A different kind of child

Many people say that things were different in their times. That can be true more for some, than it can for others. I come from an racial background. As a child, I saw it as half accepted, and half rejected. There were a large horde of people who didn’t like me, purely based on my color. There were even more, however, who didn’t accept me because of my social standing in the economy. Basically, we were dirt poor. However, I was happy and loved. So fuck what they think.

Let's start things from the beginning. A distant family member was given custody of me as a child due to an abusive situation. She was my great uncle’s ex-wife’s mother. I’ve always known her as Gram. She passed earlier this year. It hurt me in the hardest way possible. She was my everything. She gave me the best life that she could, considering that I was busy being a little shit. Running the fields, woods, and surrounding area with a knife and whatever I needed to help me adventure.

She liked to tell me the story of the day she met me. I was so cute, she instantly fell in love. When she heard that I needed her help, she came instantly. She showed me love and trust. She encouraged me to follow my dreams. At that time, I dreamed of becoming a spy. I would spend my free time training. I climbed trees, practiced flips on the trampoline, tested hunting, surviving, and trapping skills in the woods and fields. I also honed my carpentry and technological skills.

Life at home was perfect. Gram loved and adored me. She taught me how to cook, garden, and clean. Her daughter spent most days teaching me photography, scrapbooking, and how to care for our multitude of animals. There was 4H (a local farming group for children to show animals at the local fair), dog shows, photography clubs, and a lot of road trips. These were the highlights of home. School is where I had some difficulties.

I already had a hard time fitting in because of my social and racial backgrounds. I didn’t care though. I had fun learning, playing and reading. I made some friends. A few is all you really need. Things were good, until I hit high school.

By this time, Gram was getting really old. It was getting harder for her to keep a steady job. Her daughter had a low-paying job, but worked a lot.A lot of our spare money went to just keeping the animals alive. Some days, we went without electricity, water, and sometimes heat during the winter. There wasn’t always money to go places or fix our appliances. We couldn’t even cook with our water because the well was slowly collapsing and leaking large amounts of iron into our water. We went and got spring water whenever we needed it. At least 50 gallons at a time.

I wouldn’t change one single bit of it either. I loved the way that we lived on the farm. It was rough sometimes, but it made me a stronger person. I can survive inside and outside a modern society. The best thing that you can do for each other out there is make each other smile. Especially during holidays. My favorite memory is the year that we almost went without a Christmas tree.

Christmas was Gram’s favorite holiday. I do everything in my power to keep tradition alive and decorate extensively for the event. There were nativity scenes, little towns, trains, fake snow on everything, and the biggest, most beautiful, live Christmas tree that you ever saw. She’d always bake loads of homemade cookies from one of her older than sin cookbooks. The entire Christmas atmosphere would make her smile like a kid in a candy store.

One year, when I was in high school, we didn’t have the money to make a tree. I secretly started saving money to get her a tree. To help cheer her up, I got some pine needles off of the tree in the backyard and put it in a cup that I decorated along with some small ornaments. I told her it was only temporary and that I promised we’d have a tree for Christmas. She told me that it was perfect just the way it was and she slowly started putting up her decorations. Thus began a new Christmas tradition.

Once I earned enough money, I walked down our quarter of a mile driveway and walked about a mile to our neighbor who sold trees. He was a sweet, elderly man whose wife had just passed away. I’ve known them my whole life. We got our trees from them every year. I told him the situation and gave him all the money I saved that week (about $40). He just smiled the biggest smile and told me how much this was going to mean to Gram and that I’m a great child. He gave me snacks and juice and let me warm up before going out to pick the tree.

We got out to the field and he let me pick whatever tree I wanted. Gram always liked trees that weren’t too tall, but were super fat. That’s how I found the perfect Christmas tree. It was a short needled classic pine tree that smelled like fresh forest. If I put my arms out, I couldn’t even reach around it. It stood about 5’8” tall. Short, fat, beautiful. Perfect. Our neighbor loaded it into his truck and drove me and the tree home. As we were getting it through the front door, Gram came out, saw the tree and my smile, and started crying.

She didn’t think she would have a tree that year. But she was my mom. How could I let her miss something so important? There are so many stories about the farm. So many memories and important dates to us. Every day was another reason to be happy. The farm made me a wild kind of child. It made me a strong kind of child. It made me a sweet kind of child. It made me a different kind of child. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I am Gram’s daughter. My heart belongs on the farm.