Background Information

I moved in with Justine at the start of the winter quarter in Davis, but I enrolled in classes at Sacramento City College.  During one of my first weekends in my new (first!) apartment, Mike drove up from Berkeley and we spent the evening secluded in my room.  I had missed him more than I anticipated, and it was thrilling to be with him again.  However, he explained that school had been challenging for him and that he was really struggling in his classes at Cal.  He told me that even though I was now closer than ever, an hour commute to maintain our fledgeling relationship would be too much of a strain on his already stressful existence.  I was devastated.  That morning, when he drove away from D Street in his little green VW bug, I felt so alone and so self destructive.

I began a lifestyle of staying up too late, sneaking into bars, playing loud music at all hours of the night and had casual encounters with men.  Through a crush I had at school, I met my Irish friends:  Theresa and Ronan.  Ronan seemed smitten by me, and as he lived in San Francisco, I began spending more time in the City.  I would often think of Mike when I drove past Berkeley on my way into SF, but I knew that my path had diverged from his.  Ronan explained to me how he had attended culinary school in Dublin and then, through an acquaintance he had met in Ireland, he made his way to Davis.  He worked for a time there at an Italian restaurant, but felt the pull of the City and ended up moving to San Francisco.  His story got me thinking about the world, and the possibilities it held for me, and how one day I'd like to travel.  I started thinking about where I would like to go, and how I could possibly make this fantasy a reality.  

I knew the first thing I would need to obtain was my passport.  One day when I was visiting Mom, I decided to go in search of my birth certificate.  Of course this was a loaded endeavor; I knew that my birth certificate might possibly hold information and a key to my real mother's identity, so I chose not to disclose my intentions to Mom.  I knew that she kept her important papers in a beige metal box under her bed.  So that afternoon, while she was at work, I snuck into her room and found the box.  It wasn't locked, and as I sorted through the accordion folders I located my birth certificate.  All of the information was accurate; my name, birth date, and time of birth.  No clues as to my origins.  

But something compelled me to continue to rifle through the papers in the metal box.  And there I stumbled across a piece of typewritten carbon paper and a document titled:  Background Information.  It read:

SJS was born on 2/25/70 in Daly City, California.  At birth, which took place at 6:50 A.M., the baby weighted 7 lbs 6 ozs, and was 19 inches long.

The birth mother, who is of Irish-French-Scottish descent, was 20 years old at the time of the baby's birth.  She is a very pretty girl, 5'5" tall, 145 pounds, with curly, dark brown hair, medium brown eyes, and medium fair complexion.  The birth mother has completed one year of college and is employed as a telephone operator.  In personality, she is an alert, sensitive, cultivated person who cooperated well in planning for her child.  She is gentle and soft spoken and was able to talk about her situation.  This girl has a sense of humor and her warm personality makes her very appealing.  She comes from a musically inclined family, and several of her brothers play musical instruments and have good singing voices.  The birth mother enjoys music, singing and dancing.  She also likes swimming, basketball, cooking and sewing.  In school, she did well in math and history.

The birth father who is of English-Italian descent was 26 years old at the time of the baby's birth  He is a nice appearing young man, 6' tall, with a large build, curly, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and light olive complexion.  The birth father has completed one year of college and is employed as a telephone company switchman.  An extrovert, he has an out-going personality and enjoys being with people.  The birth father likes music and sports, particularly baseball, and he plays on a baseball team.

The birth parents met at work in 1968, and they dated steadily until the birth mother became aware of her pregnancy.  The birth mother indicated that they enjoyed each other's company and shared many interests, but did not have a deep and lasting relationship.  The young woman did not divulge her pregnancy to the birth father, because she knew she did not want to marry him and felt he might insist on that plan.

Adoption was the only plan that she considered for her expected child.  She very much wanted the baby to grow up knowing the security of a united home and two loving parents.  She felt unready to assume the responsibility of rearing a child alone and was certain that the adoptive parents could provide a more suitable home than she could.  She saw the baby in the hospital, was very pleased with her, and while it was hard for her to separate from the baby, she continued to plan towards adoption.

I was stunned.  I had to reread it and then read it again, as it felt like I was reading about someone else.  But I was the baby.  

Just then, Mom opened the door and surveyed the scene before her:  I was seated on the living room floor next to the open beige metal box, with papers strewn about.  She was livid.  "How dare you go through my things?!" she screamed.  I immediately began cleaning up, while the tears began to build up in my eyes.  

"Why?"  I cried.  "Why didn't you ever share this with me?  I've had so many questions, and yet you never once offered to show me this."

in fact, the only information that Mom ever shared with me about my birth mother was that she loved me very much but she just couldn't keep me -- she was too young.  In fact, my birth mother would have been about the same age I was now.  I didn't blame her for relinquishing me; I knew that I was too young to try to raise a baby.  But I also understood the consequences of relinquishing a baby to people that you don't even know, people who may or may not be suited to the task of raising your child.

Once she had a moment to overcome her anger, Mom actually told me that I could keep the document.  She opened up that the only other piece of knowledge she could share with me about my real mother's identity was that she supposedly came from 'back East.'  Back East?  Like New York?  Or Boston?  That could certainly make sense as far as I understood the culture of Irish and Italians, but 'back East' could really mean anywhere.  And 'back East' sounded about as far away as Ireland, since the furthest East I'd gone was Utah.  The 'Background Information' didn't really provide me much information to go on either...but it certainly got me thinking.

My birth mother was an actual person, and not some legend that Mom doled out to try and explain the difficulties in our relationship.  My real mom could be alive, she could be living anywhere, she could be married by now, and she could have other kids -- my brothers or sisters.  And what about my birth father?  There was even less information on him.

That day, I knew for sure in every fiber of my being that I wanted, no needed, to find my real mother.  But I had so many obstacles in order to do so, not the least of which would be going head to head with Mom's insecurity about my doing just that, which in her mind would be a rejection of everything she had tried to provide to me.  And yet, there could be no turning back.

Life Lessons

I had made the wrong choice for myself with the college I chose to attend.  In my haste at getting away from Mom, and small town life in the Sierra Gold Country, I hastily chose a school based on location, size and safety.  

The Santa Barbara beaches were soothing.  Some nights, we'd bring our sleeping bags down to the sand and crash on the beach.  Other days, we would just work on our tans.  The iconic Southern California palm trees and beach lifestyle was exotic, and I felt transported.  

Montecito, on the other hand, was high in the hills.  Often, the Santa Ana winds would blow down the ridge and the heat would radiate off the landscape.  Our school was surrounded by wealth; the mansions and grounds of the surrounding neighbors were unlike anything I had ever seen.  It was rumored that Jane Seymour, Kenny Loggins and other celebrities lived nearby.

By now I knew that I didn't really believe in God.  How the hell did I think I'd tolerate a Christian college of 1200 students?  I had often found comfort from friends who were believers; there was my friend Heather during our time in Moses Lake, who would often invite me to her family's Baptist Church.  I would happily accept, if only to get away from Mom and Joe and their constant arguments.  My friend Christine's family ran a church camp not far from my grandparent's house, and we would spend lazy summers there near the pool and getting high off sugar from the self serve soda fountain.  

But the Christian College scene was completely different than I had anticipated.  My roommate and her friends seemed as if they had been eagerly awaiting the day they could escape the structure of their home lives, and lived a wilder existence than any of the kids I had known in high school.  Every night, they would find somewhere to go and drink until they stumbled back to the dorms in the middle of the night, slurring words and giggling loudly.  This routine quickly became boring to me, and reminded me of Joe's middle of the night interruptions.  I began to have trouble sleeping, and found myself pulling away from the group.  I found the Christian lifestyle to be repulsive in that the folks I encountered during this time were some of the most judgemental, inconsiderate and entitled people I had ever encountered.  

During this time, I often wrote to Mike, and he was just as diligent at staying in touch with me.  I would often grin with excitement when I would go to collect my mail and see his familiar scrawl staring back at me.  His time at Berekeley sounded familiar to my own experiences, as he was familiarizing himself with the campus, meeting new people, and engaging in interesting course work.  I missed him, but I knew that it was unlikely that we would continue to correspond.  As the semester waned, I was beginning to receive fewer letters, and only the occasional postcard from him as he focused more on his school work, and making good grades.

During a break at Thanksgiving, I made the trip home by catching a ride with 2 girls from Sacramento.  Mom picked me at a diner and during the drive home carefully explained how my sister had moved into my (old) room.  I was shocked!  I didn't have a room any longer?  What about all of my things I hadn't taken to Santa Barbara?  And did this mean that I could never return home?  I knew that things weren't working out at college, and so I explained my plan to move in with a friend from high school in Davis.  I would start out at City College in Sacramento and then later transfer (possibly to Davis.)  Of course, Mom tried to discourage this plan.  She thought that I had started something in Santa Barbara and that was where I was meant to finish it.  But I knew I couldn't last down there.

After the break, I drove my VW down to Montecito.  At the end of the term, I loaded up my car with all of my belongings and made the return trip North.  The apartment my friend and I were to share in Davis was downtown, walking distance to coffee shops, book stores and bars, and we would each have our own bedroom.  I was excited!  She was studying Spanish at UC Davis, and was looking forward to having me as her roommate.  Secretly, I was happy that I would be less than an hour from Mike.  I missed him terribly.

Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
And remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, 
Be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly, 
And listen to others,
Even to the dull and the ignorant; 
They too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
They are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
You may become vain or bitter,
For always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; 
It is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
For the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
Many persons strive for high ideals,
And everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.  Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
For in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
It is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
Gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings,
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
Be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
No less than the trees and the stars;
You have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
Whatever you conceive her to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
In the noisy confusion of life,
Keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams,
It is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.  Strive to be happy.

Transitions

Finally!  I had made it to my senior year of high school and was already anticipating the next chapter following high school.  I had attached myself to the neighbors from whom I had bought my car, Jim and Lettie, and spent most weekends and holidays at their house.  They introduced me to cocktails (hello, margarita!), new music like Bob Marley and Joni Mitchell, and fun recreational activities.  They owned a dune buggy that they would regularly race in the desert, and we would often spend weekends away in their motor home.  The more time I spent with Jim and Lettie, the less time I spent at home...which was perfectly fine by me, but which just resulted in Mom becoming more bitter, angry and resentful towards me.

School had become a bore; I knew I would be graduating in a couple of months and that I had already been accepted to the college of my choice.  So I slacked off.  Once I turned 18 during the middle of my senior year, I started to check myself out of school in the afternoons whenever I felt like it.  Some days I would drive over to Nevada City, a small cultural hub in the Gold Country not far from my home.  The American Victorian Museum, which broadcasted the local listener-supported radio station (KVMR), was located within the compound.  Often, they would sponsor concerts with local and visiting musicians and I got to see a lot of really great live music in a small setting.  Since Lettie worked at the hospital in the area, she and I would meet for lunch or drinks and sometimes see a show.  I'd frequently run in to folks I knew from my high school, so that when Lettie's family obligations prevented her from going out with me I could find familiar faces.

During this time, I couldn't help but think about my birth mother.  I was now 18; I could (legally?) locate her now, right?  The thought filled me with excitement, but now that I knew I was "of age" I became hesitant.  I started thinking more about the actions that surrounded my birth, and wondered if a mother who had relinquished me as an infant would even want to know me now?  I mean, there must have been very good reasons for her to have given me up.  Perhaps no one in her life knew of my existence.  Would I disrupt her life as she knew it today?  The thought was a troubling one, and I couldn't seem to reconcile my mixed feelings enough to take any action.

I spent the summer baby sitting Jim and Lettie's boys for extra money.  While they were away on family vacation, they left me in charge of house sitting.  I relished the feeling of being absolutely alone, doing what I pleased without fear of any harsh criticism or interruption.  One night, some girls I know and I were looking for something fun to do and I suggested that we head over to Nevada City to see a show.  I'd been seeing a lot of reggae shows, and was confident that we'd find something interesting happening.  Instead of the thumping bass and gently swaying dancers I expected that evening, we encountered a punk rock band called Agent Orange.  It completely blew my mind!  This crowd had so much raw and powerful energy -- completely different from the relaxed, marijuana smoking crowd I normally encountered.  As I sat observing the scene, I noticed one skinny guy who was jumping up and down in place like a pogo stick.  Wow!  He really got some lift by standing in one place.  After the show, I ran into that same guy at the package store around the corner from the venue.  He rolled up in his little green Volkswagen bug and smiled sweetly in my direction.  We got to talking and I learned that his name was Mike and that he was from Auburn, the largest town in the area.  He asked if my friends and I wanted to go share some beers together, and I told him about how I was house sitting at a place with a jacuzzi.  That sounded alright to Mike!  But as he followed me down the winding back roads between our little villages, I began to have second thoughts.  I couldn't just invite a strange guy over to Jim and Lettie's no matter what my friends were encouraging me to do!  So I smoked him.  I stepped on the gas and flew through the wooded winds on the road that I knew so well.

However that was not the last I'd see of Mike.  A few weeks before I left for college, I ran into him again at the All High School Reunion in Auburn one evening.  Actually, his friend spotted me through the crowd and Mike excitedly sought me out telling me how disappointed he was in having 'lost' me that night in Nevada City.  We spent the evening strolling around Old Town Auburn, talking a little more about ourselves and exchanging phone numbers.  He walked me to my car and opened the door, explaining how he wanted to see me again.  Then he leaned through the driver's side window and kissed me on the lips.  I was so excited that I gave him my bag of weed.  Later that week, Mike and I made plans for a date, and I invited his buddy and a friend of mine over for dinner.  It was clear from the beginning that Mike was crazy about me.  After dinner, we ended up in the hot tub and shortly after that we were in bed together.  Naturally I was scared, as I had never been to bed with a man before.  But I knew instantly how much Mike liked me, plus I'd had a couple of drinks for courage.  

After that, Mike and I spent almost every day together that summer.  We went water skiing with Jim and Lettie, or swimming in one of the lakes in our area.  Once, he invited me over to his place when his folks were out of town.  When I had to leave for college I was completely distraught, because I was leaving for Santa Barbara while Mike would be in Berkeley.  We made plans to stay in touch, and promised to write to one another.  But I was worried I would be losing Mike forever, and I had grown quite attached to him.  

Towards the end of August, Mom and my sister drove me down to the small Liberal Arts college in the Santa Barbara area that I had chosen to attend.  I had wanted to get as far away from home as possible, but I was limited in the amount of resources I had available.  When my dad had passed away when I was 7, he had set up a small trust for my sister and I for college.  I remember that when he died, Mom had tried her best to gain access to the money and had even severed ties with one of her oldest friends over it as said friend had been the executor.  And once I finally received the money for college, Mom asked if she could 'borrow' $1000.  Mom was terrible with money, and I knew that if I lent her that money I would never see it again.  That money was the only financial security I had in the world, as most of my education would be paid through scholarships and student loans, and it wasn't much.  In the end, I didn't lend her any money and I know that my telling her 'no' drove us further apart.  But when she said goodbye to me in the parking lot of my new dorm, her eyes began to well up with tears.  I became short and told her that there was no reason to cry; I'd be seeing her again shortly at Thanksgiving.  I couldn't understand the intensity of her emotion, but would come to within time.

But for now, I was finally on my own.  It was liberating, but it was also down right scary.

How To Gain Your Independence As A Young Woman

Freshman year allowed for some experimentation in class electives, and that is how I stumbled across my love of photography.  We constructed a pinhole camera and later loaded it with a piece of photographic paper that we kept concealed from the light until we were ready to expose it later that morning down at the football field.  I borrowed a 35 mm camera from the school and started photographing my walks through the woods, my family and friends.  I started noticing small details, like the way the sun would glint off the pond and highlight my little baby cousin's hair.

The more independent I became, the further distanced I became from my Mom and sister.  One evening, with my head buried over my drafting table in my bedroom, I could hear Mom comforting my sister about something as my sister cried.  "You know, I didn't think I could have any children honey.  But then I had you."  I could hear the tenderness in her voice as she tried to soothe and comfort my sister, but it only left me feeling more alienated and alone than ever.  I was different.  I was the outsider and I felt like I didn't belong in that house.

I hated the long bus ride to and from school, and couldn't wait to get my driver's license.  That summer, I got a job as a dishwasher at the only restaurant in town and started my first savings account.  With few exceptions, I managed to save nearly all of my pay checks and after two summers had enough to buy a small used car.  Finally I turned sixteen.  Once I passed my driver's test, I had gained complete control of my freedom and was able to get away from our small town on occasion.  I started to get to know some of the other kids from my class and occasionally went to movies, the ice cream parlor or even house parties.  I rarely drank, because I had seen first hand how alcohol could destroy lives.  I never wanted to see myself the way that I had seen Joe:  blood shot eyes, slurry words, painful injuries sustained while drunk (there was that time he fell out of his truck while being driven home by a coworker when his passenger side door wasn't all the way closed.)  

I was still perceived as totally uncool by my peers.  During one summer school class, which I took for extra credit, we were tasked with writing a 10 page paper on a historical person.  We could choose any one of our liking, and many people chose to write about Abraham Lincoln, the Wright Brothers, even Thomas Jefferson.  I chose my grandfather.  I knew that he had been in the European campaign during WWII, but I had no clue that he had been present during D Day, the battle of the Bulge and many other important moments during that time.  As we pored over the official history of the Third Infantry and photos that he had of that time, he pulled out various spoils of war, including his Purple Heart, an old Nazi war banner with actual blood on it, and various German pistols.  My grandfather was my hero, as well as the person I was closest to in the family.  We would spend hours on end playing Cribbage or tinkering in his wood shop.  I followed him around whenever I could, as he always had some interesting project he was developing.  I would even sit in the easy chair next to him when he took his afternoon naps while listening to Donahue and read my books.  

He and grandma had retired early, when Grandpa was just 55.  He had a full pension from his job, which passed to my grandmother upon his death.  And even though he was technically retired, he was always doing something, building something or going somewhere.  He and Grandma lived a fairly modest life, but each summer they would spend two weeks with friends at an alpine lake living out of their motor home.  One summer they took a trip to Hawaii.  They were unique in that they always had time for their friends, or to lend a helping hand.  Life was full, but unhurried.  I saw how life could be fully enriching just by living in the moment and taking time to notice the shifting shadows of the trees.  

The more I gained my independence, the more angry Mom became.  Her small hair dresser's business was struggling, and she cited the increasing insurance requirements as unsustainable.  Her customers were mostly retired women who wanted someone else to do their hair; the shampoo/set cost about $6.  It just wasn't sustainable to run the business any longer and she was forced to close.  We lost our little house next door to the school and moved back into my grandparent's guest house.  

One Thanksgiving I was working on a paper about Watergate (I had read the biographies of John Dean and John Erlichman and was crafting an argument about who's story I found more plausible)   when Mom tried to engage me in conversation. I just wanted to finish my paper.  Later, as I headed for the shower she yelled out, "Don't use all the hot water!"  I showered and dried off, wrapping myself in a large bath towel.  Back in my room, Mom barged in barking, "I told you not to use all the hot water!"  I had taken a normal shower, washed and conditioned my hair, but there was nothing unusual in that action.  I became angry at her accusations.  I was constantly blamed for not doing something right, and I had had enough.  As her hand swept up to slap my cheek, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from my face.  We angrily eyed one another and in that moment I saw all the hurt, anger, indignation in her eyes.  I ran out of the back door and flew into the woods, while she screamed so loudly at me that my grandmother had come out of her house to intervene.

I understand now more of the fear that had to be consuming my mom as she felt me drifting further away.  As A.M. Homes writes of her own adoption experience in The Mistresses' Daughter, "This was my mother's nightmare; she'd always been afraid that someone would come and take me away.  I'd grown up knowing that was her fear; knowing part of it had nothing to do with my being taken away, but with her first child, her son, having died just before I was born.  I grew up feeling that on some very basic level my mother would never let herself get attached again.  I grew up with the sensation of being kept at a distance.  I grew up furious, I feared that there was something about me, some defect of birth that made me repulsive, unloveable."

And while Mom had never lost a first born child, she would occasionally remind me that my adoption was a closed adoption wherein my birth mother would not be allowed to reconsider her relinquishment, unlike her close friends who had had to wait an excruciating six months before the adoption was final and the birth mother's rights were forever terminated.  I also learned during this time that she had been married before my father, and that the marriage had taken her away from her family and from Napa and led her to Southern California.  This first marriage had some sort of unspeakable shame, which resulted in termination of the relationship after only a year.  This first divorce had led to my grandfather's initial rescue, when he traveled South (this time) to rescue his first daughter from a bad marriage.

That Thanksgiving was a catalyst of sorts.  I started spending more time with the neighbors from whom I had bought my first car.  They were in their late '30's with two young boys that I would occasionally baby sit.  The day of my argument with Mom, I told them what had transpired and they poured me my first glass of champagne.  The familiar bubbles reminded me of the soda that was mostly off limits in our house, but the drink left me feeling cheery after all the arguments from earlier.  My new friends treated me like and adult, and made it clear that they enjoyed my company.  The immediacy of laughter and music and wine transported me to another life where I could begin to see glimpses of just how fun life could be.  And I decided to follow the fun.

Thoughts on Pre Teen Girls

Pre teens and teenage girls can be bitches.  My elementary school/junior high was so small there were only 4 or 5 other girls my age, but the pack mentality reigned even in this small circle.  One particular snowy day when the cold made it impossible to take recess outside, the students found themselves confined to the classroom.  I had just finished lunch in the cafeteria, and was rounding the hall to our classroom when I spied one of the other girls standing in the doorway of the classroom.  As soon as she saw my approach, she ran back inside.  My stomach dropped.  What new torment would I have to endure today?  

As soon as I entered the classroom, I could hear the beginning notes of Adam Ant's "Goody Two Shoes," a song I actually liked.  I could see 3 or 4 girls huddled around the cassette player, giggling and occasionally stealing glimpses in my direction.  I slinked over to my desk and took out my homework.  "You don't drink, don't smoke.  What do you do?"  The words were difficult to ignore.  I was totally uncool.

I spent more and more time alone.  I'd typically finish my homework before I even left school, during study break, or even recess.  After school, I'd walk home, eat a snack and usually draw for hours until bed time.  I had a drafting board set up in my room, and I would follow the drawing techniques from books that would illustrate step by step how to draw.  I quickly became the best artist in the class.  I also graduated eighth grade as valedictorian of my class.

But mostly I was miserable.  Mom had opened a beauty shop in town, where she would perform her specialty:  the back comb.  I was left on my own with my sister.  My days off from school were spent cleaning the house or watching Soul Train.  Sometimes we would rent a VHS player from the video store and some movies on tape.  But mostly I wanted to die.  I even contemplated killing myself one day, holding the knife in my hand and crying uncontrollably, I knew that I wouldn't be able to go through with hurting myself.  But I felt so alone and unwanted in those days that I didn't comprehend that life could be any different.

The summer before I started high school I went to stay with an old friend on her family's ranch in Mendocino.  Christine and I had first met as children when my grandparents had moved to this small mountain community.  Her family ran a church camp about a quarter mile from my grandparents house.  Later, she and I would attend the elementary school together for about a year before she and her family moved North.  I considered her my best friend, and I'd been missing her presence at the school sorely.  I spent about a month living with her and her parents and two sisters.  During the day, we would ride our bikes around the ranch, pick blackberries, or play Marco Polo with the small tractor her dad let us drive.  One day, we were driving the tractor out in the field when the entire herd of cows came running towards us.  We were so scared, we jumped off the tractor and hopped the nearest fence.  The cows were only looking to get fed, but seeing 100 or so of these beasts galloping towards us scared the crap out of us.

A.M Homes writes about her own powerful adoption reunion experience in The Mistresses' Daughter.  She writes,  "I grew up convinced that every family was better than mine."  But spending time with Christine's family, I learned that her family had their tensions as well.  Her older sister hated the confines of Christine's families' strong Christian faith, and couldn't wait to leave home.  Christine's mom struggled to maintain her independence living on her in-laws land.  I began to understand that family dynamics are not always as they seem from the outside, and that it can be a struggle to define oneself in a family even if one wasn't an outsider, as I considered myself to be within my family.  

I hated leaving Christine's family at the end of the summer, even more so because I would be starting a new school.  Even though I had few friends at the elementary school, I understood how to tolerate my tormentors and find a sort of relief through books, music and art.  The idea of high school was frightening; the school was seven times larger than my elementary school.  I'd be attending several classes during the day, rather than having one class and one teacher.  I'd have to remember a locker combination!  And I'd be spending about an hour commuting each way just to get to school.  I'd never even been to the high school, and didn't really understand what to expect.  But I knew that the change was something to cautious of; change hadn't always worked out so well in my life up to now.

There are two ways to live your life --one is as though nothing is a miracle, the other is as though everything is a miracle.

-- Albert Einstein