Tired

                                                              TIRED



Many of you probably have heard of my misfortunes from somebody else other then myself.  Slowly trickling through the grapevine of our tight knit community.  A community I love, participate in, am proud to bring my children up in.   But recently I heard an amazing misconception, that  made my heart sink.  It reminded me of the game we used to play as kids called "Telephone", where one person starts out with a sentence or a phrase and passes it around a circle of "friends"  and the last person repeats what they had thought they heard.   It always amazes me the outcome of the final phrase.  It is nothing like the real story.  Normally, one would then ask the person who thought of the phrase, what the original phrase was...to everyone's surprise it was nothing like the end result.

This is my story, there should be no variations, sorry if it is not exciting enough for a few of those thrill seekers, or that someone else was not getting the attention they wanted, or that if perhaps my story was being told while I wasn't there to answer the questions, the facts could not be spoken.  I am here to set the record straight.

I was driving home around 11:00 from a most amazing and beautiful wedding my family and I had the pleasure of witnessing.  I was on the Huntington/Richmond road, just short of the Audubon Sugar shack.  I was rounding a curve in the road, and wanted to hear the song "Hallelujah", on my Pandora station, because the night was amazing, and I had just witnessed my friends getting married and my children grow into adults.  I love that song, as my kids will attest to.  Asking Sydney if Berkeley had fallen asleep, and getting the response, " I don't know, I can't see her", provoked my body's response to turn and see if I could visualize her asleep, slumped in her seat...exhausted from a day of excitement.   That was the last thing I remember.  Because as I turned around, my car was on the edge of the curve, clutched in the gravels pull and aiming me into a telephone pole.  CRASH, smoke, and a warm feeling of liquid down my face.  We stopped moving.  The car filled with smoke and soon someone was yelling through the window, get out, get out of the car.  My kids were crying, and " Mom, can we get out of the car?"  I focused, my head feeling like someone took a bat to it, " Yes, yes, get out of the car.  Get out of the road."  Disoriented I guess, we were not in the road, but in a ditch.  My kids and I were moved to the other side of the road, a driveway, of which I had known for quite sometime.  For Sydney used to go to Daycare there when she was 5 weeks old.   The rest happened quickly.  My friends came back to comfort me, they were driving up ahead and saw the burst of light from the explosion.  They hugged me and my children, and asked me to call Dick.  I did not recall his telephone number and stared blankly at my phone, not realizing that if I just pushed contacts his cell phone number would appear.  Shock.  My children kept repeating " Mom, mom are you okay?"  And I would say " Yes sweeties, mommy is fine, are you okay?"   We clung together not wanting to let go.  My friends, put my children in their car, they were shivering. Shock.  A State trooper showed up, and then  two Richmond cops and an Ambulance.  I did not send my children home with my friends before the cops showed up, I did not make an excuse to where I was, or that I was not drinking or that I was not using my cell phone.  We received a thorough exam from Richmond Rescue, whom I might add are amazing people. My husband showed up, driving from the same wedding I had just come from, speechless.  Shock.  The policeman wanted to talk to me.  Alone.  So after getting the okay to have my kids released from the ambulance, I sent them with my friends and my husband to get some kind of relief and because I knew I was going to be awhile.
          That is the story.  I was given a breath test, which I agreed too, and found myself over the legal limit.  Shocked.  I was processed, and here I am today, dealing with the consequences.  The stories I have heard surface from the original amaze me.  It spreads like a disease.  It frightens me, the ability to mold a story to ones liking.  This is my story, my life, and I know how it went, and how it ends.  You all should know by now, that I tell it like it is....call it ballsy, brave, honest....I call it real.  It never crossed my mind to embellish, lie, or hide what went on.
           Our society, tends to forget the beginning of the telephone conversation.  It is not news worthy, it won't get you as many friends, it does not pay the bills.  I am tired, tired of the misconceptions, tired of the falsities, tired of the hiding.  If I can get one person to stop living in a fantasy land life, through this blog, it is worth my daily reminder.  We are so slammed with politicians, government and communities, lying with each other about the real story that is beneath. It is easier to create illusions, misinformation, or hide behind a different mask, but it also kills who you are inside.   I am tired, but I am alive and even though the road gets tough at times, I like who I am, and who I will become through this and many other journeys life is going to throw me.
                                                   

Daily Dose of Death:

It is hard waking up, knowing that you have to face death.  It is even harder when you see death, and it is the worst when you know you were so close to death.


It has  been week two, and three and going on four, I have biked to work and home 4 out of 5 days to my work.  I love to bike, and it frees my mind, it is a time to organize and let go, but at the same time it is a fight to stay alive....not the fight our military has to face, not the fight our children have to go through each and every day through their daily upbringings, trying to figure out who they really are, but a true fight, for life.

I ride in rain, sleet, gorgeous blue bird days, I like to ride...what I hate is the anxiety of never letting my eyes off the road.  To some that may be easy, to others like myself who suffer from ADHD, it is a challenge.  I rode my bike in 30 degree temps for about a week or two, my hands were cold, fingers numb, my face had no expression except concentration.  What was I concentrating on...life.   The ability to survive the 12 .3 miles it takes me to ride to or from work safely.   I asked my husband what I should be weary of, on a day it was 30 degrees and pouring rain....he said don't ride on the painted lines.  Painted lines.  They may look big to those who drive along side them in a car, in fact you may curse a many cyclist for being too close to the  lines they are driving near, but let me tell you about the painted lines.  For one:  painted lines are made for the gas guzzling vehicle, two: if you are not a gas guzzling vehicle you loose, three: stay away from the painted lines.   This may sound confusing to you, but let me explain....We as bikers, cyclists if you will, are not meant to go beyond the painted line, it is our safety zone, where we feel secure, oblivious to the surroundings around us....this is bullshit.

What you don't see between the slim line protecting vehicle drivers from driving off the edge of the road or warning drivers that there is no shoulder, is the biking lane.  It is small at times the size of a mountain bike tire, at random occasions it is wide and wonderful.   Those wonderful times exist few and far between.  There are dead animals, metal, broken glass, gravel, trash, a random bottle or two...it is a nightmare.   I have to say, that the joy of biking turns into an adventure course where ninja warriors abound....This is my daily dose of death.  I swerve, curve, bobble, and bound, I jump, sway, maneuver and pray, that I will not find that metal object you threw out of your car, or the nail that happened to appear.   The cracks alone give me anxiety....if I get my tire in between the crevices, they pop...oh so not cool. The lines are slick, like ice on a rainy day, they toss you to the side if you turn on them at the wrong time.  They are the enemy.
        I now know the favorite drinks of people by the trash they throw outside, Franzia wine, Yoohoo, Amp drinks, Cavit wine....these are the things I view daily,  10 boxes of Franzia alone on Barber farm road...and when did chocolate milk become a forbidden drink so that we need to discard the debry....I hate that I cannot take my eyes off the road to view the soaring hawk, 10 feet away, or the fact that I cannot pull my sleeve down because my arm is frozen and I have 10 more miles to go....if I bobble, sway or swerve, I am dead, or seriously injured.  It is hard to face everyday.  Yet it is a fact that I did not take into account when I drove my vehicle that night.  One swerve, one twist, one mistake and I and my children would be dead.   It is something I have to wake up to everyday.  It is something you should wake up to everyday.  

I was suppose to get my license back this week, but the system tells me different.  Instead of a month of suspension, I will have nearly 2 months suspension...because you need to complete a crash course before you get your license back. a crash course that is full and overflowing. and takes you two weeks to get into...costing my family nearly 3,000 $ financially, anxiety between children's routines and  normality, and being a burden on society.  I will dance with my daily dose of death...for another 16 days......it hurts, sucks and pretty much makes me nauseous everyday...but it is what needs to be done to figure out how lucky I am.

I am here, and want to make sure that you are here....think before you drive that car, think before you play with the music on  your cell phone, think before you turn your head to look at your child asleep in the backseat ..for you are playing with Death. One second and it is over.

I am thankful for the reminders, even though they are painful, they make me face what I took for granted, or did not want to visualize.  I awake to a daily dose of death, And now  I go out and make sure it does not happen again.

Thank you again to all the families that have given my children a sense of normalcy.  To my husband who gives me strength   and most of all to my children for their ability to love through thick or thin....It is with all of this combined strength that I can wake up and ride on.

Week One

  WEEK ONE:

It has been a week since my license has been suspended.  The first day after I realized I couldn't drive anymore to pick up that loaf of bread I wanted to eat with our dinner meal, or take my kids and dog to Mobbs, where they like to run wild and splash in the river, free and uninhibited, I felt horrible.  Lifeless, almost hungover.  I didn't want to move, I was depressed, withdrawn, and down right grumpy.  I remember almost feeling nauseous.  I didn't want to eat, just wanted to sleep and I was pissed.  How dare they take away my license.  What did I pay my lawyer to do anyway, show up in court and call it a day.  It was a dark place for me to be in.  What I really wanted to do was run away, hide and  come out when it was all over.  The mear mention of dialogue concerning what we were going to do for the week, plan wise, was just another kick in my ego.  I am not used to loosing.

The day was gorgeous, 70's and sunny, and just one of those days you don't get in October.  And luckily my kids and husband pulled me through.  We had soccer, we had to grocery shop, the laundry needed to be done, I had to make arrangements on getting my kids to and from school the next day, I had to dig out my biking clothes, and most importantly, I had to find in myself the ability to ride 23 miles a day on that bike, to which I have not ridden in several years.  Even though these things made the day go by, the uncomfortable angry darkness, still surrounded the glowing sunset that I watched as the evening slipped away.  My kids are spoiled you see, they get a ride to school every morning, and they get picked up at a location that involves play time with friends, or an occasional read in the town library, or more importantly a play date at a friends house. They were not going to get that on Monday.  Instead they would get an hour long ride in the morning, and an hour long ride in the afternoon, to their house, their boring, everyday, non eventful house.  I could not kiss them goodbye as they sauntered into school, I could not gossip with the ladies at the front desk,  There would be no greetings to fellow moms, and dads that were dropping their kids off  and fulfilling their roles as parents.  I was powerless, not in control, walking on territory that was unfamiliar to me.  You see when George took my power away when I was young, I promised myself that I needed to fight, and not live a life of a victim, but be strong, powerful and independent.   No man or thing would ever take that from me again.  And yet there I stood, watching my kids step on a bus, that I was not driving, and going to a school that I could not enter to make sure it was safe, being independent, which I was not ready to embrace.  It was sad, and frustrating and felt like a little piece of me, had just gotten lost.

That day I rode, 12.5 miles to work, hard, and what I thought was fast, but really not so much.   The road was bumpy, full of cracks, potholes, cars that should have a sign saying" I hate cyclists", But I made it to work, and when it was time to ride home, I did so, with legs that were not in shape, and a pace that wouldn't win any races, but I did it, and the day still went by, the kids made it off the bus alive, and day three had arrived and passed.

I rode to work everyday except one, and each day  the cracks got smaller, the traffic became obsolete, and the potholes became divots.  I had forgotten how fall in Vermont felt.  The crisp air, the smell of decaying leaves, the farm that had just spread it's manure, closing another pasture for its winter hibernation.  I saw geese landing in the fields, floating on the river, hawks seeking their prey before they migrate, and watched the slow decomposition of the animals that were not so lucky at crossing the road to get to the other side.  When I arrived home, my kids would either be just arriving off the bus, or because the school did not receive my emails, would be delivered to me by grateful friends, who feel like family.  The anxiety, of not being in complete control lessened.  And life still was.

Now, I look forward to biking into work, granted the first week was a blessing from Mother Nature with its mild temperatures, and foliage that just won't take no for an answer.  I've gained a biking buddy, who goes out of the way to ride to or from work with me.  I think my pace is improving, and I feel content.  Sure, I am unable to hop into the car and go to the places I used to go to a the drop of a hat, but what I can do, is stop, observe, and take in what I have been missing in my hurried, fill every moment kind of day living.  It will be colder next week, and a whole different feel to my morning rides, but it will be another lesson, of letting things go.  Enjoying what you have in front of you, and not always symbolizing power with independence and comfort.

I think we often rush through life fulfilling our duties to ourselves and our children and families and we don't remember to slow down and enjoy even the little things...Todays' world is built on convenience  and speed.  It can destroy the beauty of being powerless.   Sometimes we just need to let go to find what we have been missing, a much stronger power then we ever thought.  Yes, I know this has been said before, through many Buddhist sayings, or enlightenment's, but to actually experience it is more powerful then reading about it.

Democracy? Not so much.

Let me start out by saying Thank you.  The out pouring of kindness, emotion, truth and love from all of you over the past weeks is amazing.  I have never been so sure of myself, then these last few weeks.  I have cried, hidden, yelled, woken up with nightmares, and loved.  I have admitted, and faced fears, that I had not faced before.  You have all given me something to keep me going.  And some of you have given me things that I did not want to hear but had to.  It is not always a rose garden out there, but, it is the truth that needs to be told in order to move on, and allow oneself to live again.  So, I am grateful to each and everyone of you who have reached out to me and given me strength.  Moving on, I will, and it may not be a walk in the park at times, but I will move.

After I wrote what I was going through recently I was due in court the following week.  Working up to that day in court was horrible.  I often would wake at 2am and not fall back asleep, I would dream of death, and watching my childrens bodies buried in the earth.  I would visualize car crashes with unexpected drivers, my friends, family members, or the occasional wildlife.  It was I am sure stress related, and the fact that my body was withdrawing from something that used to numb all these feelings. Court day arrived, I had not had any contact with my lawyer except a letter, It said "court sentence is at 1:30, be there at 1:00"...no call, no chat, no questions.

Court:  The most humilatating place on earth.  I was surrounded by people, who shook hands with friends that they have not seen in awhile, " hey, what are you in here for?", " Oh, they said they fucking found pot on my body, and I was driving under perscribed drugs, fucking idiots, they told me I had to go to crash, Fuck them, I'm not going, fucking idiots."  " Dude, what up?", "Seriously, that fucking bitch, she needs to be taught a lesson"..." shit man, this is your 4th offense"  My heart was pounding, in fact so much that I thought I might faint...my lawyer walked by me and didn't even look at me. It was 1:30, 5 cases later, he called my name, and when I said "right here", 2 inches from where he was, he said "oh, I walked right by you."...." We are gonna have a tough one here,"   my heart sank, after all I thought we were here for a child endangerment ruling, and I wanted to argue that my child was in a seat belt and not in a booster because she is beyond the requirements to be in a booster.  Well that didn't happen, they were actually charging me with cruelty to a child, and slapping on the DWI.  I felt sick.  Hot, Like I was about to vomit.  I had to pee, but could not go to the bathroom because they may call my name to go into the courtroom.   10 minutes later my lawyer comes out, I am the last one he has come to talk to.  " those fuckers want to charge you with cruelty, unless you plead guilty to DWI"...just as the ball drops, the baliff comes in and says " the court is in order" ....No time to discuss, just whether or not you want me to fight this, or plead quilty....If I fight it and lose...I have DCWF on my case for the next 10 years, if I plead quilty, I lose my license for 30 days and complete a Crash course.  With 5 DWI's in front of me... the judge was magnificent, knowing that he was dealing with a situation that was bad timing, and unfortunate, he actually humored me.  Being that is was the day that the Lamoille shooter was in town, and the 2 police officers that were there at the scene of the crash, showed up at the last minute, I was the one that was to be made an example of.

I pleaded quilty.  I am a mentor, of young children, a kind person to those who know me, I will go out of my way to help those who need it, and I will not allow child cruelty to be any where associated with my name...and facts are facts, I was driving with a blood alcohol content above the legal limit.


Fucked.  My lawyer postponed the sentence, I don't know why, because he has not really talked to me about it.  My sentencing is now in November...When it is cold, and hard to bike to places I may need to bike to.  It is another day, that the courts will spend money, to answer a punishment they already know is fordue.  It is a corrupt system.

This is only the beginning of what I have just unravelled.  The system that we believe in, our democratic rights, our freedom, our ability to trust in the system, is all but a farce.  What it comes down to is how much money you have, and how many people you can pay off.  Now wonder the people who have nothing and depend on a public defender, have no hope, they are never going to win.  It is a terifying feeling, walking into a courthouse.  The abuse of power is everywhere.  There are no friends, and no feelings of hope...it is desperate,   I am guilty.
 I can only imagine what it is to commit a crime that requires jail time, prison, or loss of life.  This system of ours is wrong.   I am a stronger person, for seeing what I have just not wanted to see.  Open your eyes people and remember, it only takes a second, to change your life.

Listening to yourself

It has been a long time since I have written,  why?  Well I think I did not want to remember the last post I made, it brought back horrible memories, pain, uncertainty, and basically a bad taste in my mouth.  But alas, I have come out of the shadows...and am willing to share my experiences with those that may be going through the same struggles, or may feel alone.

I have been awakened to a reality recently, that put my life in danger and more importantly that of the beings I could not live without...I am talking about my children, Sydney and Berkeley.  They make me get up in the morning, come home at night, and more importantly fill me with importance.  I could have taken that away, in one swift moment of misjudgement.  And I could have taken it away from another family, or soul...how you ask did this happen, why would I put the things I love to the moon and back in such danger, well that is easy...I crashed my car into a telephone pole, at 35-40 mph, after a wedding.  It was the best day, and the worst day, all at the same time. It hurt, it sucked, it ruined property, but most importantly it endangered my most beloved things on earth.

I have hidden my desire to hide the pain in my heart, the constent need to feel loved, the need to feel wanted, the pain I suffered from not fully allowing myself to let go of something that had happened to me ...what did I numb myself with, alcohol.  I hated myself, for letting someone else take from me, my personality, my being. my self.  I drank to hide my anger, my distrust of myself, I drank to forget.

I was an amazing drunk to my friends...I was happy, funny, sexy, "the life of the party", I was comfortable.  Habits are our friends, at least that is what we tell ourselves.  On the home front, it was not that easy, I was "a bitch", "Nasty", "argumentive", impatient, and asleep or passed out by 8.  In my perspective, I was tired.

That all changed when I crashed into the telephone/electric pole ...

The image will never be erased.  Smoke, airbags imploding, children screaming, my life changing.

Blood trickled from my nose, and my first thought was " my husband is going to kill me",,, of course not literally, but because I just crashed the new Volvo I recieved for Christmas.  Then as I heard my daughter exclaiming, "Mom, Mom, can we get out of the car now,? "  my instincts kicked in....save my children....get them safe,   they were fine, Seat belted and just bruised, I was fine, bloody nose and an amazing neck pain that felt like someone had hit me with a baseball bat on the base of my neck...BUT more importantly..ALIVE.

I blew a 1.2, and the cop handcuffed me in the front, instead of in the back, a most uncomfortable position for the body to be in.  Any other car, would have been split in half...we would have died.
I don't remember much of that night, due to the ringing in my ears, my head throbbing and the fact that I just kept thinking about how I just almost killed my children...it was horrible to say the least.

I woke up, not wanting to face the facts, defensive, angry...I hated myself.

My husband was angry, rightfully so, I almost took his lively hood away.  But he listened, and he told me, he beleived in me.  It was what I had been fighting for, for years....but had hidden behind alcohol.

I am not okay, nor will I be for a very long time, but what I AM, is ALIVE,  I have my children, I did not harm a innocent bystander, I am not giving up.  I have the most amazing friends and family, they have helped me, listened to me, and told me to stop playing the victum....I love them for their truth.  I will fight this battle dailey, and even though it arised from the young age of 14, I will win.  I am strong and George even though you thought I could not handle it as a 14 year old, I can handle it now!

Tomorrow, I will wake up, smelling my childrens fresh cleaned hair, holding their hands as we walk to school, kissing my husband and actually feeling his love.  I was given a chance to Listen, and now I will try to Live the life I have been missing for over 20 years.

To George, who fucked me up, and probably many others, I feel sorry for you....you have lived a life of misory, hate, and most likely neglect...I hope you can find some kind of help, that will enable you to enjoy a life without regrets.  It may be too late, but try, there is always hope.

Please contact me if anyone would like to talk...I am always here to listen...

The hard times

So the times have changed from a seven year old tom boy to a 14 year old pre-pubescent teen.  It is hard for me to write about this episode of my life, not only did it change who I was physically, but also mentally and innocently.  I am afraid to tell my story, but at the same time willing to do so, just so people don't have to live the mind fuck I had to experience.   It has affected my life daily, and I don't think I am unable to ever let it go.  I just deal with it, day by day, not always in a good way, but I survive as many others have.  It is hard for me to share with so many that know me, but it  is necessary and a way of therapy.  I believe that people should express their views, opinions, troubles....so that they can start healing, or living their lives.  That being said it is a bit more difficult to act out, then believed.

I was fourteen and babysitting a well known family in my hometown of Middlebury.  I had the opportunity to continue what both my elder sisters had done, but now they were off to college and I took the job they had so carefully coveted.  The pay was good, and the kids were amazing.  At age 5 the eldest was reading Political science magazine, the youngest at 3 was hitting a golf ball more then 100 yards.  They were wealthy, and owned a well known paint company, we loved their family as much as they appreciated ours.  It all went to shit when on an occasional night, the husband would come home early, offer me a drink of gin and tonic as I cooked dinner for his kids, and he would sit watching the news.  He did not put his kids to bed, nor did he sit with them for dinner, he was alone, drinking and waiting.

I was odd at fourteen.  Not pretty, skinny, and some what geek like.  I was nieve and knew nothing about disobeying my family.  I was a Tom boy, loved to get dirty with the boys, ride bikes and hated dresses.  It was this year that my outlook on life would change.

The nights became earlier that the husband came home, which would entail more Gin and Tonics, and soon I would be making dinner for him and the children, then putting the kids to bed, waiting for the wife to come home and then being driven home by him.  It was thought out and carefully navigated, as the summer turned into fall and then winter, and I was babysitting later in the evenings, sometimes with him at home, because he did not want to deal with the children while he worked from home.   By my fifteenth birthday, I was drinking at least 2-3 gin and tonics a night.   I felt good, giddy, special...no other 15 year old was drinking in the presence of an adult with their consent, on a daily basis.  Eventually, things turned south, there was the kiss in the driveway, after he would drive me home, and the shoulder rub in the kitchen as I finished the dishes before his wife came home.  But the worst was the time spent once the kids went to bed, between 7 and 8:30 pm where  I would be cleaning up, and he suggested he would do that later and to just come and watch the news and relax on the couch with him.  What do you do, when you are young, and suppose to respect the adults of those you babysit for and who are paying you to do so.  So I did.  I sat and watched the news, drank the second gin and tonic and relaxed.

On my 15th and 1/2  birthday, I lost my virginity.  Maybe not the way the normal human being may, but for me, it was my soul, and my body and I cried for hours, silently in bed alone.   The gin and tonics turned into 3, and the news turned into porn, and as his clammy hands withered around my rigid clothed body, I felt my pants being unbuttoned and a stabbing pain enter my privates.  I couldn't move, nor could I scream.  I just took it, and cried internally to stop.  He had taken away my most memorable moment, and  I was ashamed.

From that moment on, I could not trust men, he was 30 years older then I, had a beautiful family, money, and  an amazing job, but he chose to take my life, my happiness, my trust and my naivety away from me.  I was alone.  It was not until a year later that I told my best friend in secrecy for some kind of advice or help, she then told the whole school to which i was again made out to be a whore, or someone who was an easy.

Being that my dad worked in the school, it was not long until he heard about the so called event.  I had many psychiatric meetings with my parents and self to figure out how I could go on living without feeling hateful to men.  My parents thought it was my fault, and accused me of prompting the events that took place, my peers thought I was a sex maniac and home wrecker   My sisters well, they knew I was  telling the truth.  Why, well because it had happened to them.  Unfortunately they did not choose to let me know about the events that happened with them, or they did not think that I at such a young age would be affected.  Well, let me tell you  I was.  And when my therapist told me way back in 1987 to report so called man to the authorities, I backed down.  I thought of the kids that I had raised for 5  years, I thought of the wife, who had no idea, and I thought of the business and it's prominence throughout Middlebury.  What I didn't think about, was myself.  I was scared, lost, alone and bitter.

I've had many dreams about what I would do if I ever met him again.  Perhaps I would cut off his penis, or ruin his lively hood,. I am changed from him.  I carry it daily, throughout all my relationships, and struggle  today with my husband.  I pick unattractive babysitters, am jealous of his "girl"friends, do not trust him fully, and find myself bitter for being that way. It is a struggle I live daily, and will never forget, but as I write, I feel a bit of encouragement to those out there that may be in a similar situation, and this is my advice.

I AM HERE FOR YOU, AS A LISTENER, AND A SUPPORTER, you do not have to live your life this way,   And that person that did this to you, is not even thinking about it, they think they have won, but they WILL NOT  take your life from you. Be strong, stand up and fight, fight with all your strength to live your life to the fullest.  I may have been young, but I still had a voice, I just did not know how to use it.

Peace

Tom Boy

   I was never a girly girl growing up, I'd rather have my shirt off, and a pair of shorts on in the summer, then a dress or skirt.  I think this was due to the fact that my dad grew up with 3 older sisters, and then he in turn had 3 daughters.  In a way I felt sorry for him.  I remember at the age of 7, sitting on his lap, asking him if he wanted a boy.  He truthfully explained that he would have enjoyed a boy, but was more then happy with the beautiful daughters he had.  Of course when you are a 7 year old, all you hear is  "I would have liked a boy",  I think secretly I made it my mission to be his "boy", and thus dawned the "tom boy" characteristics quite early in my childhood.  My mom was a very conventional women....if it could be sewn together, it would be, thus getting another year or two out of clothing that otherwise would be put in a rag drawer.  I remember the outfits we used to be subjected to.  Plaid on plaid, stripes and plaid, Dickies with sewn on knee pads, we were quite the lookers.  This played out for my tom boy persona.  I liked the rips, the tears, the non pinks and flowery patterns.  Dresses were scratchy and frilly and made me wiggle too much.  To this day, I feel uncomfortable in dresses.  My friends will tell me I look great all cleaned up, but I don't often feel great inside, I still feel wiggly, scratchy and uncomfortable.

   I loved the fact that in our younger years we were able to do what we wanted when it came to free play.  We lived in an area surrounded by woods, a river, and miles of undeveloped trails.  We had safe neighbors, at least we thought we did, we did not live in the day of Alerts, and "my neighbor is a child molester"  warnings. My mother and father believed in outside play, we were limited to maybe two television shows a week and Sat. morning cartoons.  This was great for our imagination, we would hike hills and climb trees, play under ostrich ferns, create islands, pirate ships, lands of mystery...but one of my favorites was cowboys and Indians.
  Our parents had leased 2 horses from a summer camp up the road.  Missy and Prince.  They were two of the best behaved horses/ponies I have ever experienced.  They worked in the summer for a camp that helped Mentally challenged kids, experience a summer of fun, so not only were they bullet proof, but they were dog and catlike, actually walking into the house when called.   We would spend hours in the woods riding bareback, listening to creeks and snaps in the forest, making believe there were Indians or in my case cowboys after us I had a soft spot for the underdog. It was magical.  I learned to listen and hear the sounds of the forest.  The birds warning calls, the silence before a rain, the wind brushing among the leaves.  I learned to feel the horse, I knew when it was anxious, tired, ready to jump.  I will always be grateful to my folks for letting us go free.

I have to reflect on one experience where it was not all that great, and the imagination of my childhood enveloped me, making me realize that there was consequence for actions that I took...I don't think I had realized that until then. I was off playing in the woods with my friend Tina, down our road.  She too had a horse, and we would ride together often.  I decided to go riding one afternoon farther then we had been in a while.  It must have been 4 or 5 hours of riding, and dusk was settling in when I unbridled Prince and put him in the barn...I had had a wonderful day, and skipped into the house as any other 10 year old would do.  I was met by my fathers hand, squarely on my butt.  I was small for my age, skinny and awkward, and my dad was 6'3" and quite muscular.  Needless to say I was not expecting this greeting at all.  I will always remember that feeling of pain and hurt, and worry in my parents and my eyes..  Back then I was hurt and couldn't see why there had been a problem, but after explaining that no one knew where I was and the calls that were made to find me were not productive, I realized that the freedom we take for granted, needs to be respected.
  I eventually experienced a similar feeling of despair with my own children.  Leaving them for a brief moment to do barn chores down the road, I explained that I would be home in 30 minutes and my phone was with me if they needed anything.  My children ages 7 and 4 at the time knew where I was and who to call if they had a problem.  I think I remember my days of  childhood and how it was not a problem to be alone for 30 minutes or so.  When I came home my children were missing, no note, no phone call. gone.  I panicked.  Searched in every space possible, the nausea that one feels is overwhelming, and you start thinking of all the bad things that could happen to them.  I was terrified and wanted to replay that morning back.  There  was a message on the phone at home from one of my friends down the road, she had my kids and was wondering where I was...I was re-leaved but also pissed.  I did not greet my kids with a slap to the butt, but mentally the fear was just as painful.  I regret filling their innocent minds with all the things that could have gone wrong, it was a moment where their childhood was interrupted with reality.

In the long run, I gave my kids too much freedom, and used my childhood for the basis for my kids.  I should have known better as I do now, and have to be thankful that nothing bad happened that day that I would not be able to live with. Innocence is a hard thing to let go of.