Cigs at Five

I can't believe it's the beginning of February and no snow! We had a beautiful sunny day here in Michigan and I was able to get outside and go for a run with my husband and boys. Of coarse, that meant a stop at the park as well. Not only is it a beautiful day, it's Super Bowl Sunday! Not much celebration going on at my house, just another family day. Okay, enough with the small talk, where were we with my parent's story? If you haven't read the first two blogs, I suggest you do to catch up.

Now for a look at my dad's beginnings...

I was born on August, 13th, 1963 at South Haven Community Hospital in Michigan. I was welcomed to my home in Breedsville, MI by my mom and dad, two older brothers and sister. Life seemed "normal" at that time in my life. One of my first memories of my childhood was going to the beach in South Haven. South Haven is a city that lines the beautiful beach of Lake Michigan. I loved the sounds of the water and the feel of the sand. I also remember thinking the walk to the beach from the parking lot took forever. It's funny how the concept of distance is skewed as a child. Another vivid memory was my first day of kindergarten at Bloomingdale Elementary. I cried! I had an empty and alone feeling when I was dropped off in my classroom and I did not want to be there. Christmas' were usually a disappointment. We'd always get the knock-off version of what we wanted. You know, like Jolten Jumps instead of Hot Wheels, things like that. 

My parents disagreed a lot during this time in my life. My Mom and Dad had separated when I was around four and a half and were divorced by the time I was five. Once I was woken up from my sleep by my parents fighting so loudly in the driveway. I later found out that my Dad had followed my Mom home from a baby shower and had attempted to choke her. My Grandpa hit my Dad over the head with his cane and my Mom was able to escape to a distant neighbors house where she called the police. I watched as the cops showed up and took my dad away in cuffs. The fights seemed to intensify. I remember my mom getting mad at my dad during an argument and busting a glass ketchup bottle, splattering red ketchup all over the table. 

 

Seeing my dad after the divorce was few and far. There were the scheduled "every-other-weekend" visits that I would pack my bags and get ready for, but then he wouldn't show up. The times that he did show up, he would either drop us off at either my grandmas and take off, or the movie theater and leave us to watch a movie on our own. Needless to say, I remember very little of my father. My mom had to work to provide, so my siblings and I were left to ourselves to run free. We had BB guns that we would shoot everything with. I also tried my first cigarette when I was five-years-old. My brothers and I would search for old cigarette butts to smoke until we were able to buy our very own cigarette making machine. Then we smoked just about anything we could think of! My oldest brother was in charge of us during the day. I don't know if it was because of the divorce, but he was angry and was always into trouble. He would frequently beat on my brother and I. I became very quick-witted with words, because I thought if I couldn't beat him up with fists, I'd beat him with words. Of coarse, that only led to more thrashings. He would throw us up in the air, and move out of the way so we would drop to the ground. He'd also push his feet so hard into my chest that I would pass out. When I would come into consciousness, he'd slap me and say, "don't you ever say that again!" My grandpa lived in a small converted section we built off of our garage in our back yard. He was a very overweight and bed-ridden man for most of the time that I knew him. When he was a younger man, living in the Chicago area, he worked as a painter. While working one day he fell and landed on his knees. Over time, arthritis set in and with his growing weight, he became more and more immobile. We had to wait on him and take care of him and I remember he smelled awful! He had weird collections of things, like his floor to ceiling supply of bottles of Pepsi, and toilet paper, sugar, and snickers bars that he kept in his freezer. I don't know if he was a hoarder, or just the result of living through war rationing, but it was weird. He also had a T-bar above his bed that he used to help get himself in and out. I remember swinging on it and doing flips over his belly. He was also a retired Police officer and my brothers and I would play with his spot light and search through all of his old WANTED posters, hoping to find some sort of adventure.

 

My mom re-married probably when I was still five. This time to a very strict Arkansas man whom we would later learn had deep-seeded anger issues.

During my fourth grade year we moved to Bangor, MI into a bigger, nicer home closer to my mom and step-dad's work. It was in fourth grade that I learned how bad cigarette smoking was for you. So I quit...and began smoking non-medical marijuana.  

Illegitimate Baby

When my kids were tucked in bed and my husband was comfortably resting on the couch with his favorite show, I snuck off to my bedroom to call my mom. She was excited to talk about her childhood and "how it all began." This was a fun time between my mom and I, and I would encourage everyone to do this with your parents if you can, or anyone older than you. The past is a powerful tool to learn from.

Through my mother's eyes and my pen and paper, this is how her world began...

I was born on April 21st, 1962, in Kalamazoo, Michigan. I guess you could say I was born into a bit of chaos. My mother was married to a man (not my real father) just to avoid the words "illegitimate" on the birth certificate. My grandpa didn't want an un-wedlock child in his home, so this seemed like the best option. We lived in California on the marine base, but it never felt like home to my mom. She grew home-sick frequently and we would often make trips back to Michigan. My grandfather would pick us up from the airport. We did this several times, so I'm told, until the final pick-up. That's when my mom decided to leave my step dad, and move home to Michigan where we lived with my grandparents. It's with my grandparents that I formed some of my favorite childhood memories.

It didn't take long before my grandpa fell in love with me, and often told me I was his favorite. Of coarse, that didn't go over very well with my cousins, or my mom and aunt. In my eyes, my grandpa was the greatest man that ever lived! I loved mornings when my grandpa would say, "boo-boo, climb up here," and I would snuggle in bed with him.  "Boo-boo" was my nickname. I always thought it was because I'd hide in the bedroom closet at night and jump out to scare my grandma, but later found out it was because I was an "accident". Either way...I liked it when my grandpa called me by that name. My grandpa loved to take me to Howard Johnson's for breakfast to teach me how to order my eggs. He'd ask, "boo-boo, how you gonna order your eggs today?" I'd reply, "over-easy Grandpa."  "Order sausage links too boo-boo," He would always add. Of course, we couldn't leave the restaurant with-out him flirting with the waitress. That man was my hero. He was the one who put the love for music into my bones. He could play the trumpet and piano by ear. And boy could he sing! I loved it when he would sing me the song, "It Had to Be You;" that was our song. I have such great memories getting together with the family and watching my grandpa and uncles play their instruments. It wasn't a party with out a little booze and music.

My grandma kept the house so neat, simple, and clean. Their house gave me a warm, cozy feeling. I have fond memories dancing to Motown in the front living room with her. I loved it when grandma would take me to the State Theater to see all the new Disney movies. I loved theater! I was a bit of a dramatic little girl and I loved attention. I would stand in front of their picture window and sing, "You blew the blues right out of the horn Mame..." At night my grandma would have me kneel down by my window and look at the stars. We'd say the same prayer every night: "Lord help us be happy and healthy and do what's right, amen." She'd then tuck me in and lay next to me and with the low hum of the t.v. I drifted off to sleep.

You may be wondering where my mom was in all of this. To be honest, I don't remember much of my mom during this time in my life. The memories I have are sketchy and not great. I remember seeing my mom and grandpa get into a huge fight and my grandpa hit her. As I watched her trip over the fan and fall to the ground I felt confused. I loved them both so much and I couldn't understand why this was happening. I also remember her showing me a receipt from a surgery I had. She made sure I was aware that I knew it was because of my medical bills that she needed to work three jobs to pay for it. My least favorite memory of my mom was on an afternoon when my grandpa was trying to watch a game on t.v. I decided to break out into song and dance to entertain him in front of the television. Obviously, it wasn't good timing and he told me to get out of the way. That's when my mom told me to get into the car. She drove me to Bronson Park, and told me to get out. Her last words before she drove off were, "I hope someone kidnaps you." I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, crying and confused. I think she just went around the block, but at four-years-old, it felt like forever. She did pick me back up and we carried on like nothing ever happened.

Drugs took over my mom, until she couldn't see light at the end of the tunnel. That's when she sat in her room and decided her life needed to end.

Intro: Curious Kid

This blog is a real life story; no fillers, no sensors, just real. It's about real love, real pain, real faith, real people. My inspiration stems from our society's divorce stats, and the lack of true love in marriages.

My name is Tara Follett. I am a daughter, sister, wife, and mother of two. I was born June 9th, 1985 into a loving family in Kalamazoo, Michigan. I was blessed with a wonderful mother and father who loved each other very much and two older brothers to look after me. Years later our family grew and we welcomed my younger sister and brother into the world. As I've grown into a woman, I have noticed my parents are different...and by different I mean, married. As strange as that seems, marriage or should I say a successful, romantic, loving and, fun marriage is hard to find. Now that I am a married woman, I am curious: what's their love story? What keeps them going strong? What brought them to where they are now? I began "interviewing" my parents, and right away felt this was a story worth sharing. This is a rags to riches, prince and shining armor biography. As my curiosity beckoned my parents, I was shocked at the details of their past. Some were hard to hear, some made me laugh, and others made me cry.

I hope you can grow and learn from my parent's journey as I have.