanging out with potheads and smoking pot. As long as I had a little cigarette money, that was all I really cared about and I could do chores around the house for cigarette money. But by the time freshman year was coming to a close, hanging out and smoking pot was getting old. I began to take a good look at the people I was hanging out with. Most of them were a good five or so years older than me. High school dropouts that still lived with there parents. So, I began to pull away from them. My mother was worried because I was hanging around the house reading and smoking cigarettes instead of running in the streets.

My mother's solution, introduce me to a guy. She had made a friend who had a son. I met her friend and the woman instantly loved me and wanted me to meet her son. That was new for me, a white woman that wanted me to meet her son and not stay the hell away. I was reluctant, but my mother finally talked me into going over to her friend's house to help her babysit one night. So, all the kids we were babysitting were in bed, my mother was sleeping on the coach, and I'm sitting in a living chair reading when this tall sun bleached blond walks in. He looks at me and looks around to make sure he's in the right house.

Long story short, I was pregnant before the end of the summer. I gave birth to our son a month before I turned sixteen. And he didn't walk out on me until our son was ten months old. That might sound horrible, but I had this precious little person who was dependent upon me. I became a straight A student. Not only did I graduate from high school, but I went to college. In the prom picture at the bottom of the page, I'm eighteen. My son was two at that time. And no that's not my baby's daddy, but a very good friend. My daughter came along while I was still in college. Her father dumped me because I got pregnant. As if I did it to myself.

But men don't want women like me. That are damaged physically, mentally and emotionally. They don't want strong women who can think for themselves and don't take any shit from anybody. They want you to be young and dumb. I stopped being dumb a long time ago and I'm not so young anymore. So, here I am. Me and my damaged self and not much to show for it. But I try to remember, I've still got me, and I like me. I like myself. I may not know how to pull myself up right now, but I'm a good person and God is with me. I just wish He was a hugger.

Humble Beginnings

Everybody has a beginning. In my beginning, like everyone else, are my parents. A not so black man and a not so white woman. Both of my parents have Native American blood. And they are both a couple of opportunistic users. My father was a drug dealer/pimp and my mother had drug abuse issues and I'm pretty sure she was also one of his whoes. I don't know when these two people actually stopped arguing long enough to concieve me. I've never seen them be in the same room without arguing. And they were never married, so to put like my father's attorney put it when my mother tried to get child support for me, I am their "bastardly child." By the way, she never recieved child support for me.

I didn't see much of my dad when I was growing. Sometimes he was around, sometimes he wasn't. Mostly, he was in jail. Now, my father isn't a dumb man. He was the first person in his family to graduate from high school and go to college. My mother did the best she could with the skills she had. Unfortunately for me and my younger brother, she's not a very good judge of character and we had to put up with more than one perverted boyfriend of hers. But she was a hard-worker for a long time. She always managed to keep a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs and food in the kitchen. It just took her forever to give up her extra curricular activities.

Techno Illiterrate and Desperate

OK, here goes. I'm not up to date on all this kind of stuff so I don't know if I'm doing this right. I just know I'm going crazy and I'm a wee bit suicidal. I was laid-off from my teaching position at a nonprofit private school 5 days before Christmas. Then on Jan. 2oth my car, Betty, a 1981 Chevy Camaro, broke down and she's been sitting over at Simmons Auto on Main ever since. I'm going nuts. No car! No job! No sex! I haven't been on a date in like a decade. It's all driving me crazy. Blogging, Twitter and stuff is all new to me so I'm probably screwing this up. Even this lap top I'm using isn't functioning correctly. The screen is black and so I can see what I'm doing I hooked up my monitor from my broke down PC to it. The desk top PC doesn't work and my laptop does except for the screen so I rigged the two things that work together. No car and No job equal no money. So as soon as my pitiful little savings has been drained paying rent, I expect me and my daughter will be homeless. My daughter's probably the only thing keeping me from blowing my brains out. Although, she just might be better off without me. And because the last two places I worked for were non-profits, I can't collect unemployment. If my life got any more wonderful, I might crack a smile.