The Path to Law School

I was born in 1968, to very old fashioned parents. My dad was born in 1933 during the great depression era. He was taught how to farm at birth, don’t laugh, his father took him as a baby in a wooden box he built because my grandmother did not want him. My dad was raised to believe that men did the work of farming and bringing in money to support a family and that women were homemakers, no matter how old the were. He never felt a hug or a kiss from his parents it just wasn’t natural. My mom was also raised with the belief that women were homemakers and basically did what was necessary to raise the family. This took a toll on me in some ways.

I had a very different relationship with my dad because he had no idea how to love a girl. It was easier for him with my older brother. He could teach him to work on cars, do yard work and other “manly” things.I don’t remember him ever saying he loved me when I was a child. I knew he did but it was only a feeling not an act of love.

This behavior was repeated in many ways as I grew up. We would take family hunting/camping trips. My grandmother would always accompany us. My dad, my mom and my brother would hunt and I would stay at the campground with grandma. We played with play dough and cookie cutters. “Homemaker” in the making. Believe me I had fun I had no idea that my life was being planned for me. I did not even know I was being trained to be a “woman”.

As time went on I was taught to cook, clean, balance a checkbook and other “womens’ duties.” I just thought I had chores to do to help my mom. I did question why Jon didn’t have to clean, or cook or even make his own bed. The response was always the same, he does “boy” chores. He mows the lawn, takes out the trash, works on the cars with your dad and etc.

There were other things too. I kissed my dad on the forehead every night before I went to bed. He was always smiling and sometimes a gentle pat on my back but that was it. The hugs and kisses came from my mom. I do have to add that my dad was the nicest man I had ever met. He had a deep voice and when he was mad it was loud, but never ever anything more. I was 4 when my brother hurt me for the first time. I thought it was normal. What did I know. He physically abused me for years, I never told a sole. It was my secret. I was 17 when I finally told my dad. I thought he was going to cry that day. He had no idea. Although my dad had no idea how to deal with it, so again I kept my secret.

As for school, I was always taught to go and get good grades. It was said that I should learn how to type so I could become a “secretary” a good job for a “girl”. How I hated typing class or anything else that had to deal with working in an office at someones beck and call.

I did the right thing, or so I thought at 18 and I married a man. He was into drugs, drinking and later other women. I believed and was taught you marry for life. I was the good wife, I cooked, I cleaned, I served him and I became a bookkeeper. We lived the old fashioned life, he worked and I did all that a good wife was to do. Even hide the bruises from the beginning. We had two children during our 17 year marriage. A girl and a boy. I tried very hard to let them follow what they wanted to do not what their “GENDER” decided for them. Both learned to cook, clean and support their family. My husband became more than abusive as the years passed. He also became an adulteress. It was sad, he passed away one day shy of or 17th anniversary. That final day I got a call from his girlfriend and mother of his 2 year old daughter.

During these 17 years one more horrible thing happened, my dad got cancer. He would fight it for 4 years. in the end he and my mom moved in with me and my family. I nursed my dad, through it all. We both learned so much that year, most of all how to love each other. my dad became my daddy. A loving, kissing, hugging daddy. I lost him in the end but not before he told me to follow  my dreams because I could be anything I wanted to be. I was smart he said and most of all he loved me.

Five years later my husband died at 35 years of age. The day he passed was sad, lonely, upsetting and most of all freeing. I didn’t know it yet and would not find out for years but my life was about to change. I was going to go through some really tough times. In the end I wold find myself.

I was a WOMAN, a mom, a daughter and most of all ME!