And how I got to where I am

Part one
Part two
Part three

Around the time I turned three, The Donor took up with a stripper (for real) with a two-year old son.  The one visit I remember was horrific.  Her son - Bryan - was a little bastard who would literally hit, punch, slap, scratch, and bite me.  When I had the gall to cry, Stripper Extraordinaire sent The Donor into the bedroom to spank me with the plastic spatula flipper - he actually apologized to me before slapping my ass repeatedly with it.  I remember Stripper Extraordinaire locking us out on the balcony so she could get ready for work.  I had to go to the washroom, so I knocked on the patio door; as I sat, cowering, on the toilet, she said something along the lines of "You better [expletive]-well have to go."   I remember sitting in the corner of the living room, clutching an old family picture to my chest because my mom was in it, sobbing because I wanted my mommy and I wanted to go home.  (They wouldn't even let me talk to Mom on the phone.)

After that disastrous visit, Mom started allowing me to make the decisions regarding whether or not I saw The Donor.  Understandably, I wasn't too keen to revisit a place where I had been so miserable.  Mom tried to help by encouraging The Donor to call me, thinking maybe speaking to him on the phone would help solidify a connection and keep it fresh in mind.  Of course, being contrary, he did the exact opposite, as if NOT calling me served to spite anyone but himself.

The Donor had tried to make arrangements for a visit, but I didn't want to go with him.  Instead of manning up and taking responsibility for his own actions and accepting my choice, he returned with the police.  I swear I remember this, that it's not just through its retelling that it seems so familiar to me - I remember hiding behind Dad's legs, peering up at the seemingly tall, scary police men (that The Donor hid behind), hysterical because I thought they were going to throw my mommy in jail.

I didn't have to go with him.  The police didn't take my mom to jail.  I don't really remember a lot of him after that, just a few week-long visits in the summer that are so hazy, I have no idea when they occurred or how old I was.  Along the way, Mom & Dad's relationship grew, even though it was fraught with unhappy moments.  Grandmonster continued to get her nose into everything, wreaking havoc wherever she could manage.

(As an aside, The Donor and Stripper Extraordinaire ended up having a son.  There was talk that Stripper Extraordinaire continued to drink throughout her pregnancy (there were also rumours of drugs, but I have no idea about the accuracy of said rumours).  When their relationship went south, she abandoned both of her sons by basically forcing The Donor to adopt Bryan: she told him that if he didn't adopt Bryan, she'd make sure he never saw Luke again.)

When I was five, we moved to a town 20 minutes away.  We lived in a townhouse complex, so there were lots of kids for me to play with.  Most of the children were older than me and were all able to ride bikes; all I had was my little tricycle (apparently I made quite the sight as I peddled furiously in a vain attempt to keep up with them).  Mom contacted The Donor just before my birthday to see if he could pitch in to help buy my first two-wheel bike.  He said no.  When she explained that I was having trouble keeping up with the rest of the kids, he said that it was too bad, but I'd have to learn that I wouldn't always get what I wanted.

Mom was pregnant with Nick before I turned six. Dad asked Mom to marry him; she was resistant, simply because she felt she must not have been "good enough" for him to want to marry BEFORE she was pregnant (Dad's uber-religious parents wouldn't come to our place to visit because Mom and Dad were "living in sin").  They were married in my grandparents' basement.  The town house was only a 2-bedroom unit, and I refused to sleep in the same room with him: my parents would have to let me fall asleep on their bed and then move me to the couch when they went to bed.  It wasn't long before we moved into a 3-bedroom townhouse in another complex (in the same town).

When I was seven, we moved back to my hometown.  My parents bought a house.  It was a constant source of discord for them because they were stretched to the limit money-wise.  Before the school year was up, they separated.  I don't know the hows or whys, but I do have an "odd" memory of going to some guy's house with Mom one night and being told to try to go to sleep on the couch, while they disappeared into another room (with a closed door); when we were on our way home, she promised me a pad of paper (I loved to draw) if I didn't tell Dad.  I never did get that pad of paper.

Mom, Nick, and I moved into an apartment building close by (coincidentally enough, the building is next door to the one I ended up buying a condo in).  Mom struggled to keep the roof over our heads with her job in the mall.  Dad's sister was babysitting Nick while I was at work; Nick was PETRIFIED of her husband - at a year old, that little boy would become hysterical if the slime ball was home, but he was far too young to tell anyone WHY.  (He was fired from multiple jobs for sexually harassment before everyone knew what it was, and in later years, there were molestation allegations from his daughter.)  It made Mom physically ill to leave Nick there if she knew Faith's husband was going to be home.  So, Grandmonster volunteered to babysit Nick.  It didn't last long before she was telling Mom that she'd have to charge her - a single mother supporting two children (yeah, Dad was being a dick head about child support) - lest "anyone" think Mom was "taking advantage" of her.

Of course, Mom wasn't able to keep all the balls in the air for much longer.  Nick went to Dad's one night and stayed there; Mom and I went to Grandmonster's.  I was absolutely heartbroken when I learned that my baby brother wouldn't be living with us.