We all have our story. Our story is how other people relate to us. I always thought I shouldn’t share my story because I do not believe that my “story” is who I am…it’s a tale based on my perception and it is also rooted in the past. However, I have come to believe that if I am going to be of service to others, I have to share how I got to where I am today…living this amazing life far more bountiful than anything else I could have imagined, so let’s do this piecemeal…

I guess the best place to start is at the beginning!

I was born in a naval hospital in Portsmouth, VA in 1969. I was the youngest of five children. This is what I know (have been told): my dad met my mom in the Navy. He was out to sea a lot. She was an alcoholic “in her cups”. She would leave us five home alone for days on end. My oldest sister, seven years my senior, said she fed me mustard sandwiches due to lack of food. Hospital records show that I was very ill with the measles at before I was two years old. My dad’s signature was all of the paperwork. My older siblings had to steal food from the local store. Apparently someone reached my dad and notified him and he went AWOL to move us five children up to our Aunt’s home in Hudson, New York. He returned to active duty and his AWOL was forgiven (not sure if this is the right terminology but you get the point).

Forward to Hudson, New York….it was us five, with her five which makes ten! My memories begin there. Kick the can in the street, picking up ABC (already been chewed, yeah, gross) gum and eating it, a best friend, “Jackie”, my brother, Sean, on the stairwell with his underpants on his head, spitting peas in the AC floor vent, being told to play outside and not being able to go indoors for hours on end (teenagers were in charge–hehe), big trees, earthquakes, occasional visits from my big, burly dad, who was a stranger to me….my Big Wheel, being chased in an alley and bit by a German Shepherd dog, bats, bunk-beds, “I Love You” on the radio by Paul McCartney and Wings, sucking my thumb and getting in trouble for it…Raggedy Ann and Andy, learning to tie my shoes for the first time…then there was Fran, my dad’s second wife…moving from our aunt’s home to her home by carrying items down the street…sleeping in an attic…sitting in the window…fights, anger, broken items, step sister, Lynn, and step brothers?

The most profound memory of Hudson, NY, one which stayed with me all of my life and had the power to make me weep in my bed at night is this: I returned home from a party. I must have been around the age of four or five. I had a goody bag full of candy and treats. I gave some to my brother, Sean on the porch or before I even entered the house. Not long after I find myself upstairs in the room of the three K’s — Karen, Kathy, and Kati (sisters, and my cousin). They told me to go take the treats away from my brother so that they could have them. I did so. I do not even recall doing so…or his reaction at the time. However, this stayed with me and filled me with immense shame, guilt, and a consistent sadness the majority of my life. As an adult I did apologize to my brother, Sean, for taking his treats back then, I don’t recall but I am sure he laughed his infamous Sean laugh…I only know for this to haunt me so it may have affected him almost as profoundly. I wish he were still here to ask but that’s another story for another day.

What is your story? Do you realize how much you can help others by sharing it?