I’m sure that you don’t know this about me. I was supposed to be an attorney when I grew up. I was on the path to law school. I was walking that path with sure steps. It may have an awkward climb at first, but it was my destiny once upon a time.

I often replay, and reanalysed every mis-step I may have taken in my life. I am forever analyzing every game plan I ever had, or failed to make.

When I was thirteen I moved in with my friend Mary Kay. Her family was traditional Christian farmers in a small traditional Christian farming town. We became best-friends at orientation of sixth grade. Our first real class schedules had us in every other class together. We couldn’t have been more different, but more alike.

For half of eight grade, and all of ninth I lived with her family. I went to church and out to a family breakfast afterward every Sunday. I did my homework every day after school. I collected eggs from the chicken coop every morning. My Grandma took me out to the mall shopping so I finally had normal  new clothes. I was even taking piano lessons! It was predicted that Mary Kay would be a Marine Biologist because of her love for water and the ocean. I was destined to be the lawyer because of my rapier wit.

It had been determined, decided. I was never supposed to be on welfare. I was going off to some Michigan college like all my classmates. I was going to get a fine husband. I was… so much more.

But one of their other daughters decided she would rather live at home than on campus. So one weekend I came home from my aunt’s house and Mary Kay’s sister had packed up all of my clothes and took down my posters, and announced that “their real daughter” was moving in. I was going back to my mom.

When my mom picked me up she told me I could pick the color of paint for my bedroom. She also told me she was getting married. Then she told me the guy was really young. The she told me he had been in Jackson Prison for eight years and had just gotten out three months ago. Then she told me she had to go to work, but my “new dad” would be home in an hour or so.

She did not tell me he had tattoos covering his entire body. She did not tell me that he had a mohawk that he wore braided down to his ass. She did not tell me that he wasn’t used to being around females, especially fifteen year olds in tennis skirts. She did not tell me that I would lose all my new “good” friends over this. She did not tell me that I would break up with my perfect first boyfriend in humiliation. She just kept working at Wal-Mart.

I point to that moment in time because that was when I looked for Mary. She found me. She took me to South Bronx, New York City. I began a series of unfortunate decisions. I got into the system, and I’ve never quite gotten out. When I was close, twice, someone raped me back into placed.

It had been determined, decided. I was never supposed to be on welfare. I was going off to some Michigan college like all my classmates. I was going to get a fine husband. I was… so much more.

So “God’s Plan” is to live this dramatic life of martyrdom and surgery and ex-losers? Because someday it will mean something to someone? It’s why I keep writing poems.

The children are stirring

The sweet baby wakes

But their mama Kayla

No crying she makes.   ————————–

I will have none. I may be a Daddy’s Girl in Heaven, but I am a brat when it comes to being one of God’s Children. Dad always wins, but half the fun is the kicking and screaming along the way.

But maybe this  fate-inflicted vow of poverty has a moral to it’s story, or gold at the end of it’s rainbow. Or perhaps it’s three magical brilliant children, and an adoring husband  that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Speaking of which, the girls are making me cinnamon toast, and then we have some trees to climb and a creek to explore today. First, more cartoons.

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