|
I really can't remember much about my early years; in fact, all I really know is that I
was born a little over 29 years ago (1973) in Berrien Springs, Michigan, a town or city I know nothing about, but sometimes
wonder what it's like. My parents, who were young, undereducated migrant workers, scooped my beautiful big sister and me up,
a couple of years after I was born, and we moved west in search of work. Unlike the gold-rushers who came west to probe the
earth for her precious metal, my parents made our livelihood by picking the fruits and vegetables of the many fields that
dot the landscape of eastern Washington. A couple of years after settling here in Washington,
my loving mother gave birth to my gorgeous little sister, who definitely enriched our family in countless ways -- even though
her joyous arrival added to the pressure of making ends meet. From town to town, house to house and, occasionally, from house
to tent, my parents made our way, laboring in the fields, performing other odd jobs like recycling (copper, aluminum, iron,
etc.) and, like most people caught in the unforgiving clutches of poverty, relying on public assistance (welfare, food banks,
and so on) in order to survive. All the let-downs and setbacks, problems and stressors inherent
in such a life were greatly compounded by, 1) my parents' lack of vision and determination to secure , by way of an education,
a better existence for our family (which was blessed one more time with the arrival of my baby brother); and 2) my father's
incessant drinking. A chronic alcoholic, my father often left us alone for days at a time, leaving my mother to shoulder not
only her responsibilities as a parent, but his too. Of course, the added difficulties maximized her stress and hostilities
toward my father, who suffered the full range of her wrath each and every time he came home.
I'm not sure in what ways the fights and arguments that erupted all too often in our home affected my siblings, but my mother's
recurring threats to divorce my father paralyzed me with fear. I missed my father very much when he went away, but the pain
it caused me was endurable because I knew he would come back -- he always had. But this I knew would change if my mother followed
through with her threats and divorced him. The word "divorce" was my boogey-man, an unwelcome companion of my early years
-- dreams and wakeful moments alike.
(To be continued)
|
