In The Beginning...

I was born in the late 1970's to a pair of folks who had already divorced once. (Each other) I was a twin. My parents named me Candice, and my sister Amanda. They called us Candy and Mandy. And they had a dog named Brandy. I could not make this up. My father was an alcoholic who stole a parcel of guns from a local gun show when we were six months old. My mother stayed home with us and we began attending the Church of Christ. Eventually even my dad was baptized, as a birthday present to my mother. And so it began.

Today is the story of my mother. Born in Madison County, Arkansas, the sixth of eight children, to a woodcutter and his wife, who never did learn to drive, my mother didn't walk until she was six years old. I believe it may have been rickets, and her family just didn't have the money to see the doctor.

As she grew up, her parents became heavy drinkers. My grandfather made moonshine in one of the barns. Since theirs was the last the house on the school route, the bus driver would sometimes drink until he passed out, sleeping it off on their couch.

One of my moms favorite stories (Okay, and mine!) is about the time the tiny school in Saint Paul, Arkansas got a new teacher. This teacher was absolutely disturbed that my mother was barefoot. My mama tried to explain that her family only got new shoes in the winter. The teacher huffed and said that if my mom had no shoes she needed to walk home. She turned to buzz the office, and when she turned back around, every single kid in my mama's class had taken off their shoes and set them on their desks. All for one and one for all. This stayed imprinted on my mama's heart, and I believe it helped her believe in her worth.

As a teenager my mother got Beatle mania. She had her mama put a bowl on her head and cut her hair. She got a guitar for her birthday, she had long been singing, and she spent hours in her bedroom teaching herself to play. She had grown up listening to The Carter family and later the radio. She had also fought her way to Church of Christ services, which for some reason totally freaked my grandmother out,(quite possibly the distillery in the barn had something to do with it) and she enjoyed the accapella singing there. By the time she was sixteen she was singing in Fayetteville . She performed with Ernest Tubbs and Ernie Ford. She was offered a record contract, but my dad gave the ultimatum, and she chose him. And every year her light grew dimmer. She still sang at work and at nursing homes and especially with her family. My mom and sister and I sing hymns at every family funeral.

My mom messed up. A lot. She stayed in a toxic marriage for years, and it made her hard, and angry, and because she wanted to save the marriage, she threw it the lifeboat, instead of her children. She is still not someone I call to talk about my heart. She does not buy me thoughtful gifts. (I made cupcakes for my sister and I at her house this year, and paid for dinner) She does not know what makes my heart soar, or take my side first.

But she adores my children. She thinks my husband hung the moon. And since I have released her from being my mom, she is a fun, if somewhat exasperating friend, and I truly enjoy her.

She did push my boat a little further in the water than hers. She wanted to give me so. Much. More.

And for that I am grateful.