I wanted to open up a bit, get up close and personal and give you guys a bit of feed on my life and why I started this blog.
It's not to be famous, though having people remember me after I die (whenever that may be, hopefully not for a very long time!) would be fantastic.
I wasn't always a Canadian citizen but I have been grateful for many years and continue to be grateful that I am one now.My family and I came from a country (21 and 1/2 yrs. ago) where Communism at that point was still very much happening and my parents wanted a better future for me and my brother, a future of our own choosing.
The first place we lived in after our move to Canada was Hamilton Ontario and from then on we moved around a lot, Aylmer, Gloucester, Ottawa and back to Hamilton. You can imagine how hard it was to find friends and maintain those friendships. Growing up with that kind of lifestyle hasn't been easy.
Most of the moves were because of jobs and I can remember my parents always looking for a better job. It's not to say that we were poor, because we weren't, but we certainly weren't rich either.
I'm grateful for that now though because it's made me who I am today, I like to pride myself in thinking I'm somewhat financially conscientious.
Going to school I never had the latest fads, I think I only owned one pair of jeans and maybe one decent blouse. T-shirts and track pants were the dress code of choice for me. Make-up was out of the question, both because it was expensive and because my father was against it. So life was pretty bland.
As you can imagine if my father was against make-up, he was against a lot of things. He ran a very tight household with bed times, curfews and even made me do book reports during the summer when I was supposed to be having my holidays.
I can remember one time when I was about fourteen and I was one minute over my curfew and in that minute he had my bags packed and locked me out of the house. Bastard! Talk about traumatizing.
I'd like to say that as a teenager I rebelled against him and his rules, but the truth of the matter is that my brother and I spent more time being afraid of our own father than try to cross him.
He was a very loving man, when he wanted to be, but he was also very physical, punishing us with his fists and the belt whenever and however he saw fit. He not only did it to his children but to my mother as well, and for that I still haven't forgiven him.
It's been 15 years since he's passed away and the fear that he cast into my life still lives in me. The fear that at any moment I can and will lose control with my own child is something I live with everyday.
It would be easy to walk away from it all and let bygones be bygones, he is dead after all, but honestly how do you ever walk away from something you've faced everyday since you were born?
Do I hate him? I used to think I do but it might repulse some of you to learn that no, I do not hate him. How can you hate a man who dealt with life the only way he knew how? The only way he was shown how?
I've later come to learn that my father used to get beat by his parents, and his parents by their parents and so on and so forth. But the gruesomeness of the situation has to stop at some point, right?
Well it stops here, with my generation! I will not do to my kids what he did to us! I couldn't bare it if my own son was afraid of me. Like there isn't enough to deal with in this world!
Because of the constant beatings and put downs I am who I am today, and for that he has my undying love, he is still my father, but he does not merit another thought or another shadow of a doubt. I've spent enough of my childhood in fear, grown up way too fast, and so maybe this is why I try to do so much that I missed out on. This just goes to prove my point that you're only as old as you feel!
I started piano lessons one spring many many years ago but my parents didn't have the money to continue my lessons and honestly that's about the only regret I have.
I have a full sized Casio piano that sits in my living room and never gets touched. It's a dust collector but yet I can't part with it. I have it in the back of my mind that maybe someday I'll pick up lessons again and finish what I started, or perhaps my son will pick it up, but that hasn't happened either. It just sits there, tantalizing me with its shiny ivory keys. I do skim my fingers over the keys once in a while in an attempt to replicate a song, but I'm heart broken at the thought of it not being there, so it's a no win situation.
Getting back to school...while growing up, I wasn't popular, I wasn't nerdy, I wasn't into sports, not really. I did play soccer and football later during my high school years though, but that was much later.
I was the girl who was always on the borderline of being popular (thanks to my charming wit), but not popular enough, and I was always just a little bit too fat, a big no-no amongst the real popular girls.
Having moved around so much I kind of had to learn how to talk to people, either that or have an isolated life.
I never got asked to dance at the school dances, well maybe this one time, but I still haven't determined if it was because of a dare or if it was genuine.
School years can be so harsh on a person and classmates even more so.
I didn't and still don't hate school, I actually enjoyed my classes, most of them anyway. I'm not sure if this had anything to do with why I didn't quite cross over to the popular side or not. I can recall pretty much all the popular students being blase about school and the fact that I enjoyed it didn't seem to mix well with their standards.
Math has never been my strongest subject and it still isn't. I see numbers and I break out in hives and a cold sweat.
As for boyfriends, I never had one until high school and even then I'm not sure you can call it that, but I guess everyone has that one relationship they're in where it's one sided. Where you make all the decisions, and the reservations and practically have a relationship with yourself while the manthing next to you just smiles and nods because clearly he doesn't know what it means to be a man yet.
That went on for two years and then I called it quits because I realized I deserved better.
This started my health kick. It wasn't a diet, per say. I wasn't restricting myself from foods that I loved, just their frequency in visiting my mouth.
I went for a two hour walk every night after work and I joined a gym. And yeah...it worked. I lost weight. I went from a size 22 down to a size 16. I had motivation!
That's when boys started calling my house, not a lot, because you know according to society's standards I was still fat and it isn't cool to date the fat chick, but enough to have a good time with. I went on dates, we had dinner, we went to the movies, most put the moves on me, but then it hit me.
When I was heavier, guys didn't like me because of my weight, though they found me cute and funny, they just weren't interested in me like "that".
After I lost a good portion of the weight, they weren't interested in me like "that" because I wouldn't put out.
So basically my whole life I've grown up with the notion that A) You're not lovable if you're fat and B) You're not lovable if you're skinny and don't put out. When I weigh the odds, I think I'd much rather be cute and funny and just a little bit fat as opposed to skinny and trampy. That's not to say that just because you're skinny you're a tramp. Heck no! But when I was thinner, I found that guys were always trying to make me dress in these barely there shirts and skimpy shorts. I don't want to see your gatchies so what makes you think I'd want to show you mine?
Anyway, after a few bad dates, a few good dates, some interesting dates and one stand up I was fortunate enough to find my husband.
I was 19 going on 20 and in love. It's funny how that age old saying of "when you find the right one you just know" is true. It's a hard feeling to explain. For me it was my insecurities that told me he was the one. Hovering by the phone or the computer hoping he'd call or send me a message. Feeling my heart break after we'd been together all weekend and he had to return home (he lived in a different city than me). Wondering constantly what he was doing, daydreaming about him at work, dreaming about him in my sleep, talking about him non stop. Some call that stalker syndrome, thankfully for me it was love.
We've been married for five years now, been together for ten, have a beautiful 7 year old son, two gorgeous labs and I look forward to so much more with him.
We did everything ass backwards mind you, had the kid first, bought a house and then got married, but hey, we made it!
This isn't to say our life has been rainbows and picnics, and to all of those that say that, I have one word for you...DENIAL!
There have been many ups and sometimes it's felt like even more downs, but you know what, working through it all is what makes a relationship stronger and determines whether or not you'll make it, or break it.
The great unknown is the roller coaster of life and I wouldn't trade mine for the world.
So what made me decide to start a blog? You'll have to wait for my next post.
Till next time,