Chapter 6 Growing Up Jenn Style
If you’re going through hell, keep going.
-Winston Churchill
My sister used to climb on the kitchen counter and get the butter dish out of the cabinet. She would just take bites out of it–just go to town on the stick of butter. It was always an endearing quality, even though I thought it was gross. She was my best friend growing up, and I loved taking care of her. I never realized it wasn’t my job. We did everything together. If we shared something, like a sandwich or even a candy bar, Kimmie would always give me the bigger half. When we got older and she grew out of this habit, I was a little pissed off at her. Actually, I still am. Give me the bigger half, damnit!
We swore a lot growing up. We could put a trucker to shame swearing, actually. I didn’t realize it was different for anyone else until I was in middle school. I went to a church camp and asked a boy I thought was cute to help with my luggage. He told me to get it myself. I called him an asshole. He came up to me and told me that people would like me more if I didn’t talk like that. I was baffled, but I heard him and started to pay attention. I still swear. Less than back then, but it’s still part of who I am.
Bumps on the Head
When I was little my mother was grocery shopping. Kimmie was sitting in the front of the cart and I was standing in the main cart where the groceries go. When we were in the checkout line I somehow ended up falling out of the cart and onto my head. My mother brought me to the emergency room with a mild concussion. The experience put so much fear in me of kids standing in carts. The memory will always haunt me.
A couple years later, I was in the basement of the Methodist church. There were concrete floors with tiles laid down over it. I was running down one hallway and turned down another. A teenage boy was running in the other direction, and we slammed into each other. Since I was so small, I went flying and landed on the floor on my head. My mother and I took another trip to the emergency room and I got an orange popsicle, which seemed almost worth a second concussion.
Playing House
There was a neighbor kid named Joe that used to come over and play. We played house in our detached garage. It was a square garage painted blue like the house. It could fit just one car if there hadn’t been so much stuff in it. I’m sure my mother was holding on to things from the bigger house when she was married to my father. This house was much smaller and didn’t fit much. The garage was a fun place to escape the house. We pretended we were nice parents and he loved me. I would sit in an almost full box of stuff and pretend to give birth to a baby we would both love. I used one of my dolls for the baby ,and she didn’t have clothes because she was just being born. Joe was my first kiss. Tight lipped, not knowing what we were doing, kissing just once or twice on the lips. I liked Joe and it felt good to pretend we had a family that wasn’t fucked up, even if I was only about eight years old.
Someone is in the Water
When Kimmie was 4 and I was 7 we were at a local pond with a babysitter. Kim called to me to come see something. When I waded into the water there was a girl. She was stuck in the weeds under the water and she had her eyes open. I don’t know how long she had been dead and no idea to this day what happened. We got out and told an adult. They closed down the pond. The police and an ambulance arrived. It was so sad and clearly traumatizing for two little girls to find and see. She was a teenager and was so pretty.
Since then I haven’t liked being in water where I can’t see the bottom. Weeds make me particularly uncomfortable. As an adult, my first triathlon was in a lake. The weeds came to the surface and wrapped around my arms and legs. So many women dropped out of the race because of it. They panicked. I talked myself through it though by using affirmations. I repeated to myself, “I have control, I’m not that girl, nothing bad will happen, they are only plants trying to live.” Getting out of the water successfully and completing that triathlon was a far bigger accomplishment than anyone could have known for me. At that moment I conquered my fear and my memories of the girl who died in the weeds so long ago.
The Great Kate
The best example I had of the possibility of life being different was my best friend Kate. Kate and I were born a month apart and we went to church together. I know her parents questioned whether we should be friends because of where I came from. After all, I had a broken family, a train wreck of a mother, and an absent father. Despite this, they tolerated me. I loved going to Kate’s house. It would be a gross understatement to say that her house was nicer than mine. She was in a different league and I knew it, but I didn’t care. Something happened between Kate’s older sister and my mother in youth group, but I never figured out exactly what. Her parents spoke in hushed whispers about my mother when I was at their house. I could feel the tension. I know Kate’s sister came to our house several times and smoked pot and talked about sex with my mom. Kate’s parents allowed me to come over in spite of all the reasons they could have shunned me. I appreciated that.
Kate’s mom was a stay-at-home mom, and she always wore a skirt/jacket combo like professionals wore to the office. Her dad was quiet, soft-spoken, read the paper, and smoked a pipe. I loved watching him go through the process of preparing his pipe to smoke. He sat in his chair with his big ashtray next to it. It looked like a small end table. He would dump out the tobacco and clean out the bowl of the pipe then fill the bowl loosely and tap it down. He would do this a little at a time until the bowl was full enough. He had a special lighter that he used to take the first drags with, and if it wasn’t right, he’d make adjustments to the tobacco. It wasn’t like lighting a cigarette. He would circle the lighter around the bowl to light all of it. Then it would go out and he’d relight it the same way.
He was excited when he had a new tobacco to try. He would sit in that big chair and get himself settled with his pipe and read the paper. I liked the way the pipe looked and the way it smelled. So much better than cigarettes. Kate’s parents were refined, but distant. They weren’t loud and boisterous. They were more reigned in. Conservative and sophisticated.
Kate had nice clothes that I envied. The best news was she gave me her hand-me-downs. She wore brands like Gloria Vanderbilt, Calvin Klein, Jordache, and Sasson. She was a little bigger than I was, so her stuff fit me perfectly when she outgrew it. She had the cool clothes that all the popular kids had. I never felt “less than” when Kate gave me her hand-me-downs because she never made me feel that way. Giving me her outgrown clothes was no big deal to her, so it never was to me. I always looked forward to it. There was a pair of Jordache jeans that Kate gave me in middle school. I loved them and never wanted to give them up. I put them on to go to a dance once. By “put them on” I mean I used a pair of pliers to get the zipper up. They were that tight. My mother took one look at me and told me I couldn’t wear them because they were too small. I was devastated.
Kate’s house was so nice that they had a formal living room the kids weren’t allowed in. We had to walk through the corner of it to get to the bedrooms, and I would look at it longingly. She and her older sister had their own bedrooms. They didn’t need to share. Even their soap and shampoo smelled better than ours. Kate’s mom was constantly cooking. Food was plentiful. They were a meat and potatoes kind of family so it was common to have roasts and vegetables for dinner. I recall something good cooking every evening, and there was always plenty to go around.
Kate was allowed to cook whenever she wanted to, and they always had the ingredients on hand. One time she made homemade hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies for us. I just watched as I didn’t know how to make anything, but Kate did. The hot chocolate didn’t turn out great, but we drank it anyway. The cookie dough was amazing, so we ate most of it right out of the bowl. I don’t even remember baking them in the oven. We were so happily sick after we binged on that dough. To this day I can’t eat raw cookie dough, but every time I make cookies, I think of Kate with fondness. She never judged my life, she listened and never made me feel bad. She just loved me for me and knew me better than anyone with the exception of my sister.
I went to Kate’s grandmother’s beach house in Newport a couple of times. There were so many windows that it was easy to view the crystal blue ocean. I felt so special going there. I pretended I was part of their family instead of my dysfunctional family. I imagined what it would be like to have money and not worry about anything. I fantasized about what it would be like to be loved by my parents, have nice clothes, nutritious food, and live on a house on the beach by the ocean.
We stayed best friends through middle school. She was a cheerleader and on the rugby team. Kate was popular and smart, and I was a low income struggling kid. I was in track in middle school but never labeled a jock. I wasn’t one of the smart kids. But Kate remained true to me even though she moved on. We lost touch when I went to a different high school (imagine a world before Facebook!), but we got back in touch eventually. She was even in my first wedding when I was 19 years old. At that time, she was the captain of the rugby team at college, which was pretty cool. I’ve always been proud of her like we were sisters. We saw each other in 2005 and still stalk each other on Facebook to this day. I love that woman for loving me.
Becoming A Warrior Princess
While writing this book there have been moments I have let myself go and sobbed uncontrollably. I cried not because of all the bad things I had to relive by writing this. Certainly there has been some of that; however, most of my healing was years and years ago when I went through therapy. I sob today because of the people that I have loved who have shown me they cared. The people who made a positive difference in my life. I thought about all the people in my life that I wanted to thank and never did. So thank them I did. While writing this book, I contacted each and every one I could find to say thank you. We don’t know the impact we have on others in passing, just by being ourselves. We make a difference without trying. I’ve had that experience through the years I have been a foster mom.
Triumph with Love
I challenge you to tell people you appreciate them, say thank you, like things on social media and comment. It takes zero money and very little time to show you care. Pay it forward, pass it on, and see the difference it makes in your life and theirs.
LEARN AND GROW
• Say thank you
• Try to make a positive difference in people’s lives
• Smile at people
• Be thankful