“The Chronicles of Heather”: Chapter 1

Alright, so we're kicking off the Chronicles of Heather. Honestly, I don't even know if anyone's interested in the ups and downs of my life, but I'm gonna share it anyway. I'll do my best to remember it all. Picture this: it's November, almost at the Canadian border, freezing cold and snowy, and that's when I was born. Obviously, I don't remember being born, but I've been told my chubby little self with red hair and blue eyes came into the world that day, starting the wild ride of my life. I don't recall being a baby or a toddler, but I have some vivid memories from when I was younger.

I remember my dad's parents; I only have a few good memories with them. I can picture their house layout, and I remember the garden where I often got yelled at for stepping on it, and the basement's setup. The smell of Ivory soap my grandma always used sticks with me, as does the gross smell of blood sausage, which my dad and grandparents, especially my grandpa, loved. I couldn't tell you what it is or how it's made, but it smelled awful.

On my dad's side, I've got aunts and cousins I don't know at all. I couldn't tell you anything about them. On my mom's side, I grew up with three uncles who drive me nuts. One of them passed away recently, and it felt more like losing a brother than an uncle. I still have two other uncles and a cousin I don't know because my family's not really close. We don't communicate much, and when we do, it's through arguments or manipulation.

My grandma on my mom's side is my favorite person, and then there's my brother, who I often want to smack, but he's the one constant in my life. I also have a nephew I adore and a niece I've never met and probably never will. She's out there somewhere, and maybe one day she'll want to know about me, or maybe she won't care. I don't know anything about her. So, I didn't really have a family until I had my kids, but we'll get to them later because this is just the intro to my life, and I wasn't old enough to have kids yet.

I remember random things from my life, like my grandma's house on my dad's side and my mom's mom's house. I could describe her house in detail because I lived there with my grandma when I was about 7 to 9 years old. I can't recall where my mom and brother were or why I wasn't with them, but I wasn't. I vaguely remember my mom taking my brother and me to a new town with her new boyfriend in Wisconsin. I remember the friends we made, mostly my mom's boyfriend's friends' kids (try saying that three times fast). My friend Cassie and I would walk to a candy store, get little brown bags, and big jawbreakers that took forever to finish. Maybe that's why I don't like candy anymore.

I remember some things from our time there, some I'd rather forget, but I won't go into those details. I don't remember school or what school I went to, or classrooms from those early days. I do recall one apartment we lived in. My brother was probably around three, and it had just snowed a ton. I doubt anyone reading this has seen that much snow. I put my brother in a laundry basket and pushed him down a hill like it was a sled, not realizing there was a drop-off, and he hurt his arm. He still teases me about that. I don't think he really remembers it, just what people tell him or what he wants to remember because he was so young. But we never saw the hill without snow, so we didn't know about the drop-off, though he won't let me forget it.

I remember different houses from my mom's various boyfriends while we lived there, and one apartment that was upstairs, meaning lots of annoying stairs to climb. Before my brother and my life changed, something funny happened. My brother got this genius idea to take a squirt gun, walk through the trail to a gas station called Speedway, and pretend to hold it up for candy. Luckily, my mom was dating a cop then, so he didn't get in trouble. My brother was always a wild one, so it doesn't shock me he pulled a stunt like that. He walked away with a bag full of candy, Tootsie Rolls, and who knows what else. The gas station guy probably thought it was hilarious. My brother must've been around five or six at the time, holding up a gas station with a squirt gun for candy, can you imagine. He might kill me for sharing his crazy stories, but most of my family doesn't read my blog, so it's all good.

In that same apartment, I remember all sorts of wild times. Like when my brother dumped out all the nail polish under the bed and tried to set it on fire with me in it. Honestly, I don't think he actually likes me, given some of the stuff he put me through. It's a miracle neither of us got seriously hurt. That's also the apartment I recall being totally wrecked by my mom and my uncle, who passed away. Then, I remember going to foster care with a lady and staying there for quite a while. No one ever told us why we ended up there. I could dig up the public records and figure it out, but it's pretty obvious why. The stuff my brother and I went through because of one selfish person, the one who was supposed to protect us, still blows my mind. The excuses I hear are just that—excuses. But no one ever owns up to the fact that my brother and I had some of the craziest experiences a kid can have. I don't let it define me, but it still bothers my brother. Sometimes, I think he had it worse because he was a bit of a wild child, but if you haven't grown up in foster care, you wouldn't understand what it's like to live with a family that doesn't really want you. You're just a paycheck to them, not treated like family. I remember our first foster home. Our foster mom was named Lana. We lived in this cool house on a lake. They had a pontoon boat and all sorts of neat stuff; it was like a log cabin. The side facing the lake was all windows. But since we weren't their kids, we couldn't do the fun stuff like water skiing or riding the pontoon boat. I always had to watch from the sidelines, and if my brother got in trouble, which he often did, I had to stick with him. I remember sleeping in a closet with my brother because we weren't wanted. We were there because the courts put us there, and she got paid for it. I cried a lot, and so did my brother. I don't know why we left that home, but I'm not complaining. We went to another place for a bit. I don't remember her name, but it wasn't any better. The feeling of not being wanted and moving from home to home, never having your own room or stuff, really messes with your childhood. Then we went to another home, and her name was Kay. She had this awesome big tree with a swing in the front yard. We had rabbits, and I think her daughter was in 4H. We had chores, like taking care of the rabbits. She didn't make us feel unwelcome. I mean, we weren't exactly welcome, but it wasn't as bad. But I still don't remember going to school. I remember getting on the bus a few times, but I couldn't tell you what school I went to. I don't know why I can't remember, but there are so many blanks that it drives me nuts. I could share horror stories about foster care, but what's the point of reliving bad memories? Better to use them to improve yourself. By the time my mom got us back, I was almost in eighth grade, and she left us with her ex-boyfriend, whom I absolutely despise. But then, out of nowhere, she packed us up in her tiny two-seater car, and off we went to a small town, back to where my dad was. I hadn't seen him in ages, and my brother didn't even know him. Suddenly, we were all together like a normal family. We didn't have traditional parents or a typical family setup, but the four of us were under the same roof.

There was this summer before I turned 14 when I thought I’d met the love of my life. Yeah, I know, I was just a kid, so it was all that young love stuff, but I met the guy who’d become the father of my kids. His dad worked with my dad, and my dad couldn’t stand him, but I thought he was super cool and charismatic. My dad thought he was bad news, but if you really knew him, he wasn’t that bad. Back then, I went to this tiny school that had everything from kindergarten to 12th grade in one building. My brother, the father of my kids, his brother, and cousins—we all went to the same school, just in different grades. Crazy, right? We had some wild times growing up, and I didn’t have much parental guidance, so I did whatever I wanted. Sometimes my parents tried to step in, but I was too rebellious to listen. The stuff we went through brought us really close and kept us together for over a decade. He ended up leaving school to work with our dads because school wasn’t his thing, even though he was super smart. Honestly, if it weren’t for him, I probably wouldn’t have passed English or history. Math and science were my jam since I wanted to be a marine biologist, and I didn’t really get the point of English or history back then. But I do remember having a huge crush on my biology teacher—everyone did. We all took his classes just to be around him. I remember prom, high school activities like volleyball, football games, and all that. I actually hated that school, though. It was so small, and I felt like an outsider because most kids had grown up together from kindergarten. Plus, hanging with the wrong crowd because of who I was dating made things tough. There was this trail behind the school that the cross-country team used, but everyone would sneak out there to skip classes and chill. It’s funny the things you remember.

Life in that little town was something else—so many things happened that changed our lives, mostly for the better. My future kids' dad and I grew up there, living a kind of risky but thrilling life with snowmobiles and target shooting. His dad was into farming and had a ton of animals, from sheep and goats to cows and chickens. It was a bit unusual because they weren't your typical farming family. I spent more time at their place than my own, and his family kind of raised me, even though his mom really didn't like me—probably because of racial differences. They were Puerto Rican, and she hoped her son would be with someone Hispanic. But we didn't care; we were inseparable and eventually moved to Milwaukee and Chicago, living like Bonnie and Clyde.

Before we left, we were stuck in that small town, which I couldn't wait to escape. I'm not a small-town girl—no opportunities, no ambition, just a dead-end vibe. Small towns are for people ready to retire, and I was still in high school, far from retiring. There was nothing fun for kids to do, just a couple of bars, my dad's workplace, a school way out in the sticks, and a canoeing trail. Maybe that's why my brother and his friends ended up setting a barn on fire. I doubt they meant to, but I wasn't there, and I don't trust their stories. They had stolen cigarettes and matches, were in an old barn full of hay, and suddenly it was on fire. My brother got bailed out as usual, thanks to my dad's mysterious influence, while I got in trouble for skipping school. My mom found me once and gave me a beating right there in my boyfriend's driveway. Another time, my dad decided to act like a parent and put me in juvenile detention.

We moved to another small town, West Salem, and I skipped school again, ending up in a car accident. I went through the windshield, got seriously hurt, and my dad was furious, even while I was in the hospital. But my brother sets a barn on fire, and that's somehow okay. Go figure.

There are tons of little memories, all over the place and not in any order. I remember things as stories. When we moved to that small town, maybe because I was older, some memories are super clear. Before that, I don’t really remember, but I could go on forever about all the little things we did there. Like, while we lived there, I found out I had a sister, or at least someone who shares some DNA with me. I don’t call her my sister since I didn’t know her before. We went to the same school, which was K-12, but I had no idea she was my sister. I only found out when her mom decided to go after my dad, like those shallow, money-hungry types who want someone else to foot their bills. She was around ten or so, and I never knew her. My dad claimed he didn’t know about her either. My brother was clueless too, so we never really felt like siblings. We went to the same school without knowing we were related. Her grandpa owned the bar in that tiny town, where my parents spent more time than they should have, and either they didn’t know or just didn’t tell us. Either way, we all felt hurt by their actions. Once word got out at school that we were related without knowing, we became the talk of the place. How embarrassing, right? But even after finding out, we never acted like siblings. As we got older, I tried to stay in touch, but I think her mom filled her head with so much negativity, claiming we all knew and just ignored her. Little did she know, none of our parents cared about any of us, so the idea that we knew and didn’t care was crazy. In that small town, I met two new people who could’ve changed my life in different ways, and they did, but not in a good way. I didn’t realize it until much later, so nothing good came out of that small town. My parents never really became parents. My mom was never motherly. My dad was never a dad. I mean, I can’t just call him up to chat about random stuff, but we’ll get to that later. Also, my mom never acted like a mom, always using the excuse that she was 15 when she had me. Sure, you were 15 then, but you’re not now, so that doesn’t justify how she treats me, my kids, or my brother now. Before I graduated high school, my life was something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Those years are crucial for setting up adulthood, and I had to figure it all out on my own. All I had were instincts. They weren’t always good or bad, but I missed out on learning things from family to help me grow. But it’s okay. I think I’ve figured it out.

As I finish up sharing these scattered memories and the intro to the highs and lows of my early life, without diving into all the details I do remember and the blank spots I don’t, I hope I haven’t put you to sleep or left you puzzled. I’ll dive deeper into some parts as we continue this journey and as I get older. That’ll help make some stories clearer and give more detail, leading you into the next chapters of my wild life.

Thanks for hanging out and reading! Catch you next week!

XOXO,

Heather