Finding My Laughing Place
Before the age of 10, my life was constantly changing, constantly moving in and out of stability. Moving was normal for me. Before 5th grade, I had attended at least 4 elementary schools, all in Orange County, California. I was born in Huntington Beach in the mid 1980s, and my parents struggled to afford the costly rent of southern California. My parents were not always together, and struggled with the oftentimes unnecessary expectations that society has on families. As an adult who has gone through my own struggles, I finally get it. As a kid, I felt the shame that comes with being the poor kid and always the new kid on the block.
I had always loved my grandparents. They were the ones who got us cool presents and took us to places like Disneyland, Sea World, the zoo, and Chuck E. Cheese. They had a big, beautiful house that seemed like a mansion to me. Their world was the complete opposite from mine. Beyond the outward appearances, I knew they loved us. Even as a kid, I could feel beyond the superficial stuff and know what love really was. Despite my parents’ struggle with holding a stable home, they always strove to show us love. That is one thing that I can look back on now and say for sure. So I knew that regardless of my circumstances, I would be ok.
Fast forward to 5th grade, my mom and I were living in an old, run down motel called the Dana Villa Motel on Pacific Coast Highway in Dana Point. My dad and brother were living at his work in Laguna Beach at the time because my parents were separated. I don’t remember much about how it all happened, but I do remember my grandparents getting ahold of my mom somehow and telling her that they wished to take me in off the street. My mom had her own mental demons she had struggled with over the years, and during this time we had nowhere else to go besides the motel or the street.
My whole world was transformed overnight. To me, my grandparents’ 3 bedroom home in the hills of Yorba Linda, CA was a castle. My grandma reminded me one time that when I was younger and had visited their home, I said, “I wish I could live in this pwetty house.” And yes, I said “pwetty” because I couldn’t say my R’s. My dream had actually come true.
Shortly after, some of our family were visiting us, and my grandparents took us all to Disneyland. I had been once before when I was 3 and another time when my grandparents took my brother and me when I was 7. I still remember that Disneyland poster I loved so much, and the Daisy Duck hat with the squeaking bill. This trip was quite eye opening. My love for Disneyland grew, and after my major life upgrade, I felt like Cinderella going from rags to riches and attending the ball. I was home. It may sound strange to some, but there was something about Disneyland that felt familiar, and it was more than the fact that I had been there before. I felt a sense of belonging and I didn’t want to leave. Before the day ended, my grandparents surprised me with my first annual pass. I don’t remember the picture on my pass, but it must have been that of a girl smiling from ear to ear, so excited that I would have the opportunity to visit my second home many, many times.
Every visit after that was magical, but none can compare to my first and only Annual Passholder night. I will share my story about that in another post.
My Girl & meXO
Love you Mom 💙💜
Same to you always💜💙