|The Journal Entry (standard:drama, 1994 words)|
|Author: Lori||Added: Nov 13 2008||Views/Reads: 1477/951||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A woman enters therapy to try and overcome her past. Her first "homework" assignment is to write about the first 13 years of her life.|
The Journal Entry As every child who is born in that day and age, I have two parents. My mother is Betty Dale. My dad was James Allen. I actually love the story of my birth. I don't know why. But it always filled me with joy. Maybe it's because of how much my parents wanted me. Or maybe it's the fact I was born a naive, joyful, innocent baby. I love the fact, after everything I've been through, I was once considered pure and worthy. As you'll read, even before I was born my life has been in some form of turmoil. My parents were married in the Summer of ‘68. Not long after, my dad was drafted to Vietnam. He came home for leave in February of ‘70. I was conceived. My mother says she instantly knew she was pregnant because she couldn't have her morning coffee or smoke a cigarette without getting nauseous. Because he wasn't home for long my dad's side of the family thought my mother was having an affair with another man and got pregnant on an accident. My dad reenlisted to come home and straighten out the problem. The Army thought he was coming home for his grandmother's funeral. And it's true. He was here for that too. But he really came home to tell his family to butt out of his business and quit doubting the parentage of me. I had two other great-grandmothers who died the year I was born. My dad's was most important because she had looked forward to my birth since my parents got married. My great-grandmother might not have seen me born, but the old lie is she cried the day I entered the world. See it was a cold and raining day. My birth date is October 28, 1970. I was almost a Halloween baby. Momma says this is where I get most of my “wicked” personality traits. I entered this world at two minutes to six that morning. My mother was knocked out, so she didn't see me for a few hours. But my family was there to see me in my crib. My aunt has a picture of me still. Everyone was amazed I looked so much like my dad at birth. The funny thing is the ones whom three months earlier was telling my dad a pack of lies was now the loudest on voicing their comments about my looks. The Red Cross mixed up my sex when they sent the telegram. Dad thought I was a boy. He went to a local jeweler, found a little heart ring with a Ruby, and had the initials “JBJ” engraved on it. He knew my mother would name me after him if I had been a boy. When he got the second telegram telling the right sex and he changed it. He altered the second “J” into an “L.” He's the one who picked out my first name. Little side note. I've always loved my name because of what I just said. I couldn't have a better name, can't think of what else I would want to be called then the name my dad picked out for me. My mother wanted to name me Bathsheba. Could she see into the future? So my dad wasn't around when I was born. I was almost three months old before I met him for the first time. He came in on leave, was actually trying to get transferred out. My mother left her parents' house, that's where we lived when I was born, to go to the airport to pick him up. Of course, because I was still an infant and needed my mother, I went with her for the three-hour round trip. Momma said I screamed and squalled the whole time. Nothing would soothe me, please me, she couldn't do anything right. She was at her wit's end by the time my dad stepped off the plane. She thrust me in his arms and told him to “Deal with your daughter.” That was my introduction to the man who sired me. I shut up instantly when placed in my daddy's arms. Momma was fit to be tied. Dad said I sensed her emotions about coming to get him and fed off of the negative vibes in the air. When put in his arms, I sensed the power, control, comfort, love, and adoration he had for me. He fed me a bottle on the way home and I slept like the baby I was for the rest of the afternoon. I was loved by my dad from the minute I was placed into his arms. I don't remember a lot from the time I was born until I was a teenager. There are lots of stories floating around about what my brother and I Click here to read the rest of this story (110 more lines)
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