So I decided to go a different route for my healing time. I thought I would tell you my life story. I have gone back and forth telling you this because much of it is raw, embarrassing, painful, silly, sad, and downright vulnerable. But it is a story of hope and renewal – It is God’s story. To Him be the glory…here we go…
As a child I always felt secure and loved. My mom and dad gave me hugs and kisses every day. My parents seemed to love each other and each played their part in what we called home. My sister, we will call her Pedes (pronounced pee d’s) was three years younger than I was. I also had an older half sister that didn’t live with us until we were older. We will call her Kissy.
My father worked many hours providing for our family. And provide he did. We lived in an upper middle class neighborhood. I never remember being in want for anything. My parents were not extravagant by any means. We were very comfortable. My dad made a very good living and we reaped the rewards of his hard work. He was a quiet man. He is not one to bring up topics for discussion. I remember growing up and having dinner as a family and he would stare at me with his deep, blue, piercing eyes not saying a word. I often wondered what was going on in that head of his. Mostly I just thought he wanted to make sure I ate my vegetables. I remember thinking my dad was so big, tall and handsome. When I wore a dress for a special occasion I remember being so nervous with excitement when I walked down the stairs to show my dad my new outfit. He would always give me a whistle, which I knew meant I was beautiful. In my little girl world, he could do no wrong I just wished he were around more.
Then there was my mom. It seemed like everyone came to her for advice. She is a very strong and opinionated woman who exudes confidence and I think people gained comfort from being around her. She was the rock in her family. She is very beautiful and I remember when I was really little her shiny brunette hair and how it shined in the sun. My mom lights up a room when she enters it. She loves to laugh and tell jokes and everyone enjoys being around her. She is a passionate women with strong ideas and an intense love for her family. But boy was she a yeller. When I was in trouble the high octave “Rebecca Marieeee!!” sent me a-running. My mom always said I never listened to her unless she yelled. It was probably true. Her normal voice didn’t strike the fear in me like her yellin’ did.
My childhood was filled with make-believe and adventure. I had an imaginary friend named Jamie. Jamie lived in our basement and I would visit him and tell stories about my day. My mom thought I was crazy but it turns out the doctor said, “She is just a very creative little girl.”
Then Pedes was born. My make believe world came crashing down when I couldn’t be the center of attention anymore. I used to pinch Pedes and feign ignorance when my mom asked “Why is Pedes crying?” But Pedes loved her big sister. Like any big sister I didn’t want Pedes around. She always wanted to do whatever I was doing and that annoyed me.
I went to Catholic grade school. I got to wear a beautiful (cough, cough!) brown and white jumper with yellow running through it. I remember in first grade I had a nun for a teacher. Sister Judine was her name. The habit she wore always made me wonder what was under there. Did she have long hair, short hair, did she have any legs?
I pretty much went to school for PE, art and spelling. Art was on Fridays and I remember being so excited for those days. All the vivid colors of crayons and paint, paintbrushes, glue, scissors, glitter, pipe cleaners, clay, construction paper, and my imagination was unleashed Friday afternoons from 1:00-2:00.
We had 35 students in our class. 18 girls and 17 boys. There was not any sub-groups in my class. You were either “in” or “out”. I happened to be queen of the “out” group….