Rough Waters

    From what I've been told, Greg spent a lot of time by himself. He was never very social, which was fine until Hailey wanted something from him. I don't have much memory of the time spent with him until I was about 6 or 7, when I could tend to myself and didn't need help reaching for a glass of water. My mother on the other hand, realized she had a choice. When I was about 2, I was already testing my boundaries with her, showing signs of independence and challenging the relationship. Before things got any worse, she decided to allow my grandparents to adopt me, 'graciously' she likes to say. It doesn't hurt, thinking about this fact. I was too young to process this, and was told that Hailey was moving to Virginia. I unattached from her quickly, even reverting to calling her by her first name. I enjoyed the relationship I had with my grandparents, they loved me and took care of me. Unfortunately my grandfather, or bumpa as I called him, was recovering from cancer. He spent most of his days drinking, Nana often drinking just as much as him. She was very open about her drinking, having no problem pouring her vodka in whatever drink she had for the evening. Bumpa on the other hand, hid bottles all over the house. She would send me on little 'missions' to find them all. This was what worried her about his drinking, that he had a created a dependency on alcohol.
 I remember them fighting a lot, but never mistreating me. I did have a scare once with my grandmother when living with her. Nana and I had come back from my childhood friend's house, she was intoxicated and extremely tired. Though I didn't understand it then, she was impaired enough to nearly run the vehicle into the side of the house. This was never something I considered a traumatic event, more like a realization in time. The only fear I had from this was losing my family to alcohol.

Secondhand Bastard

   Childhood for most is a 50/50 chance of remembering anything that isn't a story. I often tried to get a story from Hailey, but you can only ask her about something once. Anytime after the first is too much for her and she ends up telling you a conflicting tale. Funny enough, the story I remember most is one that I have yet to find reason to after twenty years of asking. On my left ear, I have a tear from an earring that had been ripped out. I have no recollection of this incident, but I do have the worlds most difficult storyteller. My mother usually tells me about the tear with hesitation, stating that Laura, my grandmother, had everything to do with it... "Your grandmother likes to blame me" or "It wasn't my fault", always being her opening when I ask. She did a lot of beating around the bush and telling me about all the things that Nana had ever done. So, being the curious child I was, I asked the accused. I often ask about things more than once, checking to make sure that they aren't lying to me. I learned that with anything my mother approached with hesitation, was false or that she was at fault. Nana's story always remained the same; Hailey put hoops in my ears before I could even walk, leading to infection and me ripping them out. The words 'infection', 'hoops', and 'ripping' always ended up in my mothers story, but never at any blame to herself, or to carelessness. Nana being horrible one way or another, was always to blame. I used this experience growing up, as a rule of thumb. Hailey liked to say she learned to be independent at a young age due to my birth, that everything was more difficult now. She moved out of the house, living with friends and no longer having obligations to go to high school because dropping out was "the right choice". But it was years later that I learned how heavily she still relied on my grandparents, Nana often having to take me to work with her because she worried for my wellbeing at Hailey's house. Laura told me about the countless times that she had found me laying on the floor, crying for attention as my mother and her friends were locked in her room. At that point in time, drugs were a likely addiction to blame, but I think that my mother was more addicted to the feeling of 'unconditional love' from anyone or anything, she could find it from. My grandmother was the first one to realize this, and it scared her.

Eyes Wide Open

 

    My mother was a child herself, just turning six-teen when giving birth to me. The complications of development starting even before my first breath. My mother Hailey, and my father Greg, were a bad combination. Hailey, being fifteen and Greg being twenty-three. Greg had a good heart though and my mother was already a pathological liar, never admitting to her real age until it was too late to go back. My grandmother Laura and my grandfather Rich, were both excited and upset upon the announcement of Hailey's pregnancy. Laura, wanting what's best for everyone, threatened Greg often with two options: pay child support, or face the law. But like I said, he had a good heart. Greg, though a bit reluctant to pay child support for a bastard who possibly wasn't his, did his best for me. Of course, not after demanding a DNA test for his record and peace of mind. As my mother would say, "You are 99.996% his child!". I scoffed often at that response, it was fair to say that I was only .004% hers, that percentage being all aesthetic. Another thing I often found humorous, was that Hailey often complained about having to do the test, exclaiming that Greg had shown up hours after my birth, covered in paint and refusing to hold me. Ah, yes, a working man with fears of the 'woman' who had already lied to him, was yet again, lying. Thus, the beginning of my troubles.