Why my daughter really is my Angel.

When I was 18, I was an idiot. 'Didn't know shit from shinola', as my Dad puts it. At one point, I was at risk of not graduating high school. I would've probably been voted 'Most likely to grow up to be a loser.' I was strung out on whatever drugs I could get my hands on without the least bit of direction or purpose to my life. I managed to just barely start getting my life on track when I found out I was 4 1/2 months pregnant. Everyone simultaniously wondered the same thing: How could I possibly raise a child when I barely had my own life under control? I made a decision and a promise. I was comfortable fucking up my own life but I couldn't be responsible for fucking up someone else's. I focused on her and how to raise her and nothing else for the remaining 4 1/2 months. She litterally brought me out of a depression that was so deep, I didn't know I was in it. August 25th, the love of my life arrived. I went to school full-time and worked two part-time jobs. My Grandpa said I had moxy. Maybe. I knew the only way to provide a good life for Mumbles was to get a college degree. I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up so I tried my hand at everything. They say the average college student changes majors seven times. I had seven majors and five different colleges, my favorite being my alama mater, Pittsburg State University in Pittsburg, Kansas. How did I wind up in Kansas from Montana? That is how my daughter saved my life the second time.

I grew up in Kansas but in order to pull my head out of my ass, we (my family and I) thought it might be a good idea to live with my Dad in Montana for a little while. Mumbles and I lived there for about 3 years when my Grandfather, the corner stone of my Mother's family, passed away. I missed my family more than anything and after a failed relationship, I decided it was time to return home. I was still going to school, so I enrolled at community college for a semester while I tried to figure out my next move. While I was there I met, the 'Cowboy'. I haven't the faintest idea what originally attracted me to him. Whatever it was, has long since faded. The three of us moved in together and thus began the worst 2 1/2 years of our lives.

My Dad says that some cowboys wear white hats and some cowboys wear black hats. My cowboy, as it turned out, wore a black hat. Drinking problem would be an understatement. I remember one night having to call one of the Cowboys friend's to come and get him. When the friend arrived the Cowboy was in the front yard, completely naked except for his boots. Another night we arrived at his mother's and I was covered in blood and had peed my pants, he'd gotten mad at me because I'd been driving, hit a bump and he spilled beer on himself. A bruise on my shin from where he bit me and another the size of grape fruit on my hip because I refused to have sex with him. Most people who know me can't believe that I would ever stay 2 minutes, let alone 2 years with a person who did this to me. I was a different person then. I rationalized the abuse in my own mind because if I fought back it wasn't really abuse, right?

Toward the end of the two years I'd had enough and he knew it. I had a plan to get out. The abuse escaladed. One night, he came home from the bar and was so drunk I couldn't understand him. He was saying words but they formed neither sentences nor complete thoughts. He got angry with me and pinned me down on the sofa with his knee in my chest. He must have changed his mind about what he was about to do because the next thing I knew, he was in the kitchen yelling that I hadn't cooked dinner. I left Mumbles who was 5, asleep in her bed, and walked two blocks to the gas station to call the police. I waited on the porch for a couple minutes for them to arrive. When I took them upstairs, the Cowboy was in Mumbles room and she had been crying. Then I saw why. She had marks from her ears down her neck and to the tops of her arms. He'd grabbed her by her hair, drug her down the stairs and back up again. He'd held her neck and banged her head against the door. And then he'd put her back in bed, covered her up and told her not to cry. He was arrested and taken to jail.

Mumbles and I moved to Pittsburg and I made another promise. I was a fool to think that the Cowboy wouldn't hurt her but I wouldn't make that mistake again. Mumbles is almost 12 now. I still carry a great deal of guilt that she suffered even a second because of my poor choices. I was also a fool to think that I couldn't call on my family for support. They each one helped us out, in different ways and I am grateful to them, but it was Mumbles who rescued me. Twice. She's truely my Angel.