Where does my happiness come from? I often like to ponder this particular question whenever I’m feeling particularly partial to my emotions. I mean it, not like I have a reason to, so why do it? But then I look back and it all makes sense
I was born, raised by a single mother, no brothers and sisters to give me hell as a little kid, played by myself because I was shy and big, but my cheerful deposition made people take a another glance or at least another listen at what I had to say. I had a mother who loved me and friends who looked up to me, why shouldn’t I be happy? I was blessed with some family, but most of them pasted away, with the oldest being Big Mom (that means grandmother if yall didn’t know) being the first female jailer in Missouri so you knew she had to be cold. My family’s kinda old, my aunties 80, her brother 60 and then her youngest at 40,and then all the way at the bottom of the family tree is 20 year old me, so I guess that’s why they call me an old soul. Then one day my step dad came, and with him a new brother, and everything was fine, they shared butterfly kisses, I said gross and covered my eyes and we all frolicked and giggled in the bright sunshine, until things started falling apart. Within the first year the yelling started, pushing and shoving and two different mindsets I had to deal with every single day. My mom’s love was the highest, but my dad’s love was silent, no room for guidance, only enough wiggle room to attempt to be a good father to his sons. My family’s doctrine is love and family above all else, to cherish all people and especially yourself, because if you can’t how can you love anyone else? But then mom began to stay in her room all day, but still got dressed for work, depression began to take its toll and all I wanted to do is to love, to hold, but all my dad did was give me STUPID looks, saying it’s her fault and HE didn’t deserve it, told her to get up for work, at least cook dinner first, and not helping or even showing the slightest amount of love, she DID NOT deserve this. And all she did was close herself off and cry. My proud, beautiful, gracious, bodacious, amazing mother did not want to be alive. And what could a 12 year old me do besides be happy? I mean if it wasn’t for her where would I be? Not acing my classes and winning awards, for the musical talents that she so fervently adored, so I tried to cheer her up, the best way I knew how, by being myself, and trying my best to make her smile. She took meds and with time she became better and all at once the once stormy weather turned as blue as a clear summers day. But then my brother tired to get smart and tear us apart and I didn’t have a word to say. He talked back, cheated on tests, and finally ran away, leaving us with way more questions then answers because soon after we learn that my mother’s jewelry has mysteriously been whisked away. He wanted to be away, far away with his real mother so we obliged, sent him away on a cold winters day and I never saw him in person since. Time pasted, we moved a lot, the happiness came and went, but never stopped, to say hello to a funny family that was never truly happy.
So….where does mine come from? I think about it like this, I woke up today with a roof over my head, with a small amount of family, but who’s love is uncanny, because it never goes away. With a fire in my chest to do the best I can, because through all the bad, it’s the good that makes me who I am.
I thank you for the time to speak about my life, about the happiness and sadness, wealth and strife, how I learned to be happy in any situation, because my problems are quite small, a puddle compared to the ocean, a trifle not even worth the commotion, people are in waaay worse situations and I have to right to complain. I realized it’s happiness that makes me tick. So I just count my blessings and try to make everyday swell. (I’m Sorry, that last part didn’t rhyme that well). Thank you