If you ask Anthony, I am a very politically correct person and he is not. I’d like to think I’m the happy medium but that’s just my opinion. Whereas Anthony likes to think he holds nothing back and everyone is too sensitive blah blah blah. (Side note: he actually doesnt tell a lot of people, family specifically, the brutal truth because he doesnt want to upset anyone so don’t let him fool you.) I grew up in a family where we religiously practiced using kind words towards other people. We were that household where you couldnt say things like “shut up” or “sucks” or “stupid.” Those were considered bad words in our house. My parents, my mom especially, worked really hard with us on being inclusive and not making fun of other people because we were an inclusive family. I have family members that are intellectual disabled, physically disabled, adopted, difference races, different religions, etc., etc. We were raised to be those kids that stood up for others when they were being bullied. So for me personally, the idea of being “politically correct” isn’t this sheltering, sugar coating tactic. It’s about being respectful of others way of life. Now that’s not to say we dont have freedom of speech and people are more than welcome to express how they feel, but there is a big difference between expressing your feelings and being down-putting towards others.

I think a really good example of this is within the transgender community. Now I personally have friends that are trans and they use the pronoun (he, she, they, etc.) that makes them feel the most comfortable. There are people out there that get all up in arms because someone wants to be called something different. This whole argument over genitalia vs gender and this or that seems so unnecessary. It’s a name. No one is asking anyone to wave a flag at pride and say “I love LGBTQ+”, just call them by the right name and pronoun. For me, I like to be called Katie. That’s not my name on my birth certificate, but it’s what I like. To me it’s the same thing. However, I will whole heartily agree that there are some weirdos out there that give the trans people a bad rep. I personally don’t think you can identify as an alien, or a cat, or a helicopter, or different race or age. That’s the start of a mental break from reality, but at the end of the day if it makes you happy and you’re not hurting anyone, go do your thing, but you also have to realize that if you’re gonna identify as something weird, you’re gonna get treated weird. If you’re wearing vampire fangs and white out contacts coupled with black makeup and platform boots, don’t be surprised if McDonald’s doesn’t hire you. If you’re white as white can be and you put on a bunch of self tanner and get yourself a weave and say you’re black, don’t be surprised if the African American people completely lose their shit on you. If you like to dress up as a baby and wear diapers, the person you are dating is into they are a borderline pedophile. No sane person wants to have sex with a baby. Stop it. (this is the only one I will 100% forever and always be against)

Moving on, I feel as if our society has become this divided monster that is either offended by EVERYTHING or makes it a point to offend EVERYONE. At the end of the day, both sides are effectively the same. Group A is offended so they’re gonna say more atrocious things to offend Group B, which causes Group B to say even more atrocious things about Group A and the cycle goes on and on and on. And for what? It is not offensive for someone to be different than you. It is not offensive if someone has different political views than you. It’s not offensive for someone to believe or not believe in your god. It is a offensive if you persecute them for being different. It is offensive if you discriminate against them or profile them or stereotype them.

What happened to treat others the way you want to be treated? Shit, even Jesus said that. You want to be treated with respect? Act respectful first. You can’t be mad at someone being disrespectful if you didnt raise the bar and set the tone for how things are going to be. Do you know how hard it is to yell at someone when they remain calm? People want to get that rise out of others because it then validates their actions. If you have to call someone a name to demoralize and degrade them so you look like the big man on campus, you’re a child and need to learn to use your big boy words like an adult. I’m not saying to stay quiet. Believe me, I am a big believer in speaking up for what you believe, but there is no power is hate.

Anthony will tell you I’m very gray and want everyone to get along. Well hell ya I do, why wouldn’t I want everyone to be happy? Does that mean I want you to compromise your beliefs? No. Does that mean I want you to approve of everyone’s life choices? No. Do I think you should try to be respectful of others, even if they’re different than you? Abso-freakin-lutley. Do I want you think about your choice of words before you say them? You betcha home slice. Be kind first. Be respectful first. Set the example for your kids and some adults who look to you for social behavior.

I’ve never been one to believe in “love at first sight” because I’d like to think I’ve very much a realist. Happily Ever After never really seemed like something that was obtainable. I figured you always just got married, had some kids, and did the whole life thing. Contentment seemed like the norm for so many people and I was one of those people. Being comfortable was easy. I had married a good man and I mean that. My ex husband is a good man. He is kind, hard working, selfless, and every other single attribute you would want in a husband. He made me laugh and would be nerdy with me. For a while I was happy, content, and if there were any issues that arose, I just chalked it up to “that’s life” and left it at that. Even before we got married, there were things that should’ve been clear warnings that we probably weren’t the best match for each other, but again, we were happy most of the time. I am very much a peace keeper. I will bury my shit in order to keep others happy at all costs and I did that in my marriage. I started burying parts of myself that didn’t fit into my marriage. Things I loved doing or things I believed. Eventually the person I became was no where near the person I wanted to become. I didnt get the love and affection I needed at home so I buried myself in my work. What was the point of going home if I was just going to sit on the couch while my husband played another round of video games? Why not work a weekend if I was just going to sit at home and watch TV?

Now I kind of give him a little bit of room because he did work a labor intensive job and worked 60-80 a week, but when he got promoted he wasnt doing the hard work anymore. When the hours slowed down, he was home more, but we still never went anywhere or spent any time together. My friends would invite us out and I would end up going alone or if he did go he was on his phone most of the time or ready to go after a couple hours. I feel like he lost himself somewhere. This wasnt the guy I fell in love with or who I thought was in love with. When we met, he was vibrant and outgoing. We never went anywhere. We were living the life of a 60 year old couple and we were only in our 20s. I started to feel more alone. I was basically living with a roommate. I tried to initiate sex and didn’t get much in return. I tried to plan fun things but it never happened. He went to bed before me and got up before me. I thought maybe if he got another job, that might help so I searched and applied constantly to jobs for him. I would plead for him to find something that would make his life easier, but it was never to my avail. I slowly watched him grow bitter, depressed, angry, and resentful to everything and everyone.

We even looked at going back to Oklahoma because I thought maybe that would help. I even agreed to live in the tiny podunk town that I would have no realistic job opportunities in so he could be with his family. Nothing worked and eventually I couldn’t do it anymore. I was tired and defeated and most days my own depression was getting the better of me. I had my bosses pull me into the office one day and ask what was wrong because you could tell I was not in a good place. I was just a shell at this point, functioning at best. If there was ever a time depressed and slightly suicidal was written on my forehead it was now. I blamed a lot of our problems on myself. Maybe if I did this or did that, maybe he would be happy. If I learned the things he enjoyed doing, we could do them together. If I bought more lingerie or changed myself he would want me more. If I took a different job, I would have more time at home. Nothing worked and eventually I quit trying. I went out with my friends more because I couldnt stand to sit by myself at home anymore. Went to more of my nephews sporting events and had family time with them. Stayed later at work and filled in every shift I could and it eventually gave me a promotion. Till one day I asked what we were even doing. I offered a separation first to see if maybe we could figure things out and I got met with the ultimatum of “stay together or get divorced.” So I chose divorce. I shouldnt have to threaten to leave to get some love. I prayed and prayed and prayed for things to get better, but they didn’t.

We lived in separate rooms after that and things were okay for a while. I think he thought I would wake up one day and change my mind. I think he also thought enticing me with sex would keep me around, but my attachment was already pretty thin, so increasing the gap wasn’t that bad for me. We already didn’t see each other, or really spend time together. I came home and went to my room for the night. He spent his time in the living room with his PS4 and his friends. Eventually he moved back to Oklahoma and took a significant pay cut, while we still had bills. So that was a fun few months of struggling between starving, keeping the lights on, and basically surviving.

It sometimes gives me anxiety to think about being 26 and divorced. I know most people dont picture that for their life. No one wants to admit that they failed. I think that is what I did and still do struggle with because I am very much a person that is afraid of failure and letting people down. I was embarrassed and ashamed because I project myself as having my shit together and I did my best to project this perfect marriage to everyone. I think that was what I heard the most from people, “we didn’t even know anything was wrong” or “you seemed so happy.” I would agree with that, we were happy at times and especially out in public. There was never any fighting that went on, but that was part of the problem. There was no fight. I will say after going through this whole ordeal and kind of seeing the realness divorce brings, we’re still pretty good friends. We chat about once a week and check in on each other. I think we both really do want the best for each other and I think we’ve both figured out what makes us happy in life.

I know marriage isn’t always fun. I’m very aware of that. People say you fall in and out of love and you just have to push through it, but I don’t believe that for a second. I think your love evolves, changes, and grows. You fall in love with the next versions of each other. I think if you “fall out of love” with someone, you probably weren’t in love with them to begin with. You can love someone and care for them and not be IN love with them. Now that’s not to say the passion doesnt die down and you become accustom to that person, but relationships are very much like plants. You have to water them and take care of them. Some plants die because they’re in the wrong environment or their dead ends aren’t pruned off or they’re over/under exposed. Sometimes they die because you let people pull their leaves off. I’m not one to tell anyone how to run a marriage or a relationship for that matter, because at the end of the day everyone is different. Some people are perfectly okay with mediocrity and status quo. But, wouldn’t you want to fill electric every time you look at your partner? I’m not talking about lust because sex comes and goes. I’m talking about the feeling when you look at your partner and you see every reason you’re together in a split second. Yes, your partner will annoy you, infuriate you, and probably drive you crazy, but after all of that, shouldn’t there be a base feeling of “I love this person beyond all of that”?

I’ll start off by staying, I haven’t had a very hard life. I will fully admit that. My parents were middle class. We had a nice home, in a nice neighborhood, and I went to the better quality schools in town. I never went without food or worried about what I would be coming home to. My parents are loving and kind. Our home was filled with hugs and laughter and for the most part we generally got along with each other. Both my parents worked hard to make sure we were taken care of and we were happy. That’s not to say there weren’t times of struggle and adversity. My dad being a small business owner, there were times when business was slow, but they made sure us kids never thought things were bad. We weren’t taking lavish vacations or purchasing big fancy things. Now we had our problems. I had siblings in and out of jail and institutions. Family members with drug problems. Gossip and fighting. Death and illness. I would say we had more emotional trials than anything else. Although there were a few physical altercations, we weren’t boxing in the front yard.

There’s a lot of talk in our society about “white privilege.” This idea that because I didn’t have a hard life, I’m privileged. I toggle with this term a lot because yes, I didnt have a ton of hardships as a kid, but I watched my parents work hard. I saw the sacrifices made. I watched my dad work himself to the bone so we could have a little bit extra. We had a small business, but we didn’t have nice cars or lavish furniture. Our clothes weren’t top of the line or brand name. We shopped at K-mart and Walmart just like everyone else. We had hand-me-downs and shared clothing. We took 1 big trip every year after Christmas. My mom was a teacher. I saw the real world struggle of my peers. I knew what they went through and what my mom dealt with as a teacher. I had friends that didn’t know if they had a home to go to after school. Even in high school, I had friends that only ate at school. Kids that joined clubs and sports so they wouldn’t have to go home. I wasnt blind to the fact that there are problems in this world. To me that’s “white privilege”. Being wealthy enough that you don’t even realize there are people struggling in the world. That it is a luxury to have running water or a car that has AC or multiple meals a day. There are people out there that live those lives. Not just white people either.

I think we, as a society, have this idea that because someone’s disenfranchised that we need to blame someone and since white people are the villain in most major historical events, it must be white people again. I will fully admit, white people have done some messed up stuff, but it’s 2020. There’s a cry for inclusiveness, but not if you’re “white.” A term I HATE by the way. White. As if the pigment of my skin tells of my race and heritage. We’re not supposed to use the term “black”, but African-American, yet I am white. Anyway, I digress.

We didn’t learn about what the English did to my ancestors in Ireland in school. We didn’t learn about the massacres that occurred to my people. We got a snip-it of the prejudice when we covered newspaper cartoons done against minorities. The Irish were treated as animals and that was before they came to American. The British wouldn’t let them speak their own language, own land or livestock, practice Catholicism, or own any means to defend themselves. People were literally starving to death because of famine, while England continued to export food to other countries. Nearly 1 million Irish died during the seven year famine. 2 million would seek refuge in other countries, a quarter of them seeking refuge in America. In hopes of finding a better life in America, some of them scraped together every penny for a ticket. Crammed into slave ships with 18 inches of sleeping space per adult, they came here for new life. Ships infested with disease and illness, and a lot of them died before they could even get here. 85,000 died before they could even set foot on American soil. When they finally made it here, there were not welcomed. They were treated as the lowest of the low. They were viewed as ignorant, dirty, and they were treated as such. They took low wage jobs, usually doing work no one else would do. Dangerous work where the probability of dying was extremely high. That was only when they found a job that didn’t have “No Irish Need Apply.” Elected officials passed laws making Catholicism illegal to practice, barring naturalized Irish citizens to vote unless they lived in the U.S for 21 years, and deportation of Irish citizens because they” drain the public treasury.” They were beaten, killed, and discriminated against for being Irish. Homes and churches set on fire as if they were criminals.

So I have a hard time when I get told “my people” did this or that. Or the “white people” are racist or don’t know discrimination. My people have experienced more suffering than any “racism” we experience today. This isn’t a “I’m white and proud” post, but an eye opener to people that think their race is the only group that was wronged by elite. You know how the Irish changed their surroundings? By collectively voting into office someone that had their best interest at heart. That’s who you need to be looking at for change. Not white people. The people you elect to be your voice. You don’t like them? Vote them out. We don’t have a “white privilege” problem in our country. We have a privileged issue in our country. You want to get somewhere in life? You have to work hard and make sacrifices. Your surrounds do not dictate where you can go. We make choices every single day on how to better our lives. Poverty does not mean you must remain uneducated. If you hustle and grind your way to the top, trust me, it is sweeter than any hand out you can ever be given.

I feel like at least once a week Anthony tells me “I feel a blog post coming on,” because he knows me so well. For the last few weeks there have been so many things to write about, but work has just been a nightmare. So this is going to be a bit of a ping pong, but mostly around the same topic.

For some reason in my life, the past few weeks have been bringing up this reoccurring topic of children. I didnt have the best experience volunteering at church with the kids ministry at church so I’ve been a bit down on myself. The adults weren’t the most welcoming group of individuals, which sucks because I love kids. I love working with kids and I especially love the naughty kids. Those are my favorite because 95% of the time, they’re good kids that are just a little misunderstood. So in the midst of this wallowing, we started watching the Trials of Gabriel Fernandez. If you haven’t watched it, I would recommend it. It’s not for the faint of heart, but it’s something I think everyone needs to know about. If you haven’t watched it, a quick summation: Gabriel Fernandez was an 8 year old boy who was brutally tortured to death by his mom and step dad. In the 8 months he lived with them they had a number of CPS referrals and there was very clear signs of abuse, but he wasn’t removed from the home once. So I’m watching the pictures of this sweet little boy who looked like a little boy I probably would’ve had issues with from being rowdy, but ultimately he was a good kid, and my heart is breaking. 8 months; That was all it took for them to torture and kill this little boy. 8 months of people turning a blind eye and things falling through the cracks. When I say tortured, I mean that boy endured more physical pain and anguish in 8 months than most people do in their lives. They kept him locked in a fucking cupboard. They made him eat cat litter. They put cigarettes out on him. They broke his teeth out with a bat. He had so many healing rib fractures that the coroner said he must have been in constant pain. My final breaking point was at the sentencing of his mother and the only thing she could apologize for was putting her family through the situation and she hopes her other two kids will come see her. All of this with a blank face. No remorse. How could you do that to a child, much less your child? Someone you grew inside your belly. Someone who is a part of you.

I keep thinking about how many kids fall through the cracks. Or how many kids get dismissed as trouble makers. I held it together through most of the docu, but the whole time I just wanted to reach through the TV and hug this little boy. I feel like our system is so broken and there are so many kids suffering. There are people that want to love a child and give them a home, but we are charging them an insane amount to adopt a child. While at the same time, paying foster parents to care for foster children, which results in a system of abuse and neglect.

A couple weeks ago, I went to a class on human trafficking. That shit was heavy. We all know about prostitutes, but our society doesn’t talk about child prostitution often. The average age of sex trafficking victims is 14. I’m sitting in this class thinking about how I have nieces that are 15 and 13 and a step daughter who is 12. And I’m thinking about how easy it would be for someone to take them. For someone to take advantage of them and manipulate them. I think about how many kids come in and out of my hotel and how many times I have just overlooked things out of laziness and normal life things going on. It is crazy how many things we avoid or overlook in life because we’re so preoccupied with ourselves, but a couple seconds of stepping outside your world could save someones life.

On top of all of this, I seem to have this rotating situation in my life of people who think they’re children are pawns or pieces to use as leverage in their lives. It astounds me how much disregard people have for their child’s safety and well being. A lot of the time I ask myself if my animosity is because I haven’t been able to have my own children, but even before I was thinking about kids, my passion was helping kids. I originally started my degree in Social Work. I wanted to be one of those people that saves children from shitty situations. That didnt work out, and that’s okay, but more people should care about this. I grew up watching kids suffer and die in my hometown because they had terrible parents and the system wasnt strong enough to support the need that was there. Teachers can only do so much. Counselors can only do so much. Churches can only do so much. Society as a collective whole, needs to step up to the plate and take care of our kids. They are the future, as cliche as that is, it’s the truth. I’m not saying everyone needs to open their homes for foster care, because that’s not always practical, but you can volunteer your time and your energy. Reach out to those kids that arent doing okay. The few minutes extra you take to just be kind, could save someone’s life.

So for months, since I started this blog, I’ve been begging Anthony to let me interview him. This first time I asked he said “About truck driving?” I said “No, about the Army.” That was an immediate no-go as you can imagine. He keeps saying no one wants to hear about that, but I feel like people NEED to hear about it. I know most of us have an elementary understanding of war and how it works, but I dont think the majority of people understand what happens to our men and women of service when we actually send them into war. There’s a very naive system in the U.S. where we want all of our enemies dealt with but most of us dont want to deal with it ourselves. We are in a country where we no longer require our citizens to serve and it’s completely voluntary. So we, as U.S. citizens, except our country to be protected, but everyone that protects it does it because they WANT to. Because they believe in serving their country.

There is a serious lack of respect for our service men and women, past and present. They go through literal hell. They watch death and deconstruction and are asked to put their lives on the line, only to come home to crappy healthcare, homelessness, no support, and lack of jobs that will work with them. So I essentially want to write an awareness piece, but I want it to be his story, his words. I know what he’s been through. I’m probably the only person who knows the actual details of what he’s been through. I think if everyone took the time to actually ask Vets and active duty service men and women what they’ve been through, there would be a radical change in our system.

I’m essentially writing this piece because I want him to know that people actually do want to hear what he has to say. That his story will not fall upon deaf ears. So I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it. Thanks in advance.

So I’ve been on sort of a spiritual conquest of sorts lately. I’ve started going back to church and it’s been a mix of feelings for me. I spent every Sunday morning and Wednesday night and in between from birth to moving to college in church so it has always been a very comfortable place for me. I know the songs, the traditions, the scripture, etc. It’s a very easy role for me to slip into. If you met Katie at 18, I was the poster child for Christianity. I was passionate and on fire for God. However, the last few years I have, for lack of a better word, wavered in what I believe. I’ve seen and experienced a lot of negative things within organized religion. I’ve experienced things that I would not want associated with the type of person I think I am. Now this doesn’t apply to all religious people. I’ve met and had people in my life that move mountains with their faith, but not everyone is like that. People are hateful, judgmental, biased, close-minded, and terrified of change. Some people are appearance Christians. They go to church, they sing the songs, and they raise their hands to the heavens, but outside of Church they use their words to spread hate, they cut others down, and they project a themselves as holier than thou.

Now while this doesn’t reflect all churches, I wanted to share some of my experiences and why I initially stopped going to church. You have to know that my family attended the same church for 10+ years. Even after we moved into town, we still drove 30 miles to attend. This was a small town church where everyone knew everyone and took care of each other. This church was the foundation that I built my faith on. People were kind and loving. We would end up leaving that church when my grandmother died. The pastor at the time had made some very condescending comments to my family while my grandmother was dying from ALS. He at one point told my uncles that maybe if they attended church and prayed, my grandmother wouldn’t have died. Clear to see why we left, which wasn’t an easy decision because again, this was our family.

So one of the largest factors came from a church I went to as a young teen. We found this church after my older sister started attending and since we were in the market for a new church why not? We attended this church as a family and it was wonderful at first. I made some amazing friends and felt so connected to God. It was definitely a place I wanted to grow. It was contemporary and I was meeting people that were rough around the edges and down to earth and real. For once it wasn’t dull with tradition. It was full of young people who wanted to show people that church wasn’t just a building. Things were going great, but then the pastor’s daughter came home from college. It started with small things. She took her place back as the drummer of the church band, even though we had a drummer who had been there and been dedicated. Next, she took over the middle school aged class. Even though the students loved their teacher and had built a bond with him. She wasn’t kind to the students and definitely had favorites who could do no wrong. My brother was in this age group. For some reason, she had it out for Daniel. She also had never worked with children before and had no idea how to handle someone like Daniel who was both ADD and was a bit defiant. Their group decided to a fund raiser where the kids got sponsors and did a 24 hour rockathon, which means they basically rocked in rocking chairs and people paid them to do it. During this rockathon Daniel had made a smart comment or didnt listen to something she said and she made him sit in the hall closet alone for the rest of the night. Then, she persuaded her father to combine the middle age class with the high school kids. My youth group at this point, was a tight knit group. There were about eight of us and we did everything together. Once she combined the groups, the older kids had no interest in coming anymore and most of us stopped. We didnt want to be with the little kids. We didnt want out lessons watered down and simplified. I should also mention, the leader of my age group was also the drummer she had removed as well. He and his wife had moved to NM on the pastors request, because they were very close, to lead our youth group and to help lead the praise and worship team. After she took everything away from him, he and his wife left. Shortly after this, my brother would confide in the pastor that he was having homosexual feelings and that he thought might be gay. The pastor then met with my parents and told my mom he thought maybe one of my uncles that lived in Montana had molested Daniel. He didn’t say anything else other than that. This was the final straw for my mother, who was already upset about how Daniel had been treated by the pastor’s daughter. Shortly after we were asked to leave when one of the girls in the church started spreading rumors that my dad was having an affair with her mother. My dad had taken this family in under his wing and we spent a lot of time with them. She was a single mom and her kids were the same age as us. Yet another example of my dad helping someone out and them fucking him and our entire family over.

After shopping around we would eventually settle on a baptist church (minus my mom). My mom had experienced a lot of discrimination at the Baptist churches we had gone to because she was Catholic. There were a lot of comments made degrading people who weren’t Baptist. For the sake of time, our church would get a youth pastor who was also the construction tech teacher at my high school. When I say that this teacher and I were attached at the hip, that is no exaggeration. I was his star pupil. We had a kick ass youth group. We had fun and actually learned real life applications for Christianity. He was young and silly and full of enthusiasm for kids. Meanwhile, I got incredibly close with this youth pastor. We ate lunch almost every day together, because he taught at my school. I was his T.A. my junior year. At every church function and youth night we had, we were attached at the hip. Anywhere he was, I was right there by him. My senior year of high school, I got accepted into OSU and I was over the moon, but you could tell things were starting to change in our relationship. He started getting distant. Then the weekend before my graduation, he announced to our youth group that it would be his last Sunday and he was leaving our church entirely. He decided 5 minutes before regular service started, that this was the time to tell us. I remember it so vividly; I sat through church service and cried. I was leaving for college and this youth group that I built, that I loved, was being ripped apart before my eyes. Kids that I had helped, that I mentored, were going to be left without any type of leadership or unity. He left and none of us heard from him or even saw him. He became a recluse and stopped going to church all together. I moved to college and I remember I reached out to his sister, who I was also close with, and asked why her brother wouldn’t talk to me. I was sitting in my dorm room crying because this guy was my best friend and my confidant for everything and he just disappeared. He ended up texting me and saying he was still here and blah blah blah, but I didnt hear from him ever again. After I moved away it started to become very clear what had happened. Friends of my parents started to point out how inappropriate our relationship was. I was 17/18 and he was 30. I spent majority of my time with him. He had a fondness for me that was not normal for a teacher/student relationship. Looking back, it was very clear that his feelings for me were not brotherly love. Every time he made sure to tell me “I love you Katers, but like a brother in Christ.” I’ve never had a mentor have to say that to me. I’ve never had someone have to clarify how they loved me. I think he thought I would have this epiphany that I wanted to be with him, but it never happened so he chose to break all ties with me. That hurt me. I went home about a year later and he had taken the youth group over at another church my brother started going to. He was the guest speaker for the sermon that day and I watched him preach about love and compassion for people. I sat in that service and cried because I was so angry.

Now I know these are isolated incidents, but those things hurt me. Like really hurt me. I was angry at Christianity. It disgusted me. These were people that were supposed to be there for me. People I had trusted as my spiritual leaders. People I wanted to be like. I needed to explore my spirituality outside the box that I had been kept in. I read books and studied other religions. I fell in love with the intimacy of other religions. I think Hinduism is probably one of the most beautiful religions on the planet. They are so open and free-thinking. I believe Wicca has such a pure connection with the earth and the inner self that their followers surpass most people in their kindness and love for all living things. I have developed this respect for others beliefs and ways of life. I want everyone to find fulfillment in whatever makes them happy. I feel like religion is a gateway to God and there is no one path. I cannot tell anyone they are right or wrong because I dont know. I just know how I feel when I go to church or when I pray or when I do my bible study. Some people feel that when they meditate or when they run or when they garden or when they spend time with their family. Find what gives you fulfillment in life and do what makes you happy. And stop telling people that cant find fulfillment in something different than you do. We all thrive differently. If we didn’t, life would be really boring and bland. I still have my questions and my doubts, but I am finding the parts of Christianity I fell so in love with as a child. I think the church has a long way to go, and a lot of things they can improve on, but I want to be part of that positive change.

Since I did a piece about my dad, I think it’s only fair my mama gets one too. Before I get into my mom’s background, I just want to say that I am incredibly blessed to have this woman as my mother. I think a lot of the time she thinks that her children find her annoying or burdensome, but she truly is a super mom and definitely more than any of us deserve. I know I’ve had people in my life that my mother has taken in as her own and loved as her own. She’s that mom. The kind that is everyone’s mom.

Because I can trace this within a few generations, it’s only fair to give the background on where this side of my family comes from. Plus, I think it’s super cool so deal with it and it’s also crucial to who my mother is as a person. This is off of memory so I could be wrong in my recollection, but I’m also not gonna tell my mom I’m writing this. My great grandfather, Mihael Krivec (or Michael in America) immigrated to America in the early 1900s from Slovenia. He and his wife, who went by Star, eventually ended up in Montana. They had four children, three boys and one girl. One of the boys being my grandfather, Stanley Patrick Krivec. During WWII, my great uncle Frank ended up in Australia. My grandmother, Peg, was an Australian native, who’s family owned a sheep ranch and they were quite wealthy. My grandmother and Frank started dating and long story short they got married before he went home. He made her promise that no matter what happened, that she would use the ticket to America and meet his family in Butte. Unfortunately, Frank died in a mining accident, but she came over anyway. She decided to stay for while and ended up falling in love with Frank’s brother, Stan, who went by Staunch (I’m assuming the spelling on that). So scandalous right? So scandalous they went and eloped because my great grandmother was not the biggest fan of my grandmother. According to her she already lost one son to this woman, she wasnt going to lose another. They would be married for 33 years and form a family of four boys and one girl. They struggled with miscarriages and still births and I mean they lost double digits. They would adopt two of their boys. There was never any distinction between what children they birthed and the ones they adopted. They loved all their children and they loved each other fiercely. It was that once in a lifetime love. My grandfather would die of a heart attack at 55 years of age. My mother was 19.

My mother made sure that my grandfather wasn’t just part of our lineage and some figure we knew nothing about. She made sure we knew what an amazing person he was and that he had not left this earth untouched. This isnt a man I have personally met, but he is someone that I love whole heatedly and respect completely. I never thought it would be possible to miss someone I’ve never met, but my mother did that for us.

My mom is extremely bright and talented. She was an amazing student, played sports, participated in everything, the whole 9 yards. I don’t think I’ve every heard a bad story about Mag Krivec. Even just in my experiences, she is the life of the party. She lights up a room. It is very easy to see why people are drawn to her. My mom would marry young and have two children, my brothers Pat and Kevin, with her ex husband, John. Their marriage would not work out, obviously since I’m here, but that would be due to John being kind of a controlling prick. During this time my mom would get her degree in special education. She would work all through out Montana and raise my two brothers on her own. My grandmother and uncles were very involved in my older brothers lives. I cant tell you exactly what happened, but my mom would end up being black listed by the unions in Montana and would eventually seek work outside of the state. She went to a job fair and there were some people there from Thoreau , NM. For anyone that’s never been to Thoreau, its a teeny tiny town that doesnt even have a stop light. It has a gas station, some churches, and schools. It’s in the heart of Native American country. She figured this was God sending her a sign for a fresh start. She, along with my brothers and grandmother, would make the 21 hour trek to New Mexico. My mom would never move back to Montana.

I cant imagine dating in your 30’s is very easy, especially with two young children, but up until this point, my mother had not remarried. In a small town, everyone knows everyone and anyone from Thoreau knows the Daugherty boys. I’m not really sure if that is a good or bad thing, but I guess it depends on who you ask. According to the stories, someone had tried to set my parents up once before, but my dad was this long haired, hippy/rocker dude and my mom would not have it. However, if you’ve met my parents, you would never know that. What finally sold my mom was my dad coming to her house (with flowers) and asking her and my brother to dinner. My dad had two children himself so he knew this was a package deal. If you met my parents separately, you would probably never guess they married each other because they are very different types of people. However, they are both hard working, honest, kind, loving people. They compliment each other nicely. They may not always see eye to eye on things, but at their core they are the same. I couldn’t have dreamt up a better set of people to be my parents.

Moving on, my mom taught all through out the Gallup/Thoreau area, primarily in special education. If I got anything from her, it is love and compassion for this sect of people. It is a very selfless and very thankless job. Watching my mom love, mentor, and fight for those kids has been one of the greatest honors of my life. I know there were a lot of times the parents or school district did not appreciate how hard she worked for those kids, but her friends, her coworkers, her family, and a lot of those kids themselves know how hard she worked. There are little things I remember, especially about her time at Rocky View Elem. For example, she had a student that she would keep hair brushes on hand so she could help her do her hair every day because her mom wouldnt do it for her. This is a student she go on to tutor when she got into Jr High. Every time this person sees my mom, to this day she gives her a huge hug. I know not all teachers, but most don’t see their students ever again, let alone maintain a friendship with them into adulthood. Now that’s not to say all her students were angels. There were definitely students who have made her question her choice of career, her sanity, or her path in life, but all the students that know and love Miss D make it worth it.

Even after she worked her way up into an administration, she maintained a passion for the kids. Week after week I would talk to her after work and she would express her frustrations about how she wished teachers or parents or administrators cared about the students as individuals. She knew they weren’t just a number on a chart somewhere. They were alive and in her schools with real problems. They were facing abuse, homelessness, starvation, depression, bullying, etc. I think that was part of her “problem”. She didnt play the politic game. She was there for the children. Pre-K-12th Grade. She wanted them to succeed for themselves. Not for the district. She didnt kiss anyone’s ass or throw anyone under the bus for her personal gain. She did not compromise her morals or her integrity. We have a joke in our family about PDW or Power Driven Woman, but that’s what she is. I may not be in education, but my mom set the standard for me as a professional woman. She is the person I go to first when I have a work dilemma and she is always spot on with her advice.

As wonderful as she is, she can rub people the wrong way. She’s brutally honest, extremely no nonsense, and professional as fuck (I know she’s gonna hate that I used that word). However, when it comes down to the nitty gritty, she works harder and longer than most people do for absolutely nothing in return. She overcomes every obstacle she faces, mostly by sheer determination. Under all of that, she is kind, compassionate, loving, and understanding among so many other things. She doesn’t get her fair shake A LOT of the time and that includes from her children. If you know my mom, you love her. If you don’t love her, you definitely don’t know her.

Under the peer pressure of my boyfriend, I joined a gym. For the first time in my life. I could never push myself to do it because I had this overwhelming fear of being judged. Not so much for how my body looked, but that if I was doing something wrong or messed up people would laugh at me. Irrational, I know. But that is one of my worst anxieties. People laughing at me or making fun of me, especially since I’m a perfectionist as well. So I want everything to look perfect and I want to get everything right the first time.

We ended up joining Planet Fitness and they’re whole motto and campaign is “No Judgment” or “No Gymtimidation”, which I freaking love. The first day, we kind of just tried out every machine and got a feel of how things worked. Each day we did a little more and tested more things out. My first big accomplishment was going by myself. With Anthony there, I have a teammate to encourage me, but alone, I have to push myself. Oddly enough, I spent the first 45 minutes of my workout on the phone with my mom. I amped up my incline on the treadmill pretty far and was able to make it pretty far on the rowing machine. I started to realize that most of the people there are just every day people. Now I get more annoyed than anything by the “trendy” people at the gym. Mostly girls that arent really there to work out, more there for the Instagram pics and to show off their chichis. But at the end of the day, it’s not my business what people do at the gym, but quit posing in front of the machine so I can use it.

However, up until yesterday, I didnt really push my limits as hard as I could. Anthony said he was tired of me outworking him at the gym so we were going to have to hit it harder (I thought he was outworking me because I dont run and he at least jogs, but I do the inclines). Anyhow, for the first time ever, I actually maxed out a machine. Was not expecting to do that. I was happy with doing my 3 sets and going home, but Anthony wanted to see how far we could go. It was a machine where you push the weight backwards with your leg and it works your glutes. It tops out at 190lbs. Granted I didnt get to 10 reps, but I did get to 7 reps. Whoo-Hoo!

I am tired. I am sore. I am ready for more. So if you’re scared to go to the gym, don’t be afraid. It’s mostly people that are just as out of shape as you are. And don’t wait to lose the weight or get more in shape to go either. Just jump in the deep end and go for it.

This week I wanna get into infertility. Even though this is something I haven’t struggled with for long, it’s still something that weighs heavy on my heart. There are so many couples that struggle with getting pregnant or staying pregnant. I’ve known people that have tried for years, paid hundreds of thousands of dollars, exhausted their options, just to have a baby. I’ve watched my own brother and his wife pour money into hormone therapy to only have miscarriage after miscarriage. So many to the point they stopped telling people they were pregnant until they could know for sure and now to the point where they cant afford it anymore so they just hope it will happen naturally.

I cannot tell you how heartbreaking it is, to have people constantly ask you when you’re going to have a baby. I know not everyone asks with the intention of being insensitive but you never know what people are going through. I think the most aggravated I get is when I tell people I’m struggling with infertility and they say “oh it’ll happen when you least expect it.” I hate that shit. Like if someone told me they were struggling with cancer and I said “oh well it’ll disappear when you least except it” or “it’s just not your time to be healthy”, they would be so upset. So why do we treat infertility as if its some casual inconvenience. If someone tells you their struggling with anything please don’t be so nonchalant about their issue.

Or when people say things like “at least you can sleep in” or “must be nice to go out whenever you want.” As if I wouldnt much rather be cuddled up on a couch with my baby, sleep deprived and covered in baby vomit than going out to the bar with my friends. I would trade every bit of free time I have to be able to carry my own child. To hold my own baby in my arms.

I’ve tried to not let a bitterness grow around my heart, but it’s hard when I see one after another pregnancy announcements or get text messages from people telling me they’re pregnant. I am happy for you. All of you. But damn. I hold your babies and plead for God to take my pain and longing away. I pray for him to make me content with not having a child. To make me grateful for all the beautiful nieces and nephews I have been blessed with because they are amazing. I love them to death. I love the hugs and the games and the laughter. I love being fun, cool Aunt KK, but I want to be so much more than that.

This isn’t a blog post meant to gain sympathy from people, but more so bring awareness to your comments and your choice of words around people. It is hard. I catch myself all the time starting to ask people when they’re having baby or when they want kids. So to all the people out there struggling, I see you and I hear you. To everyone expecting a child or children, I am happy for you. To all my people who let me be an aunt to their children, thank you.

Sorry I’ve been away. Between the holiday and work I’ve just been swamped. So I figured I give a little bit of background into my upbringing since I think it’s really important into the context of my who I am. I wanted to start with my dad. Just because I feel like I’m very much like him and have inherited a lot traits from him.

My dad, Stan the man, is the oldest of 3 boys. My dad grew up in El Paso till he was 15. Then in 1975, my grandparents moved all the Daugherty boys to Thoreau, NM. For those that have never been to NM, Thoreau is a teeny tiny town. Doesn’t even have a stop light. It has a school, a gas station, a couple churches, etc. It’s also mostly Native American. Really the only white families that are there can be lumped into a couple groups. They work in the refinery or they’re teachers. You’ll get a few odd balls in there now and again but that’s the majority.

So for the sake of time I’m gonna summarize. My dad met his first wife in his early 20s. They had my older brother and sister, but it ended up not working out. My dad had jobs here and there, but in the early 90s he and my grandfather decided to open a small store selling imported items. And thus Imports + was born. In 1992, my parents would meet, get married, and have my younger brother and me. Imports + would evolve into a sports merchandise store and then my dad would eventually add in The Metal Shop, which would sell rock band merchandise.

My dad worked 6 days a week, sometimes 7 days a week. My mom likes to joke that the store was my dads mistress. We planned every family trip or get together around when my dad was able to take off, which wasnt very much. The holiday season was the busiest time of year. From Black Friday to the day after Christmas, it was non stop. The 23rd and 24th of December were the make or break it days for my dad. Those two days would decide if he made enough money to cover the bills and the next years merchandise. So naturally, because it was the source of income for our family, we all helped out. Every kid (except for maybe my sister) has worked at the store. Even when we were little, we would run merchandise or get put to folding clothing items. Once my younger brother and I got into our teen years, we were there for the holiday rushes. The first year I matched my dad’s work hours and hustle, I finally realized just how hard my dad worked.

I was physically exhausted and I was in good shape. I was mentally drained from dealing with assholes. I started to understand the pressure my dad was under and appreciate the strain he put on himself so we could live comfortably. I also watched the amount of rudeness and disrespect my dad received. When you own a business, people tend to think you just have merchandise to give away or to give discounts on. People rarely tend to understand that your business is how you put food on the table. So if you give every friend or family a member a discount, thats money that is coming out of your pocket. I mean I felt bad when my dad would give me no tax on an item, but there were friends and family that would come in and just assume they were getting something free from my dad. It’s one thing to receive a discount from the business, but to assume that you’re going to get it every time or because you know the owner, blows my mind.

I also watched people take advantage of my dad’s kindness and generosity. I’ve watched employees, friends and family, steal from my dad. Steal merchandise and money. People that my dad would’ve helped out if they needed. My dad was the kind of employer that pay his people before cutting himself a check and that happened a lot. Bills and employees got paid before my dad would pay himself. I remember one summer my dad hired this kid named Nate. He was probably 17 or so and my dad knew his mom and step dad so he helped him out with a summer job while he was in town. He was a good worker and he hustled. After a couple weeks of working for my dad, Nate called my dad and said he didnt know when he would be to work. His mom and step dad had stolen all of his stuff and skipped town. His clothes, his money, his electronics, everything gone. My dad went and picked him up, brought him to our house and we found him some clothes. He stayed with us for a couple days until he could figure out what he wanted to do. My dad ended up buying him a bus ticket to California where his grandma was living.

I have story after story like that about my dad.

Last August, someone broke into the store and set it on fire. They didnt steal any money or merchandise. They just set it on fire. You can say whatever you want about supernatural or divine occurrences, but anything bad that’s happened in my life or involving my family, I’ve woke up unexpectedly or havent been able to sleep. This event was one of those occurrences. It was a Saturday and I had no reason to be awake at 5 AM, but I woke up and checked my phone. Normally, I would just roll over and go back to sleep, but I had 4 or 5 texts from my mom and a missed call and voicemail from my brother Daniel. I always know if I have a voicemail from Daniel, it’s important. The texts from my mom said something like there was a fire at the store but everyone is okay. I called my mom and she said that they had just gotten home from the mall. She said the fire inspector said it was clearly arson so they were going to need to investigate. I asked how bad it was and she said the back half of the store (which it was a decent size store) was burned pretty bad, but the sprinklers had gone off so it saved a good portion from getting set on fire. She asked if I wanted to talk to my dad and I got choked up and said no because I would start crying. I didnt realize I was on speaker phone, and I heard my dad say “It’s okay, Jenna cried too.” I could feel myself getting ready to cry so I told my mom to let me know if they needed anything and that I loved them.

I sat on the couch with Marty and bawled my eyes out. I wasnt upset that the store was set on fire. I was upset that someone would maliciously go out of their way to do that to MY dad. They couldve gone in and taken whatever they wanted. The drawer was full and my dad had actually left a $1000+ deposit there. There was over $1 million worth of inventory in there. All they did was pour gasoline, light it, and leave. The investigation is still “ongoing”, but when you live in a shitty small town, they dont care about you. They dont care that 35+ years of my dad’s life was gone in an instant. We have our suspicions about who and why, but nothing we can prove. It’s really sad ya know. About a week after it happened I called my dad to check on him and he said “for the first time in over 40 years I dont have a job to go to. I dont know what to do with myself.”

Thankfully, my parents are both are happily retired now. My mom took it as a sign that she needed to retire too. I can tell you, see the physical and emotional change in my dad has been phenomenal. He can actually travel without having to worry if the store is going to function while he’s way so he’s able to enjoy himself. He and my mom both will just leave their phones at home and go places. It’s really amazing. I watched his man work himself to almost death to take care of my family and now that he can actually enjoy himself and enjoy being a grandpa and a retiree, my heart is overjoyed. It sucks not having his life’s work around anymore because that place was our second home. I learned so many things there. From learning how to walk (because my dad had me up there as a baby), to managing money, to customer service, and most of all I learned what it means to work for everything you get. Legit, my dad is my hero. This is probably going to be riddled with spelling errors and what not, but I’ve been trying to crank it out ASAP.