Oh you know the song “said her name was a hand me down name", mmm, love me some Tim McGraw. What was I saying, oh yeah... That’s me. I love my hand me down name. I was named after two of the most loving women I have ever known, my grandmothers. My Mammaw is Lydia and my Nanny's middle name was Annette. When I got married I just changed my last name cause there was no way I was willing to drop my middle name. My mom and dad were both teenagers. Probably would of been a great 16 and pregnant couple. I look at pictures of how beautiful my mom was and think, she could have become so much but there was young love, fall to fast love, quick to end love. I was born in Bogalusa, Louisiana. I have always thought it funny when someone asks “city of birth” and I say ‘Bogalusa, Louisiana’ and they reply “I will just put Louisiana”. As if I am making it up. Even as I type this spellcheck is trying to call BS with its red underlines on my make believe birthplace. I never actually lived there but I did live in Slidell, or The Dell as the kids call it. Charity hospital was in Bogalusa so that’s where my dad drove my mom to and I was born.
I feel its odd how most of my childhood memories do not actually involve my mom or dad. I have no memories of my mother and father being together. My earliest memory of my mom with any man was when she was with one of my five little brothers so called father, and that is of her leaving him. I actually think that he was fathered by my dad, but, it is what it is. I am my mothers oldest child and only girl. She went on to have four more children all of us by different men. She gave up two of the boys for an open adoption immediately after birth. One was while we lived in LA, another was in TX, and using two different agencies, two different families. They actually ending up living in MA, in the same area and knew each other, I have always thought that was super cool.
I can remember playing with the kids down the road or hanging with my many cousins. I can remember walking around my neighborhood, riding my bike for the first time, going to dance class and the playhouse my dad built me. The playhouse. My dad was working on that playhouse one time in the backyard when I was in the car with my grandmother. She ran inside to get something and in that minute I climbed in the front seat and drove the car into the house. My dad hopped over that fence and in the car so fast that you would of thought he was in the car the whole time. My father and I have had an odd relationship for a long while now. I miss the time of when I was a child and could feel my fathers love and his protective instinct. That feeling is nothing but a memory these days.
I haven't spoke to my Dad in over five years. When my Granddaddy passed away, I learned through FB. I moved a lot as a kid but always considered Slidell home cause that was where my Nanny and Granddaddy were. Home really is where your heart is. On top of the sadness felt over his passing, I felt so much hurt that my father cared so little about me, that he couldn't even pick up a phone. I would like to say I forgive him for all that, and sometimes I think I really have, but as I type this, I am not feeling forgiveness toward him at all.
til next time...