Month: January 2022

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04. Revelations

“Dear mom, I get it now.” – Unknown

It would be easy to hold a grudge against my mom even though I understand, because even though I understand, it doesn’t make it easier when she lets me down. No, I am not naive and think I’m never going to be let down, it’s life. It happens. But again, when others come first for whatever reason it’s just an instant reminder of the past. Just like when it comes to chronic illness. If you do get “used” to it, it doesn’t make it any easier… and in reality, you’re never truly used to it – but rather learning to cope with it easier. It is also easy to call mom [selfish] for her choices, however, unless you’ve been in her shoes and have battled chronic illness yourself – what you need to understand is that her being selfish wasn’t really selfish at all. At least not in the negative way it’s usually portrayed. Don’t get me wrong, I fully acknowledge understanding that it is easier said than done, with or without health issues. But! As someone with her own screwed up health, I am asking you… scratch that – [telling] you to at least [try] to understand it.

It took me until I got sick myself to understand. To understand what it’s like to have your life ripped out from under you; grasping at any little speck of normalcy that you can manage to grab hold of, before it slips through your fingers as you fall. Hard. Flat on your ass. It takes a long, LONG time to come to terms and accept that the life you once had will never again be what it was. Not only do you have to accept your new “normal”, but you have to discover the balance between doing what you want to do and how you’ll pay for it. Whether or not X is worth the backlash of Y. Not to mention learning to [live] and not just [survive]. Something I myself am still struggling with. When you’ve been sick for so long, it’s incredibly difficult to not live in constant fear of ‘what ifs’. It’s only natural to want to avoid anything that [could] knock you down and set you back. Therefore getting into the habit of survival mode instead of living a happy fulfilled life.

In the book 10% Happier: How I Tamed The Voice In My Head, Reduced Stress Without Losing My Edge, and Found Self-help That Really works – A True Story, Dan Harris recalls a discussion in which he was told that, “often it’s not the unknown that scares us, it’s that we think we know what’s going to happen – and that it’s going to be bad. But the truth is, we really don’t know.” It’s scary how truthful that statement is! Since the age of nine the need for everything to be perfect controlled the depths of my brain. No matter how prepared I was for a test, in my mind, I had already failed before it began.

I am a perfectionist.

 – [So much so that I have my cousin and husband editing my writing;  if there’s any mistakes that’s not on me at this point. ::wink::]

I have to plan activities and events way in advance so that I can prepare myself in order to partake in said activities/events – only to stress irrationally what I won’t be able to and that I’ll crash horribly once it’s done, just to get down on myself questioning if it was worth it because of how miserable I feel… This scenario is on loop, always three steps ahead of what’s really going on. My mind does not rest, always preparing for the worst and any scenario that could arise. I can be questioning if something was worth it before planning even begins.

As a sick wife and mother – don’t even get me started on the guilt that I am ruining their lives and they’ll someday resent me. Oh, the guilt! That sneaky bastard is probably the worst part of living with chronic illness. It makes you believe you’re always letting someone down, no matter what. The guilt of wanting to be “selfish” and do something for yourself vs. the guilt of how you’ll be perceived and who you’ll hurt along the way. It’s no wonder I have been in therapy on and off for decades. Between the guilt that comes from being sick and this notion that I am never good enough – always needing to do better; that is a balancing battle I am not sure I will ever master.

I read a quote once that I actually wrote out and framed. I have no idea who originally said it so I apologize for not giving credit where it is due; however, the quote is as follows: “The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts”. Truth. Happiness is a choice and who wouldn’t choose to be happy? As much as I may think I understand, I can not pretend to fully comprehend what all my mother was going through. What I do know is that hanging out with Maria made her happy. On the weekend, for her sanity, she was childless and able to fake some level of normalcy. During the summer she was able to visit my biological great-grandmother who had been a family secret and institutionalized in PA since my grandmother was 2. 

Freda had been forgotten about for over 50 years, so when my mother found out about her she made it her mission to visit every few months. Of course as a kid I didn’t understand the importance behind it, just saw Mom on vacation with Maria. Turns out Mom wasn’t really being selfish at all, she was using her heart and giving a long lonely life a happy ending. Whether Mom went about things the right way or not – I don’t know, I couldn’t tell you. When life hands you lemons you make lemonade, right? There’s no right or wrong way to make it, you just learn as you go what works best for you. Just like with anything in life. You learn from your mistakes. No one can predict how their life is going to go, nor can they predict how they’ll respond to whatever happens. All you can do is move forward with gained wisdom.

As unfortunate as it was, Mom getting sick turned out to be an unexpected gift. A blessing in disguise if you will. When I was six years old I caught pneumonia and for the next 11 years I suffered from unexplained symptoms. In elementary school I was sent home almost weekly due to low grade fevers. I’d spike a fever and it’d go away on its own. I felt fine but the school said I had to go. I simply wasn’t regulating my temperature properly and no one knew why. I had extreme “growing pains” throughout every fiber of my body. Mom was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and feared my fate was sealed… I don’t have Fibromyalgia. By nine I had started my period and suffered debilitating migraines. Yes, nine. 

Surprise!  – Happy Birthday, Jena! – 

…. Worst. Present. Ever! 

WTF?! Way to ruin innocents, universe!

Nine was a rough year for me. Mixed in with all of the hormonal changes my body was experiencing and the start of my migraines, I was filled with terror bestowed upon me by my thoughtful – loving – brother. An oxymoron, right? My brother, thoughtful and loving? Good one. Jack was nine when he left home for a bit and wouldn’t let me forget it, using it to his advantage. Children are easily influenced by other children, especially when the other kids are older. They have an easier time relating to someone closer to them in age, therefore trusting what they have to say over most adults. So when Jack told me that I, too, would be sent away unless I was the perfect child, got straight A’s, and did exactly what was expected of me, it was easy to believe. He said that they wouldn’t love me if I ever disappointed them. Yikes!

First of all, how heartbreaking is it, that’s how he felt – what he believed to be true?! SO sad! It took me until I was nearly 27 to realize the impact of his words. Up until then I had always figured his words were just words and the issues they originally caused were sorted out when I was 10. Was I ever wrong! I struggled horribly in school. Between ADHD and a form of dyslexia mixed with a processing disorder, I didn’t come close to what I [believed] was expected of me. If Jack was so smart, so advanced – how the hell could I not be “sent away” when he was? How could my parents be proud of me when I wasn’t amounting to even a fraction of Jack? If they weren’t proud of me they wouldn’t love me and then what was the point anymore? 

Eventually the pressure got to be too much. At my tenth birthday party I took a chinese jump-rope, wrapped it around my neck and feet and pushed it out so it tightened around my neck. Luckily some friends walked in on the scene and stopped me. Between begging and pleading I convinced them not to go tell my mother. I know they were petrified so I give them immense kudos for going to the school counselor the following Monday morning. I find it incredible that a group of 9 and 10 year old girls not only grasped the severity of the situation, but also had it in them to do something about it! By the afternoon there was a full blown intervention held in my honor.

Looking back, I honestly don’t know if I was truly depressed and trying to end my life, or if I was joking around. I know I claimed I was joking around but logically looking at all of the facts, it had to have been more of a cry for help. I needed attention. Although, when I was 31 I was diagnosed with PMDD and I do wonder if that played a role because I know for certain that I had my period on my 10th birthday… hmm… Anyway, I was put in therapy and hated it! Over decades of seeing different therapists I know it takes the right fit for anything to be helpful. Maybe if I could have seen the “right” person at that time, I wouldn’t have suffered the next 16+ years with suppressed issues buried so deep! I had no idea they were even there.

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03. Mom

One of the most important relationship we’ll have, is the relationship we have with our mothers. -Iyanla Vanzant

I have and always will be Daddy’s Princess, nothing is comparable to our bond. Sure, being gay probably helps but he is an incredible father none the less. I know when I got married it was probably the hardest thing for him to give me away. [Dad, you showed me how it was supposed to be, how I deserved to be treated! The fact you had flowers delivered to the dress shop before they were even open, the day I went to buy my wedding dress, ::cough:: being gay definitely helps ::cough:: I can without any hesitation say that you set the bar high for any man I’d end up with. And I know [you] know, that I have found the one. The one who treats your Princess like his Queen.

Now, just because I am Daddy’s Princess – doesn’t mean I am not a Mama’s girl, because I very much am! Most mothers and daughters are close when daughters are young, grow apart to almost “enemy” status when the teen years roll around and rekindle their friendship once they’re both adults – especially both mothers. Hi. I am an adult, a mother and yes, my mother IS my best friend. How cliche… But here’s the deal: the above scenario is not exactly how things went down. In fact, it was actually my teenage years that brought us closer.

As previously mentioned, never once did I question my parent’s love and support. I knew my mother loved me, I knew she supported me. But feeling it… knowing and feeling are two different things. I may have known the above but I didn’t always feel it. As I’ve gotten older I can understand why Mom made some of the decisions she did and I honestly can’t say one way or another if I agree or disagree. Adolescent Jena on the other hand: disagrees. Mom was under a lot of stress, so much so that she got very sick. Granted – we know now that she probably would have gotten sick regardless, just most likely not as severely, had there not been so much stress.  I mean, who wouldn’t be stressed looking at the facts? A toxic relationship with her own mother, the loss of a child (they had Ryan between Jack and I, he passed shortly after birth), an alcoholic husband that lead to a divorce, adjusting to life as a working single mother, her now ex-husband coming out as gay, selling a house and moving, and a son who was battling his own feelings. Talk about a mind fuck in just a few short years!

During the divorce Mom joined Al Anon – escentially A.A. for the family and friends affected by an alcoholic.  Did it help Mom? Absolutely. Though in the end I’m not sure if it did more damage than good. It was Al Anon where Mom met Maria and our lives were changed for the better and for the worse. Diarrhea (I couldn’t correctly pronounce Maria and still find it amusing.) was married with two children, one of whom was 19, married and pregnant, the other in highschool. I mean no disrespect to her eldest, but she was the reason for Maria being in Al Anon.  Maria was a former cop in a women’s prison and going to school to be a social worker. 

[Oh the irony in that last sentence.. Sorry my mind is getting a head of itself.]

Mom and Maria became instant best friends, practically inseparable. I know what you’re thinking, and no, my mom is NOT gay as well; shes 100% straight. Maria? Well, we’ll get back to her. To my mom Maria was her sister, her “solemate” (in a completely platonic way – maybe more like her “twin flame”) and the one person she trusted with all that she is. To Jack and I, Maria was the bitch that took mom away, the controlling social worker who tried [telling] Mom “how” to raise us (like she knew better) and a woman we’d hold resentment and hatred towards for the rest of our lives. <- It’s true. We do and will. I tried being mature and forgiving her… until I found out how much she had in common with the Mad Hatter!

Maria’s family became our family. Her daughters, like my older sisters. Once Maria’s husband was killed (Canada’s official record: suicide, USA’s belief: murder) Mom and her grew that much closer. Again – inseparable. Every chance Mom got she was out with Maria. On weekends Jack and I were with Dad one night and Auntie the other. Mom was basically un-reachable from 6pm Friday until 6pm Sunday evening; drop off / pick up time. During the week, when mom wasn’t working (which had become part-time and remotely due to her health) she was in bed or on the couch. In other words, Mom was either sick while with us or healthy enough to get out and be social with her best friend. We rarely took vacations and yet, during our summer weeks with Dad, Mom was always traveling with Maria. It’s no wonder I had a hard time [feeling] the love. Neglect is a powerful word and as a child, I may have used it. However, as an adult, I would never use it to describe the situation. BUT! The feeling of less importance and the thought that Mom was putting Maria before me, was real. Valid even.

As a mother, it terrifies me knowing that my choices will both affect and effect my children. Jack and I both feel, I guess, betrayed? Eh… maybe not the best word to describe how I felt, but it definitely works for him. Maria had this notion that because she had been through stuff with her own daughter, she clearly knew what was “best” for everyone else’s children. Don’t even get me started on how un-ethical she was as a social worker. Two words: total hypocrite. In her mind she may have truly believed she was right, knew best and was [only] trying to help, but truth be told; here is somewhere she caused more damage than help. Yes, Jack had his issues. He too went through a lot during the time of the divorce and he experienced lots of loss for his young age. He is four years older so he understood death more than I, and we had a lot of deaths in a few short years, on top of the divorce, moving to a new city and starting over at a new school. He has always been scary smart and way advanced for his age. He could have easily been Ivy League material had things been different.

Now, I don’t want this to turn into a bashing or tell all when it comes to my brother because quite honestly, it’s not my story to tell. However, there are things that have happened that are vital to my story, why I am the way I am and who I am. When you’re a child and you go through trauma you may block it out, or if you’re like me, you’re unable to forget anything from your long-term memory and therefore hold on to it all. I remember him acting out, rebelling and being scary as fuck. Sibling rivalry is one thing, but pushing me down the stairs and chasing me around the house with a knife is a different story. I won’t deny my instigating, annoying little sister antics but some things are too much. Long story short, it’s easy to see why my mother took the advice from her “social worker” best friend. But, uh… isn’t one of the rules of social work not to “social work” your friends and family? Thought so. 

Jack ended up leaving home for a bit and during that time, life was great. I had my parents to myself, I didn’t have to fear for my safety and I wasn’t dragged to a cramped waiting room to play with puppets week after week. Most importantly during that time, for the most part, I was put first! 

See, not only did I feel second best to Maria, I really felt as though I was third behind Jack. And since I’m being honest, there are still days where it seems Mom puts Jack, as well as others before me. She has a problem when it comes to saying, “no” and feels it is her responsibility to be there for everyone. Maybe I am being selfish but if history has proven anything… it is not all in my head.

When Jack came home things were touch and go for a few years. Once he was in middle school and news got out about my dad, the bullies found him to be their favorite target on top of his gifted classes and ‘band geek’ status. [Side note: it was our nextdoor neighbor and his “best friend” who spilled the beans. Yeah… Jack’s [best friend] was just deferring the attention away from the fact he himself enjoyed the boys. I’d call him an asshole but the sad truth is that he did what he needed to do to survive middle school. It sucks – for everyone!] Our house soon became the victim of vandalization and Jack’s behavior quickly escalated. Mom genuinely fears for all of our safety so he started spending more time at Dad’s and by 14 he was moved in completely. Even though I had an older brother, by the time I was 10 it felt as though I was an only child, except for on weekends, Tuesday nights for dinner and 5 weeks out of the summer until I was 15.

It’s safe to say that for a few years there – okay, maybe even a decade, that Jack had some resentment towards Mom and of course blamed Maria for the choices Mom made. He rarely came around and never on his own accord. Obviously this destroyed Mom! She did everything she could but nothing helped. Not until he wanted to bring his college girlfriend home and Dad and Brian wouldn’t allow it, or rather wouldn’t allow them to shack up in the same room. It was then that Mom’s guilt came to the rescue and forever altered her behavior when Jack’s around. From then on, whatever Jack wanted, Jack got! Still true to this day whenever he is in town we are on his schedule. There was one incident when I was 17 that eventually became Mom’s eye opener. Jack and I had gotten into an altercation that resulted in him barging into the bathroom as I was getting ready to hop into the shower. I used all of my force to fight against him to close the door but his rage was too overpowering that he broke in, causing me to slam my head against the side of the tub. Screaming and crying for Mom’s help was no use. She was too busy downstairs with my aunt preparing for Thanksgiving dinner. All that my ::quote:: “overreacting” ::endquote:: did was embarrass her and piss her off. Of course it was my fault and I, “shouldn’t have instigated the situation.”

I was done!

I instantly packed some bags and moved in with my dad and Brian for the next few months. My how the tables had turned. I suppose betrayal was the correct word to use after all! Unfortunately I wasn’t able to completely cut ties with Mom due to school and my weekly homebound tutor. However, I was no longer staying quiet and made my feelings known. I would not return until she agreed and had proven things would be different… She was now in the middle of her own guilty battle.

Fortunately for me, this was around the time her friendship with Maria started to crumble. Mom was forced to step forward and physically be there for me more than ever before. Not only that, but she had made other friends and had different priorities now. Maria couldn’t handle coming second and started becoming crazy jealous. With jealousy comes anger and she was downright mean. She made Mom feel guilty over things she had no business feeling guilty over. Mom was tired of feeling like the victim, she finally had enough and stood up for herself. Yeah… that didn’t go over well and ultimately she made the decision to walk away from the friendship. It was only then she was able to see clarity. See where she went wrong and how selfish she had been.

As it turns out, Maria, the delusional, hypocritical social worker – had it in her mind that her and Mom were more than friends. Boom! Mind blown… Although, not really. Don’t get me wrong, never once did I think her and Mom were “together”, but I don’t think anyone was surprised to hear Maria was a lesbian. Anyone besides Mom, that is. Oh my poor mother! Talk about the worst gay-dar in history! Oh my god, and the betrayal?! I mean, honestly, how can anyone sane believe they are in a romantic relationship with someone without ever discussing it? There was never anything remotely romantic between them. Nothing intimate, not even a kiss. Maria never indicated that she felt anything more than the sisterly bond that Mom believed they had. Mom had no indication what-so-ever that Maria wasn’t straight. Ironically, all of her arguments “proving” why she didn’t believe it, contradicted what she already knew thanks to Dad. She’s still in denial. The worst part is that Maria is such a coward, she has never directly told Mom any of this! Then how do we know, you ask? Well, Dad ran into her and her partner, and after introducing  Dad as, “Deb’s ex-husband,” (so she’s obviously mentioned my mother at great lengths) she proceeded to ask him, “you know Deb and I were together, right?” W.T. actual F.?!! Who knows if Maria actually believed it or it was all a facade for her new girlfriend; either way it’s royally fucked up! It’s no wonder my mother can’t trust anyone new. The two people she trusted and shared her life with destroyed her perception of reality.

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02. Dad

“A father is a son’s first hero and a daughter’s first love.”
– unknown

You see, I had to grow up very fast. My parents separated when I was three due to my father’s inability to break up with alcohol. I remember the separation, talking to the court, the battles between my mother and great aunt and what it was like to see my father again after months of being apart while he tried to get his sobriety in check.

That memory of reuniting is my truest happiest early memory! My mother’s step-mom, Grandma Ina (may she rest peacefully) made it happen. She was an incredible woman and I will always be thankful for the seven years I knew her! When we arrived at my great aunt Mary Lou’s, whom from here on out will be referred to as simply, “Auntie”, it was like every kid’s dream come true. Presents stacked from floor to ceiling in every holiday wrapping that we missed dad. We even had both Christmas stockings and Easter baskets with Valentine treats to boot. Purely magical in the eyes of a child. Hell, even as an adult who wouldn’t love a scene like that? The Valentine treats being the most symbolic because as of February 14th, just before my fourth birthday, my father stuck to his sobriety and hasn’t looked back!

Other memorable early memories with my daddy include: Friday nights, fish sticks with macaroni for dinner, watching Full House and playing games, particularly barbies, on the kitchen floor. Odd as it may seem, playing on the kitchen floor became “our thing” for years to come.

With sobriety came truths, secrets and personal turmoil. For the first time my father had to face who he was, what he was and what it’d mean going forward. Remember how I mentioned that my father was raised Catholic? We’re talking about five siblings, private school and a mother who worked for the church kind of Catholic. Irony there is that dad and his siblings all struggled with substance abuse and addictions. So much so that out of all the “kids” in my generation on that side – I can confidently say that I am one of, if not the only one, who hasn’t had a substance abuse issue! Unfortunately history repeats itself, passed down by generations. I actually had a cousin who was so caught up down the wrong path that he was wrongfully executed by the state of Texas. That’s right, the asshole known as Rick Perry allowed an innocent man to be put to death. By the sound of those crickets instead of gasps, this news clearly isn’t a shock… Texas has the Law of Parties, which allows someone to be held criminally responsible for the actions of another. Steven Michael Woods Jr. was murdered by a wrongful justice system – while the real criminal (who pled guilty and ALL physical evidence points to) sits in jail for life. The most fucked up part is that Rick Perry had to give the final “okay” just 15 minutes prior, knowing Steven was, for all intents and purposes, innocent of a crime that would warrant death. Perry then went on record just weeks after bragging about his number of executions. ASS-hole!

Just a few short months after working the program, Dad met Brian. Anyone who knows anything about the program knows that you should wait at least one year before starting a new relationship. Yes, you read that right; Dad and Brian started a relationship. Not only was my dad battling for sobriety, but also the truth in the fact that he is gay. I honestly believe if it wasn’t for Brian, my dad may not be where he is today. They were the best thing for each other at such a pivotal point in my dad’s life! [Thank you, Brian, for not only helping my dad, but also for being a decent step-mother… even if you did tie us up that one time while watching us. 😉 ]

Obviously these new revelations spiraled confusion for everyone involved and everyone dealt with it differently. It took some time, but finally everyone came around with acceptance. In fact, my parents are the best of friends, they talk almost every day and we celebrate holidays as one big family. Brian and mom get along great. You’d never know there was a time when things weren’t so great… but there definitely was. I’m not sure when Jack found out about Dad, but I was nine.  Jack had a very difficult time with friends for various reasons, but having a gay father didnt help during a time with less acceptance and when HIV/AIDS was on the rise. Dad didn’t want me to face the same hardships, wanted to protect his Princess from prejudice. As I was getting older Mom tried convincing him to fill me in – but it was too late. I found out during a fight with my life-long friend [shout out to my Lori-Lou Sissy Poo]. Lauren and I fought like sisters. The two most memorable being when she threw a handful of panty liners at me, while simultaneously yelling at me to, “eat pads!” and the other was when she yelled, “at least my dad isnt gay!”
My brother and Lauren’s brother were in boy scouts together and our mothers became instant friends. Every morning before school, for 6 years, Lauren would be dropped off at my house roughly two hours early while her mother went to work. I was usually still asleep and would wake up to either A) Lauren playing, B) a clean room that wasn’t clean the night before (having an organized clean freak for a faux sister had its perks), and more often than I would have liked, C) a sneaky little blond trying to glance at my latest diary entries. Talk about invasion and lack of privacy! Usually I wasn’t mortified, however once when we were seven, the last thing I wanted her to discover was sprawled right across the page: “Mrs. Jena Martin. Mrs. Ricky Martin” … her brother’s name is Ricky…

Yes, Ricky Martin.
No, not the singer.

As I’ve mentioned, we fought like sisters. Over everything. One morning a fight broke out revolving around my dollhouse. This was not new territory, however the following was. I’m not sure exactly what was said leading up to it, but I’ll never forget these few lines:

Bratty Jena: “at least my dad’s not fat!” (Sorry Rick!!!)
Upset Lauren: “well at least my dad isn’t gay!”
Shocked Jena: “my dad’s not gay!”
Confident Lauren: “uh-huh! I heard Mom and Ricky talking about it!”
[Confused, angry Jena runs upstairs and sits on sleeping mother’s bed]
“MOM lauren just said Dad is gay!”
[Half asleep Mom yelling, “oh shit” inside her head]
“What?”
J: “he isn’t gay, right Mom?!”
M: “Lauren, go watch T.v.” 
[Pause that lasted an eternity]
J: “Mom?”
M: “I think that’s something you need to talk to Dad about.”

I didn’t. And it wasn’t until a few weeks later that my dad sat me down and told me what I had already come to realize as true. He is gay and him and Brian aren’t “just roommates”.

Funny story… I had known Brian was gay for at least 3 years – never thought anything of it. Never made the connection. Though, it all made sense then why Dad slept in what I thought was Brian’s room (which was really their guest room) any time Jack and I were over, why we celebrated so many things with Brian’s family. Ah yes, explains a lot. I had found out Brian was gay when I discovered his male calender. At the time he told me it was his former ::coughpartnercough:: roommate’s. I mentioned it to Jack and he told me it was Brian’s. When I asked if he was gay, Jack came right out and said, “yes.” Surprisingly enough, Jack didn’t mention anything about Dad. My guess is because he was protecting me as well… I was only five or six. But don’t you think if I knew what gay was at five, I would have been filled in? That’s what I thought at least when Dad finally told me. I wasn’t upset he was gay, I was upset about the decite and waiting so long to tell me – or rather, for me to find out.

Ironically, I only ever had one incident, actually two – same person – when it came to my father’s sexuality. I always had friends going with me to stay the night at Dad’s. Okay, maybe not “always”… again, female = absolutes… anyway, there was never an issue until 5th grade. I had a friend over for a sleepover – nothing out of the ordinary happened, and yet the next day my mother received a very rash, disgustingly hateful voice message from said friend’s mother. She could not believe my mother failed to let her know about my dad before she allowed her daughter into “that environment.” Needless to say, said friend wasn’t “allowed” to be my friend anymore. The second incident happened a few months later at a school function. The entire 5th grade throughout the district had a meet and greet at the local skating rink. Good ol’ Skatin Station II. My former friend had gotten into an altercation with her friends from her previous school. I just happened to witness it. Yay me! When the girl told her mother, I somehow was again present and was accused of being involved. It was then when her mother publicly announced that I was, “the girl with the faggot father.” Yeah, maturity at it’s finest, ladies and gents. It wasn’t until three years later at the 8th grade end of the year party that the girl’s mother actually apologized.