the best relationship when I was a child. She was very “allowing” and let me do what I felt, participate in anything at church or school I wanted to participate in, and be all and whoever I wanted to be.
From a very early age, I can remember my mom feeling secure in never having to worry about me and knew I was a good communicator when I was a kid and an eventual good conversationalist into being a pre-teen. I never had a problem with articulating what I wanted or didn’t want and why (or why not). That being the case, my mom allowed me to be the responsible child and teen that she’d grown to trust me to be—that is: until I became a teen mom.
Considering the fact that I was on my way and years into attending a school for the creative and performing arts, how that “responsible” child of hers on one path ended up [in what seemed like] the place to be (given her path and life footprint thus far), could end up in love with a boy and a baby on the way.
In addition to that shock (that typically happens between mom and daughter even without a being a teen mom), that mom v. teen daughter tumultuousness was rearing its ugly head—all the while she was going through her change of life and changes in life.
After nearly two years of having settled into acceptance that she was a new grandma who, by the way was in love with her new caramel yummy grandchild: “Steve,” that. still didn’t serve as any solace to the insanity she and I was going through.
It all reared its ugly head at—(for her what I saw was an opportune time).
Although never absent from our lives until we moved away (so that I could hide the shame of my being pregnant), during the time when my mom had come to the realization that my (now) remarried dad was opening a businesses with his wife) she had started to move on and live life and find love again-only to get a great dose of honesty from her new boyfriend who told her he honestly didn’t think he could trust himself around her daughter.
“Her daughter” was one and only me.
And one and only me was in the next room-presumed napping-listening to my mom and her friend talk about this new boyfriend of hers that dropped that dose of honesty on her—(for me-was an inopportune time considering our rocky road already).
A new teen mom with a year and a half old child, having graduated high school and kicking 18 in the ass, it wasn’t long after overhearing that awful conversation that our next fight ended up being my ticket to “freedom”—less the child. He could stay but I had to go even if I didn’t want to go I had to. That was hardly freedom to me. My child was supposed to go with me when I left her humble abode but she saw different. With a good good as a 911 operator and before that-over 20 years working the City Hall and knowing everyone in every necessary department throughout the system, she took the legal steps to make him her responsibility and get me out just before I turned 18.
Having been working since a work permit at age 14 and (less become a teen mom) having earned “being responsible” credits from my mom since I was a child; I “got out.” I moved to my own place. Although I had access to my child and even her house no different than before; for the next three years-he could live with her but I couldn’t (and he couldn’t live with me).
So by 21, more mature and settled; when I got my first “corporate,” “good job” at GE, and just before her lawyer (who quickly orchestrated the custody switch) got hit and killed, life for my son and me continued as-was (uninterrupted) this time around.
Fast forward.
Over the years, we
Spitfire .
Media Maestro .
Writing Rhinoceros .
