First of all, I really couldn't help it. I've never fit in perfectly anywhere. I've always felt like the oddball in my family. I've always been outspoken, sometimes way too honest, a combination of my mother's innocence and naivety and my father's rebelliousness and tell-it-like-it-is mouth. Both parents found me difficult, although my dad and I weathered heated arguments much better than mom and I.
Then, there was a cultural issue. I grew up in Detroit. I don't mean the Metro Detroit area. I mean Detroit. Being a white girl, I was the minority. . . and I loved it. By the time I came along, my parents had already lived there for 12 years. So, my family was loved and respected. See, my mom loved everybody. She made them cookies and kissed their boo-boos. On the other hand, my dad was intimidating. He never fired a shot (except in the ground on New Years, but in Detroit, everybody does that), but all the neighbors (especially the troublemakers) knew he would use one of his shotguns to defend his family if he had to. I had a little brother when I was 3 1/2, and protected him in true Detroit style (with my fists) while he was still smaller than I was. No, that wasn't very smart, but that's just life down there. I got myself hurt, actually. However, my little brother was no longer getting hit. So, success. ;) One time, I jumped in between my little brother and a guy that was about 3 years older than he was. That boy had me on the ground punching me. Then, my big brother came out. He didn't beat him up. He just picked him up by his shirt, thew him up on the garage door, yelled at him to never touch his sister again, and chased him all the way home. My big brother was pretty ticked with me that instead of calling him for help in the first place, I just jumped in myself. Oh, well. I'm kinda glad I did anyway. Even though I totally lost the fight, it felt good to protect my little brother like that. In Detroit, there were a lot of gunshots. There was a lot of yelling. People are not fake there. They say exactly what they feel. They express themselves physically. They are loud. They don't call the police because someone is "disturbing the peace". What peace?! haha!! I sat up in my bedroom numerous times and watched drug deals, watched the long line of cars down the street as each one bought their drugs from the drug house (there was always at least one), and called 911 because I heard women and children screaming at night. It wasn't until I went away to college that I learned that it's not normal to hear gunshots at night. There were good things too. In a neighborhood like that, the good people are very close. People look out for each other. By the time I was a teenager, the bad guys on the street were the same guys that grew up with my older siblings. My mom had taken care of them as children. They had been welcome to walk right in and help themselves to the candy dish or some of my mom's famous chocolate chip cookies. They were loved at my house, and because of that, they loved and respected us. There's a good life lesson. There were a couple times there was some trouble that I know of (a lot was kept from me), but overall, they left us alone.
So, now you know a little about my childhood neighborhood. Here's the next piece of the puzzle. I went to school 6 miles up the street in the suburbs. Yes, the color of my skin was like the other students', but I did not fit in at all. They were all from the suburbs. I lived south of 8 mile, and many of their parents wouldn't go south of 9 or 10 mile. This makes sense if you know the extremely segregated area. So, at school, I was a strange mixture of "little miss goody goody" and "little white girl trying to impress all the suburbia kids with my big bad ghetto reports". Oh brother. . . LOL!! No wonder it was hard for me to make friends! I didn't exactly make it easy for people. We went to the church associated with the school. It was (is) a pretty strict independent fundamental baptist church. I had a very tender heart towards God, and accepted Christ as my Saviour and was baptized at a young age.
Now, all the above shows you a little of what my childhood was like. Now, let's talk about the present. I went to college for a couple years, learned a lot about life, made friends, and met my husband. Our story would make a whole separate blog post. Suffice it to say that we were just friends for a year and a half, dated for 7 months before we were engaged, and we were married 11 months later, one year before Matt graduated from college. In 11 years of marriage, we've moved 7 times; lived in Wisconsin, Illinois, Michigan, California, and New York. We have home water births, except the one time we couldn't and fought for a water birth in the hospital. I breastfeed as long as my child needs it. It has taken up to 3 or 3 1/2 years. Our 6th child is due in about 3 1/2 months. 2 of our sons have severe hemophilia and at least 1 daughter is a carrier. We homeschool. I stink at formal education, but am a great teacher. Our house is a bit chaotic with some exceptions. I am not good at a lot of things people assume I am good at just because we have a larger family: meal planning, shopping, money management, time management, etc. I am good at having fun, playing, listening, communicating with my children, seeing opportunities to teach, encouraging creativity and imagination, and standing my ground.
Okay, that was a bit much. I didn't expect that to be so long!!! The point I want to make is this. Everyone has a story. I shared some of mine with you. I know what has made me unique, aka "weird". It's okay with me now. In school, I was always a little hurt when one girl always wrote "You are kinda weird" in her note she signed on the back of her school picture she gave me every year in elementary school. I know I was weird. I still am. The difference is that when I was 8 or 9 or even 17, I couldn't appreciate myself for who I was. I am so thankful now that my mom let me go to school wearing odd socks (Hey, I was a Punky Brewster fan!), and multicolored outfits. I stuck out in the crowd even in the 80s and 90s, but I was being me. Yes, I was made fun of a bit, but it was better than being forced to fit a certain mold for the purpose of looking just like everyone else. It makes me a better mom today.
I want my children to enjoy exactly who they are. I don't want them to look like everyone else. How boring is that?! Think of all the amazing people in history. Did they fit in or look like everyone else? Well, of course not! That's what made them awesome! They stick out in history because they were different. I love my children because they are mine. I love finding out who they are and what they love. Each one is different and amazing and yes, weird. I couldn't be prouder!
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