"Well here goes nothing".
      I have almost no memory of my early childhood growing up in Chicago in the 50s and 60s. All I really remember is a small smoke-filled apartment, and parents that were more likely found in the bar than at home, or even at a job. However, there is one memory that sticks out to me. It was 1962, I was twelve and my parents were arguing. I ran to the fire escape of our building and looked out into the night. I saw a light getting closer and closer. At the time I was convinced it was an angel. I made a prayer that night that I would have a family that was as happy as my life was miserable. I never found out if it was an angel or not. My mother noticed I left and, having run her course with my father, began screaming profanities at me. I scurried down the fire escape hoping to never return. However, a twelve-year-old little white girl running down Michigan Avenue well after midnight doesn't make it far. A cop picked me up and brought me home. 

      Thinking back on it now. I realize it's unfortunate just how much other people's good intentions can get in the way, or at least I remember thinking something of the sort. If I had left who knows what would have happened. After all, it was a family I wanted, and there is always sacrifice for the things we want most.                  That night set a passion in my heart. I was determined not to end up like my own parents. I got a job as early as possible, made my own clothes, and cooked my own lonely dinners. I didn't care much for friends. There would be plenty of time for those once I got the Hell outta dodge. As far as school goes. I knew college wasn't an option, so I took trade school classes at my high school to learn how to run an office. Before you knew it I was 18 and graduated.
      Let me set the scene for you kids. It was 1968. I had graduated high school less than a week ago.  I had had enough of my hectic life and was ready to move on. We were living in a studio apartment across from Wriggly Field and I was ready to make the 3 person household a two-person abode. I had my suitcase packed and I was leaving.

      "And just where do you think you're gonna go?" My father asked. Eying my suitcase. "You can't leave us." I felt bad at this point. My father was terrible at being a father, but he did love me. Then "SHE" walked into the room. Cigarette in hand as always. Already finished with her first pack in less than a morning's worth of hours.
      "If the bitch wants to leave. Let her." Said my mother. Looking right at me. How one person could summon up so much disdain while wearing an ill-fitting-stained nightgown would always baffle me. I wanted to smack her more than anything in the world. At the time I thought I hated my mother. For my father's sake, I didn't. 

      Whether you kids think that means for my father's sake I didn't smack her or didn't hate her. Is up to you.

      I knew he didn't care for her either, but in the 60s once you were married that was it. Divorce was very rare, especially for catholics with no money. Looking at "HER" I once again felt sorry for my dad. I knew without me his life would be truly miserable. When he met my "Mother" he was enrolled in medical school. She wooed him into marriage and then let her true vindictive nature show. He went from a prospective doctor from a good family to an almost homeless, chain-smoking, quasi-drunk who couldn't hold a job.
 I knew he wasn't going to stand up to her on my behalf. Any rebellious nature in him had long since been beaten out. I still don't know if it was done verbally or physically.

      "I am leaving". I responded. I placed a hard emphasis on every word. My fists clenched as I did. I really wanted to hit her. The way she stood there like I was no better than her. Like I could only leave if given permission. Man, I wanted to knock her lights out.
      I turned around and opened the door. My father squeaked a question. At my mother's entrance, he seemed to shrink into himself. "Where are you going, honey"? He repeated.

      "California". I responded not bothering to look back. His feeble state may have broken my resolve if I did. Plus I wasn't overly sure of myself. I picked California because it seemed like the farthest place from my stuffy home. Both physically and psychologically. The only redeeming aspect of my life here was Lake Michigan, but I figured the Pacific Ocean would make up for that. Couple that with the open land area and all the good publicity the state got at the time, and I figured I couldn't go wrong. It didn't hurt that there were over 2,000 miles of distance separating me from my witch of a mother. I figured I'd at least be able to make the most of it.
       My mother scoffed. "The cow thinks she's gonna be famous". 
       "I think I'm going to get as far away from you as possible."I retorted. Adding a bit of venomous intent on the "you" in the statement.
        "You can't run away from what you are."  She responded. I was surprised at the lack of derogatory terms in the statement. Whether or not it was intended or not. The effect almost worked.  The room got really quiet at that. I was so close to slugging her that my arm started twitching. She could tell, no she wanted that to be my reaction. She wanted me to regress into the barbaric nature that was her lifestyle. She wanted me to be just like her.

       Now children, if you haven't been emersed in the story yet, or are just humoring an old woman. I implore you to pay attention to at least the remainder of this paragraph. If all you get out of this in the form of knowledge is encompassed in the next verse. Then I have done my job and can rest easy knowing that my kids know all they need to be successful. 

     Very few times in life are you allowed to make a decision and know precisely how it will affect your future. In these moments you must reel in your emotions and think about what matters most. It's hard and may seem impossible, but that is where having something to fight for will help steer your way.

      "That's right, you know your place don't you? You don't belong with beautiful people. You belong right here. With the rest of the country's garbage. What makes you think you're better than me?"She asked audibly getting louder as she did. She was so used to yelling it didn't even register with her anymore.
      This last question calmed me down a bit. The answer was simple. I answered as coldly as I could. "Because unlike you. When I start my own family. I will love them with all my heart." I don't know if I yelled it or if I barely got the words out. Our emotions are funny like that. The way they block out all else, and dramaticize a scene.

      I shut the door calmly and walked out. I think I heard my father murmur an "I love you". I didn't care. He had 18 years to take care of me and didn't. I ran down the stairs and double-checked that my wallet had all the money I had saved up at the candy shop I worked at. I made sure my plane ticket was in the front pouch of my run-down suitcase. Ran out of the building and grabbed the first cab I could. Less than two hours later I was boarding the plane that would take me to Los Angeles California. Where I had already lined up a job as a telephone operator. Looking out of the plane window on my first plane ride ever. I remember thinking how lucky I was to get the chance to make my own life as I saw fit.

     With that, as if all the years of anxiety and turmoil were linked to the plane's elevation. My heart seemed to get lighter as the plane took off. I was free!