Day 11: The best place to begin....

The best place to begin? Why at the beginning of course!

I was born in New York in 1961 to an ultra conservative father in his 30's and an ultra liberal, ultra emotional, 15-year-old mother.

Years later I would learn that my mother married my father while she was still so young in an attempt to get away from her mother... a mistake I would repeat myself years later.

Aside from her age, my mother was the typical mother/housewife. My father was the "bread winner", not surprising as he was the epitome of male chauvinism. Am I exaggerating? My first and last name are the female counterparts of the only first and last name chosen. I was to be a son. That was all there was to it and my father would not even think about the possibility that his first child would be of the (wrinkles nose) female persuasion.

Although he was apparently surprised that I was lacking certain genitalia, he quickly warmed to me and I became "Daddy's" girl.

I can remember sitting on the bay window seat on dark snowy mornings watching Daddy shovel snow from behind the car in the driveway while in the kitchen my mother boiled milk for his hot chocolate.

I can remember my mother hollering at me to quiet down because when I would see him turn in the direction of the front door I would become so excited that I would squeal out loud with delight! "Daddy's coming! Mommy! Daddy's coming!"

He would always have a smile for me when he walked in the front door, no matter how few the moments were from the time he walked out, no matter how early in the morning it was, no matter how irritated he was with the heavy snow burying the car.

He would reach down and in one swift movement I would be up in his arms, face to face, one small chubby hand on either side of his face.

My mother would hand him his hot chocolate and he would bend and kiss the top of her forehead as he would gently stand me on my feet beside her with just the one arm.

My father was a very strong, handsome and proud man. He stood 6' 2", and was a very athletic 220 lbs. From what my mother said, there wasn't a woman who met Daddy who didn't flirt with him.

Daddy was smart too. He always told me that even though I had a genius IQ, that his IQ was higher and that he would always be smarter than me, so I guess that made him pretty darn intelligent.

We lived a nice life. A quiet life. A routine life. My father was a good Daddy. My mother was a good Mommy. At least long enough to give me some good memories. At least long enough for me to know what I was missing when it was gone.

I don't know when things changed. I don't know why things changed. They just did.

In reflecting back on my life, I've often theorized that my mother was simply too young to bear the responsibilities of being a mother to two small children, and the wife to an adult executive.

I'm not sure I would not have made some mistakes myself had I been in that situation. Although, by the time I was 12 my mother was forcing me into that situation because at that point she was done parenting and there were still 2 young children who needed a mother. But I'm jumping ahead of myself.

Where was I? Oh yeah... things changed.