Revision [2141]

This is an old revision of AutobiographiesSK made by SabrinaKaiser on 2012-01-17 10:00:32.



Part One: The Beginning

I was born in Kenosha, WI where I lived for the first six years of my life. My mother was 20 and my father was 19 when I came into the world. Since they were in no way financially set when they began reproducing, I spent a lot of time with my maternal and paternal grandmothers. My first sister was not born until I was four years old, so my childhood memories are comprised of birthday parties in July (my birthday is December 23, but my grandmother decided it wasn't fair that I had to share my birthday with Christmas), sleepovers with favorite relatives and generally having everything I wanted. Of course, this was cause for a rude awakening when the first sister, Shayna, came along, but I will not bore you with those details.
My family moved here, to Bemidji, MN, when I was six years old. Shayna and I promptly came down with the chicken pox, which lasted about two weeks. I attended first through fourth grade at Northern Elementary, which I hated. It's common knowledge in this small town that people with money tend to send their kids to Northern elementary. Well, my family did not have money. I was the kid wearing yard sale apparel and for this I was ridiculed.F ifth grade was spent at Lincoln Elementary. I cannot explain how different it is for a low-income kid who has been snubbed for four years at a snobby country school to finally be embraced for all her awesomeness at an inner city school. My oldest friendships were made during that last year of elementary school. My mother attended BSU for her undergrad, which she completed in three out of four years while working full time at Perkins and suffering serious sleep deprivation. My dad was physically around but I was charged with the care of my three younger sisters. Until middle school, summer vacation and sleepovers were unheard of.
During my middle school years I did not spend much time at home. At some point I had realized that it was not my responsibility to raise my parents' other daughters, so I left as often as possible. My father was verbally and emotionally abusive, and it very well could have turned physical, but I spent so much time away from home that it never had a chance to escalate to that point. Middle school is a happier blur than elementary school was, but it remains a blur none the less.

Part Two: High School

We are jumping straight to the year 2004, because that is when my entire life changed. I failed my entire freshman year because I was busy partying and being in love. My high school sweetheart and I attended Winter Formal together and things grew from there. Puppy love can be a terrible thing. It allowed me to remain blind to key character flaws in those I surrounded myself with. I can honestly say that I did not have a single close friend to depend on at this time in my life.
In January of 2004, I was informed that I had a half brother I had never heard of. I am two months and one day younger than him. He and his cousin found our phone number on the internet and he contacted us for the first time ever. In March my father had brain surgery. The Mayo Clinic staff was trying to reverse his epilepsy that was caused by a high fever as an infant. Scar tissue had formed and would send the occasional golf ball pinging around his brain. I witnessed many grand mal seizures growing up. I was glad that soon it would be fixed. I met my brother for the first time when our dad had that surgery. Hours after meeting him we were allowed to visit dad in recovery. My dad is a six-foot-tall burly Hispanic mechanic. He was the epitome of strength to me. He was never weak. In that recovery room, my dad looked at my brother, cocked his head to the side and asked, "Mickey?" My brother said, "Yeah Dad, it's me." My brother's name is Nick. My heart broke for both of them. Following the surgery, we left Rochester to return home to Bemidji and my brother went home to Illinois. Things were some semblance of normal for about a month until disaster struck again. After the brain surgery, the doctors told my father not to resume any old habits, for this would be cause for regression. My father, being the man that he is, figured the advice administered was a simple formality. On April 20, 2004 (that's right, 420), my father "fell asleep" while making breakfast for himself. When he awoke he had time to throw open the front and back doors for the animals to escape. The flames had already consumed the entire kitchen ceiling. Fortunately, the only casualties were two beloved cats. Unfortunately, my parents were behind on
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