My Famous Daughter

I am the daughter of ordinary people.  Nobody knows my parents but their friends and family.  They have never written a story, been interviewed by the media or had photographers follow them.  The closest they’ve come to fame is at a family reunion.  As a child, I always wanted to be famous.  I wanted to be a singer, dancer, and writer.  

As I grew older, some of my dreams changed a bit.  I no longer dreamed of being a singer or a dancer, but the desire to be a writer never left me.  I have fulfilled my dream and now I have a daughter.  As I grow famous, I wonder what the impact will be. 

As she, will not be the daughter of an ordinary mother.  She will be the daughter of a famous author.  She will be the daughter of a business owner.  She will be the daughter of a legend.  The media will surround her school and her teachers will proudly boast to have had her in their classroom.  A photographer will follow her and me.  They will comment on how beautiful she is.  I will then have to go and purchase a shot gun for the stalker we will probably have.  Her mother will have written and published books, appeared on radio programs, and maybe even the Oprah Show. 

I am the daughter of ordinary people.  In my family, dreams are hopeless wishes, but my child will know nothing of the sort. She will know that dreams come true.  She will know of the hard work and the sacrifice that I have made to break the cycle of unbelieving.  She will be the daughter of a woman who believed in seeing her dreams come true. She will be the daughter of a woman who chose to rise above her upbringing.  She will be my famous daughter; I wonder what the impact will be.  She will be famous and not because of anything that she did. 

My prayer is that she stays grounded.  As long as I am her mother, she will be.  For in her eyes, I am just Mommy and she is just my daughter. I pray my fame teaches her to always believe and that she continues with the legacy of fulfilling dreams.  I am the first in my family, but with his grace, I will not be the last.  As a child, I always wanted to be famous but not for the reason that I know now.  As an adult, I know that fame can come with the territory.  Now, I know that my fame goes beyond just me.

I am the daughter of ordinary people, but my daughter will not be.

© Written by Lishone’ Bowsky

__________________________________________________________________________________________

My Family’s Death

Today I attended another funeral, my sixth in the last two weeks.

The preacher taps me and tells me the service is about to start.  I stiffen at the touch.  The touch reminds me of my mother’s love, my grandparents trust, my father’s lust, my uncles need and my brother’s wants.  The usher comes to walk me to my seat as the funeral for yet another is about to begin. In the row designated for family-I sit alone.  I have no family as this funeral is for one of them.  Someone taps me and asks me if I am okay.  I think the look I gave them scared them away.

As I sit at the funeral waiting for it to begin, my mind begins to escape to what keeps bringing me back here.  It seems as if I can’t get away from death.

I was six when the abuse began.  I had lost my mother to a divorce as some stupid judge thought it’d be best for me to go with Daddy.  My brother and I go live with Daddy. We should have been one happy family just like the court expected us to be.  We could never be this though, or at least I could never be this. 

Six months in and my Daddy tells me he misses my mother.  He tells me that I look like her.  He then grabs me, kisses me, molests me.  My brother was standing at the door and as soon as Daddy was done he entered the room with his dick in his hand.  He grabs me by the face, forcing my mouth open.  He instructs me to suck but I bite.  He yells, he punches, he slaps.  He then tells me that my age is the only thing that saved me.

I wish I could have stayed six forever.  Unfortunately, I grew up. And as I grew the abuse grew.  First it was my Daddy, then my brother, next my uncle.  Fearing pregnancy, I told my grandparents.  I trusted them.  They betrayed me.  They called me a liar and a hoar. Then they started ignoring me.   The stork missed my doorstep but the college bug did not.  Neither did the call to be a State Trooper.

How ironic that I get to carry a gun.

My graduation from college had no visitors but I could not say the same for the Academy.  My abusers had appeared.  I heard them before I saw them. They were shouting my name like we were a happy family.  Instead of ignoring them I spoke. Within my head a dire thought came to mind: success would not be my only revenge. 

                My thoughts must have reached God’s ears as two weeks ago my mother died of a drug overdose. My immediate thought was that my Daddy should die too.  I stopped by my old house.  I hadn’t been there in years.  Daddy opened the door and I opened my coat.  His face lit up with a smile and my silencer lit up his insides.  My brother saw me kill Daddy.

                Last week, I attended the funeral of my mother, my father, my brother.  The crime is unsolved as the police have no leads.  My grandparents were there but they ignored me.  My uncle was there and he asked if we could talk.  We talked, he tried to touch me, and now I go bury him next. My grandparents have lost their children and now have a broken heart.  They died from their broken hearts.

                The funeral is starting and I am here for the sixth time in two weeks.  Someone taps me on the shoulder and asks me if I am okay but I just smile.

 My family is dead.

 Instead of sadness, I feel joy.  The cycle has stopped.  I suddenly begin to cry, although not for the reason people think.  I cry for the little girl in me who can now rest in peace.  I cry for the joy I feel in me.  I cry for the souls that will now rot in hell.  I cry because I am now free.

©2008-Written by Lishone’ Bowsky