Forward
I am going to attempt to tell you the story of my life. I can’t imagine how long this might take. I am currently 44 years old so this could take awhile. I hope my story will somehow help the reader to see how great our God is and how He can pull anybody out of the mire of her life and redeem the time that was lost.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Michelle. She was born in 1963 in Pennsylvania to Robert and Judy. They loved her vary much.This is the story of my life. I am Michelle. I was born in 1963 when the United States was still a peaceful place, when we were safely between wars, before the sexual revolution, just before JFK was assassinated.My family was very close knit when I was a little girl. My grandparents had 6 children, 5 girls and 1 boy. My mother has 4 sisters and 1 brother and these sisters did everything together. My uncle is just 6 years older than me so he was more like a son to his sisters than a brother and because he was the only boy, very doted upon. I remember having great family get togethers, picnics, parties, vacations at the shore, playing in creeks, baby showers, birthdays, holidays. I felt like we had the best family in the whole wide world. My father had an equally awesome family, although his mother and father died when he was a boy. My dad had 2 brothers and 1 sister and from my tiny perspective they had a perfect family too. I remember friday nights going to visit Uncle Mike and my 3 cousins or going bowling with my mom and hiding under tables and running around the wide big bowling alley world. Those were the days of not knowing what it was to be hurt or let down or disappointed. The days when if my mom and dad had a fight and my mom walked out the door, my dad could fix it by giving me a cup of soda, a special treat, and tell me not to worry, everything will be all right. The days when I would surround myself with all my stuffed animals for comfort, go outside in the winter and watch my dad and his friends build a giant snow man over 7 feet tall, run around the labyrinth of a basement in the apartment complex where we lived, going outside in the summer time and the sun would stay up for what felt like forever. Those were the days.
When I was growing up, my mom took us to church almost every Sunday. We would go to Sunday school and then sometimes we would get to play in the nursery while she went to grown up church. I remember really liking church when I was little. The pastor was a wonderful, loving man who loved all the children. I even remember liking grown up church a little, although it took far too long for me. Time as a child just seems to go much more slowly than it does now.
I know I learned about Jesus when I was little, but I don’t have much memory of what I learned. My most vivid memories are based around my family. I remember family vacations and picnics and parties. I remember lots of road trips on the weekend when my dad would say, “who wants to go for a ride?” I remember hiking on the Appalachian trail. I remember my first ride on an airplane.
I also remember being a mean spirited girl. I was jealous of my brother, Bobby when I was little and remember telling him how much I didn’t love him to make him cry and then I would comfort him and tell him I didn’t mean what I said. I could cry as I write this. What makes a child mean? I remember locking my cousin Cheryl in the bathroom and not letting her out until she was crying. I liked to make children cry. I was very little, between 4 and 8 years old when I did these things.
These were the foundation years of my life. I was loved and had an awesome family. I don’t think there was anything out of the ordinary in my early childhood. I was disciplined, not ever abused. Looking back, I would say the only thing I lacked was my parents verbally telling me they loved me. I don’t know if I will ever be able to understand what made me so sullen and moody and pouty. But I do know. We are born in sin. Nobody ever has to teach a child how to be mean, she is just naturally mean.
Chapter One
Once Upon a Time
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time there was a girl named Michelle. She was born in 1963 in Pennsylvania to Robert and Judy. They loved her vary much.This is the story of my life. I am Michelle. I was born in 1963 when the United States was still a peaceful place, when we were safely between wars, before the sexual revolution, just before JFK was assassinated.My family was very close knit when I was a little girl. My grandparents had 6 children, 5 girls and 1 boy. My mother has 4 sisters and 1 brother and these sisters did everything together. My uncle is just 6 years older than me so he was more like a son to his sisters than a brother and because he was the only boy, very doted upon. I remember having great family get togethers, picnics, parties, vacations at the shore, playing in creeks, baby showers, birthdays, holidays. I felt like we had the best family in the whole wide world. My father had an equally awesome family, although his mother and father died when he was a boy. My dad had 2 brothers and 1 sister and from my tiny perspective they had a perfect family too. I remember friday nights going to visit Uncle Mike and my 3 cousins or going bowling with my mom and hiding under tables and running around the wide big bowling alley world. Those were the days of not knowing what it was to be hurt or let down or disappointed. The days when if my mom and dad had a fight and my mom walked out the door, my dad could fix it by giving me a cup of soda, a special treat, and tell me not to worry, everything will be all right. The days when I would surround myself with all my stuffed animals for comfort, go outside in the winter and watch my dad and his friends build a giant snow man over 7 feet tall, run around the labyrinth of a basement in the apartment complex where we lived, going outside in the summer time and the sun would stay up for what felt like forever. Those were the days.
When I was growing up, my mom took us to church almost every Sunday. We would go to Sunday school and then sometimes we would get to play in the nursery while she went to grown up church. I remember really liking church when I was little. The pastor was a wonderful, loving man who loved all the children. I even remember liking grown up church a little, although it took far too long for me. Time as a child just seems to go much more slowly than it does now.
I know I learned about Jesus when I was little, but I don’t have much memory of what I learned. My most vivid memories are based around my family. I remember family vacations and picnics and parties. I remember lots of road trips on the weekend when my dad would say, “who wants to go for a ride?” I remember hiking on the Appalachian trail. I remember my first ride on an airplane.
I also remember being a mean spirited girl. I was jealous of my brother, Bobby when I was little and remember telling him how much I didn’t love him to make him cry and then I would comfort him and tell him I didn’t mean what I said. I could cry as I write this. What makes a child mean? I remember locking my cousin Cheryl in the bathroom and not letting her out until she was crying. I liked to make children cry. I was very little, between 4 and 8 years old when I did these things.
These were the foundation years of my life. I was loved and had an awesome family. I don’t think there was anything out of the ordinary in my early childhood. I was disciplined, not ever abused. Looking back, I would say the only thing I lacked was my parents verbally telling me they loved me. I don’t know if I will ever be able to understand what made me so sullen and moody and pouty. But I do know. We are born in sin. Nobody ever has to teach a child how to be mean, she is just naturally mean.
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