Category Archives: 3 years
3 or 4 years old-Location Uncertain
I do not know who I was living with. I do not know where I was. I did not know where my bio-mom was, and neither did they. I had over head the “parents” of the house talking. It was Christmas time. We (they) did not have a chimney. I remember a wood stove. I do remember that because I asked how Santa would get in the house.
I was worried!! How does a big fat man get down a wood stove pipe?? They told me they would leave the front door unlocked for him. That satisfied my little mind.
One morning my uncle (bio-mom’s brother) poured me a bowl of cereal. With the cereal came out a prize. Not your usual toy surprise either, but several roaches. Large and small. He picked them out of the cereal and with me crying and tears falling down my cheeks he made me eat the cereal.
This is the same uncle that threw dishes out the back door instead of washing them.
Grandmother (bio-mom’s mom) used to make me coffee milk to have with her in the mornings when she drank her morning coffee.
There are SOME good memories in this head of mine
Notice again… Where is my bio-mom???
3 or 4 years old-Texas
I am laying at the foot of a tall thin bed with an old woman. I am looking out the window at a light-up gas station sign in the air. I fall asleep looking at that light. That light was my security. My bio-mom worked there. I was in bed with her mother, my grandmother.
I remember that house always seemed dark. The darkest room was my bio-moms room. I was very seldom allowed in her room. I remember a dark velvet bed spread and the windows did not let outside light in. A prediction of my life to come?
I did not have a room or bed of my own in that house. I was an afterthought like the dog that was chained in the yard that was barely fed. We were more in the way than cared for and loved.
3 Years Old
The sun is bright in the kitchen. I see a thin lady with dark short hair in an old fashion frilly apron. She is churning buttermilk. I believe I remember a cow in the backyard. I am a tiny little thing but of course at that age I think I am a big girl.
I take a turn at churning the butter. I churn for what seems like forever with my little arms. I churn until that stick gets so heavy I can’t lift it anymore. I can still remember my little arms aching. Of course if I was churning for two minutes I would surprised. To this day I love butter (just look at my hips for proof!) I hate buttermilk unless in recipes.
Oh, who was that woman? That was my birth certificate father’s mother. Where was my bio-mother? I would soon learn to get used to not knowing where she was in my young life.