I was like, what screwed up childhood? I didn't have a screwed up childhood . . . did I?
Yes, odd things happened sometimes, like the time I found a boa constrictor in the linen closet, and the time I found a gun in the mailbox, but I never thought of it as screwed up.
For the most part my childhood seemed pretty ho hum. I rolled my hair through the 70's and my eyes through church, just like every other girl on the block. Only difference was I didn't get pregnant in the 80's. Beyond that, I was just another fly-girl from the hood, who earned her personal progress medallion, dyed her hair with hydrogen peroxide, joined the drill team, and drank too much Fanta red cream soda.
And yes, my dad happened to take drugs. But it wasn't who he was, it was just something he did. On the side. In between teaching Sunday School and giving priesthood blessings.
It's sounds screwed up when you put it in a nutshell, but if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, we don't live in a nutshell now, do we?
(My dad's parents might have, but weeeeeeeee don't.)
(ba dum bum)
There are things about my dad I haven't told you yet. Things I will tell you someday. But not today. Today I want to talk about my mom, because she's the one who gave me my Boho Momo super power, which in short is the ability to look past the profane and the obscene to find freedom, truth, beauty and love.
On second thought, maybe I'll talk about my mom tomorrow. Today I'm kinda busy sitting around doing nothing.
BTW, I've seen five more movies, so I'll talk about that tomorrow too.