aah, life... such an interesting thing... so random, yet so meant to be...
I'm looking at a copy of my birth certificate.
my dad signed it... to certify it. he was 24. his signature looks the same as it does now, but a little more sloppy. and in the box where it reads "relationship to child" he wrote in capitals "FATHER". and dated it 9/20/85.... five days after the day i was born.
father.
in the space where the "mother of child" is named, my mother's name is typed: First: Betty Middle: Jo Last (birth name): Ventrone
but this is not the name she was born with. my mother was born in florida on november 10th, 1961 to a man named Charles, and to my Grandmother, Sue... their last name was Bailey.
Charles died when my mother was seven. Before his death, my grandma was beaten by Charles. my mother's first memory is of Charles attempting to shoot my grandma but missing and blowing a hole in the wall. she was an infant. when he died, my mom was relieved. and soon after the relief came the guilt from being relieved that your father is dead. guilt like that doesnt go away.
my grandmother remarried to a man named Art Ventrone. this is the Papa i knew. she was young and widdowed with three young children... he was young and single with none. when they married, he addopted her children, and my mom's last name became ventrone. overnight he became a father of three. he was hard on them, but was a good man. he had good morals and passed them on, making my mom who she is today. in my eyes, this man was a saint. he gave up his dreams to father children that werent his. Art died when i was 9.
I know my parents love me. But they were so young. What was it like to have 2 kids by the time you're 24 and 23? Were they happy? Were they confused? They obviously didnt know what they were doing -- they divorced 4 years later.
I cant help but think that the feeling my dad had when i was born will be the feeling that Mark feels when his daughter is born. And i hope the feeling is pure love.
I dont see my dad often, and i miss him alot. But it's wierd... i cant imagine my life any different. I was raised mainly by my mom, seeing my dad every other weekend for about 7 years strait. My mom and I have fought my entire life (dont worry, it's made our relationship a closer one in the long run) and when I was in 7th grade, my mom threatened to send me to my dad's and make me live with him. He lived 4 hours away, and she'd been threatening this for too long. I didnt want to move, my friends were here, not there. But being the stubborn girl that i was, i called her bluff. I said fine, I packed my bags, called my dad, and I left. She cried for weeks.
I lived with my dad for a year and a half. I felt so happy and so "in the right place." My dad brainwashed me with christianity, and I imagine I used it like a drug, and that's the reason I felt so at home. It's hard to explain. But then he my dad moved me out of the school that I loved, to northern california, and i hated it. So i rebelled. And my dad kicked me out. Back to my mom's I went.
I didnt talk to my dad for a year. Not once. No calls, no visits. Nothing.
My dad and I are fine now... I love him, and i know he loves me. But i really miss the days when I was his little girl. He lived in Simi Vally through most my young child hood. My sister and I loved his house. He was so creative. He had built us a 2 story "spaceship" in the corner of the garage, equiped with a black and white tv that recieved one channel, a ladder, a coat rack, carpet, and in the top story we had a black light, along with a bunch of glow in the dark stars and old control switches and buttons that made us feel as if we were really gona take off.
We also had a tree fort and two tree swings made of sanded wood and some old ropes. mind you, the tree with the fort in it was a tall one. i'm not sure how he built it... we even had a pulley basket thing that allowed us to bring stuff up without carrying it while we were climbing, but it was these things that, through most my childhood, made my dad the "best man alive". He was my idol.
I love my parents. I love them for who they are, completely. I love the fact that I wasn't raised by them both under the same roof. I love my mother, and even though we've been through some really rough times, she's one of my favorite people. I love my dad, even if he's a christian ;). He has a big heart, and I'm proud to know such a kind soul.
Now, i'm sure no one read all that, but that's okay. I didnt write it for you. I wrote it for me.
my dad signed it... to certify it. he was 24. his signature looks the same as it does now, but a little more sloppy. and in the box where it reads "relationship to child" he wrote in capitals "FATHER". and dated it 9/20/85.... five days after the day i was born.
father.
in the space where the "mother of child" is named, my mother's name is typed: First: Betty Middle: Jo Last (birth name): Ventrone
but this is not the name she was born with. my mother was born in florida on november 10th, 1961 to a man named Charles, and to my Grandmother, Sue... their last name was Bailey.
Charles died when my mother was seven. Before his death, my grandma was beaten by Charles. my mother's first memory is of Charles attempting to shoot my grandma but missing and blowing a hole in the wall. she was an infant. when he died, my mom was relieved. and soon after the relief came the guilt from being relieved that your father is dead. guilt like that doesnt go away.
my grandmother remarried to a man named Art Ventrone. this is the Papa i knew. she was young and widdowed with three young children... he was young and single with none. when they married, he addopted her children, and my mom's last name became ventrone. overnight he became a father of three. he was hard on them, but was a good man. he had good morals and passed them on, making my mom who she is today. in my eyes, this man was a saint. he gave up his dreams to father children that werent his. Art died when i was 9.
I know my parents love me. But they were so young. What was it like to have 2 kids by the time you're 24 and 23? Were they happy? Were they confused? They obviously didnt know what they were doing -- they divorced 4 years later.
I cant help but think that the feeling my dad had when i was born will be the feeling that Mark feels when his daughter is born. And i hope the feeling is pure love.
I dont see my dad often, and i miss him alot. But it's wierd... i cant imagine my life any different. I was raised mainly by my mom, seeing my dad every other weekend for about 7 years strait. My mom and I have fought my entire life (dont worry, it's made our relationship a closer one in the long run) and when I was in 7th grade, my mom threatened to send me to my dad's and make me live with him. He lived 4 hours away, and she'd been threatening this for too long. I didnt want to move, my friends were here, not there. But being the stubborn girl that i was, i called her bluff. I said fine, I packed my bags, called my dad, and I left. She cried for weeks.
I lived with my dad for a year and a half. I felt so happy and so "in the right place." My dad brainwashed me with christianity, and I imagine I used it like a drug, and that's the reason I felt so at home. It's hard to explain. But then he my dad moved me out of the school that I loved, to northern california, and i hated it. So i rebelled. And my dad kicked me out. Back to my mom's I went.
I didnt talk to my dad for a year. Not once. No calls, no visits. Nothing.
My dad and I are fine now... I love him, and i know he loves me. But i really miss the days when I was his little girl. He lived in Simi Vally through most my young child hood. My sister and I loved his house. He was so creative. He had built us a 2 story "spaceship" in the corner of the garage, equiped with a black and white tv that recieved one channel, a ladder, a coat rack, carpet, and in the top story we had a black light, along with a bunch of glow in the dark stars and old control switches and buttons that made us feel as if we were really gona take off.
We also had a tree fort and two tree swings made of sanded wood and some old ropes. mind you, the tree with the fort in it was a tall one. i'm not sure how he built it... we even had a pulley basket thing that allowed us to bring stuff up without carrying it while we were climbing, but it was these things that, through most my childhood, made my dad the "best man alive". He was my idol.
I love my parents. I love them for who they are, completely. I love the fact that I wasn't raised by them both under the same roof. I love my mother, and even though we've been through some really rough times, she's one of my favorite people. I love my dad, even if he's a christian ;). He has a big heart, and I'm proud to know such a kind soul.
Now, i'm sure no one read all that, but that's okay. I didnt write it for you. I wrote it for me.