I don’t remember a lot of childhood, there are bits and pieces here and there, like snapshots found during a move. I remember feeling like home was a relative term because I wasn’t welcome at home and just allowed to be there when it was okay with mom. As I got older and made close friends in my preteen, and teen years, I had friends that I could spend the night with, and I could go to my dad’s and sleep on the couch. My mom developed the attitude that the weekends belonged to her and we were not to be around for her time.
I never fully understood what it was that we had done wrong that made her not want to be around us. I knew other kids did things with their parents, wasn’t really sure why mom didn’t want us in sight. I was the middle child, my older sister moved out when I was 11 to my Grandmother’s house, my mom really had it in for her. So big sis moved out and I became the errand girl and the other source of income. Of course you can’t make much in high school, but whatever it was was up to her to take as well.
I found more freedom when my Dad gave me my first car, a little cute and fast Honda CRX. Like a bullet. She was my freedom for a long time. I could remember taking long drives, just because I didn’t have to be at work, didn’t want to be at home and life was already too complicated for a boyfriend. I used to long for the day I would turn 18 and be able to move out and fantasized about being emancipated.
I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I’m telling you this because I’m like you and you’re like me and we’ve all got history, we have to know our history to move forward with our lives. It doesn’t have to be a haunting thing.
I met a boy when I was 16 and had my heart broken, I went to visit him one day and found him hugging up on some girl at the pool in his complex. I told him to kiss my as* and that he’d never see me again, and he didn’t.
I met another boy shortly thereafter and my mom really hated him. One day my rebellious anger towards her hit it’s all time high and I picked a fight, boy did I get one. I told her I was old enough to make my own decisions and since I was working and paying rent, she should consider me a tenant and leave me the hell alone.
That was not cool with mamasan. She hit the roof and let me have it, she had this billy club that she kept in our washroom in case someone ever came in that part of the house, and I think she had one stored somewhere in her room too. I told her I didn’t have to live here and that my dad would let me live with him if I needed to until I was 18 and he wouldn’t make me slave and pay rent. She came after me with that club and I took off to my room, which for a few more minutes would have a dead bolt lock.
She told me through the door that I had locked, as she was ramming it to come in, that I wasn’t going any fu**in where and that I wasn’t old enough to make my own decisions and she’d be damned if I talked to her that way. About that time, she heard my boyfriends voice at the door, somehow we’d left the door open and she ran after him. (I found out later she had chased him to the car and then the car down the street beating it with that club, causing hundreds of dollars in damages.)
With that my best friend at the time called her mom and asked if we could come there. Her mom of course hearing those events had come very quickly.
As her mom pulled up, and I had a few of my things for a few days, my mom was in her room with the door locked. I knocked and told her I was leaving and that I’d call before I came to get the rest of my stuff and that I loved her. She told me whatever I left to consider it gone.
With that I left home and never returned.
What happens next is another story, but now you know how life began for me as I left home at 17. Some of you have felt this way, some of you have not, some may one day. Some of you left home under much worse conditions.
Either way, we are here for you.