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An Open Letter to All You Douchebags

Dear Douchebags,

Yes, I had my first kid at the age of 19.  And yes, I had my second kid at 21.  Yes, I was only in college at the time.  So what??

You told me I was too young to have kids, that I knew nothing about how to raise children.  You also told me that I would never go anywhere in life, wouldn’t finish college, and would never be able to work at a decent job and take care of two children.  You said I would never go anywhere in life.

You called me “white trash” since I wasn’t married when I had my first kid and told me I would end up as a single mom because my “baby’s daddy” would leave me – if I even knew who he was.  When I had my second baby, you asked me if he had the same dad as the first.

You said I’d end up living with my parents forever and would never be able to afford a place of my own.  You assumed that I was on welfare and food stamps and that I had to get my babies vaccinated at the local, trashy health clinic.  You asked if I was finally on good birth control and talked about how surprised I must have been when I found out that I was pregnant so young.

You said my future would be ruined if I didn’t get an abortion – that there was no way I could give my babies good, successful lives.  You said I would fail school or have to quit because I would never be able to study, maintain good grades, or be able to pay for daycare with two young children on my hands.

You told me how terrible my kids would have it growing up since they were biracial.  You said it was my fault that people would call them names and bully them because of their race.  You called me an “n*****-lover” and said it wasn’t fair to my kids that they didn’t have two parents who were the same race.

You know what?  I finally have something to say about all those things you told me.  THEY WERE LIES. 

I was a damn good mom to my babies, and I figured it out pretty quickly.  I knew how to change diapers and rock my babies to sleep and get them bathed and dressed.

I went to school full-time and worked full-time and still got to wake my boys up in the morning, get them off to daycare, and rock them to sleep at night.

I graduated with honors and even started grad school.  I’ve worked hard at jobs that continuously got better.  I make a decent living now.  I was able to pay for a place to live, a car, my bills, and childcare.

I moved out of my parents’ house the day after high school graduation, before I even had kids, and haven’t lived with them since.  I married my sons’ father, and we stayed married for nearly ten years.  My kids both had the same dad.

My kids had a real doctor at a real pediatrician’s office, and I paid for their medical bills with real insurance.  I also paid for our groceries and utilities with real money.

Abortion was never an issue or option for us.  Our kids weren’t mistakes.  Our lives weren’t ruined.  Believe it or not, some people like having kids early on in life.  One day, I’ll be able to enjoy playing with my grandchildren.  Hopefully, I’ll make it to see the day my sons graduate from college, get married, and have little blessings of their own.

You may call me all sorts of names, but I’m proud to not be a closed-minded, racist idiot like you.  I think my babies are beautiful, and I wouldn’t change a thing about them.  It’s quite ironic to me that you spend countless hours and dollars to make your skin look exactly the same as theirs.  And your hair?  Don’t get me started.  You could only wish to have curls like theirs.

I didn’t fail or have to quit school, and my kids sure as hell haven’t suffered for that.  In fact, they’ve turned out to be quite remarkable, intelligent young men.  They’re amazingly talented and extremely smart.  They get good grades, excel in their grade levels, and can play nearly any sport they attempt.

They have dreams of which college they’ll attend and which sports they’ll receive scholarships in, and they have high standards for themselves.  Both have admirable career goals and will, no doubt, succeed in everything they put their minds to.  They both love God and are growing up to be Godly, respectful men, who will love their own wives and children one day.

So, no, I don’t have any regrets, and I wouldn’t change a thing.  Having my sons was the best decision I’ve ever made, regardless of my age.  Now stop worrying about me, take a nice long look at yourself, and move on.

All my love,


My College Graduation - December 13, 2003

My College Graduation – December 13, 2003

Some Wounds Time Can’t Heal

Source: lovebuildsthishappyhome.blogspot.com

Source: lovebuildsthishappyhome.blogspot.com

Friday’s Be Happy Challenge:

– A Note to Someone. –

This note is to my grandpa, whom we have always affectionately referred to as Poppy.  He passed away on February 4, 2012.  Some days, it feels like I just spoke to him yesterday.  Other days it seems like he’s been gone for far too long.

Hey Pop,

Boy, do I miss you.  I think about you every day, and every afternoon I wait with anticipation for my daily phone call from you.  I can still hear you as I answer the phone: “Hey Marie!  How are you doing today?”  To which, I would always respond, “Hey Pop!  I’m good – How is your day going?”  Then you’d tell me all about how getting old sucks, what Gram’s “damn dog” did today, and then you’d always fill me in on all the latest family gossip.  I sure miss knowing which aunt is about to file for divorce and which cousin might be experimenting with drugs!  Ha ha!

I miss our talks about your time fighting in the Korean War and when we would pull out the old, dusty photo albums so you could show me all your brothers-in-arms.  I still wish I would have taken the time to record your old stories.

I miss our conversations about football and my telling you that the Jets will always be better than the Giants! 

I miss our political debates, too.  I’ll still never understand how someone who has worked incredibly hard his entire life would support a Liberal, pro-handout government.  Although I’ll always respect your views, as you’ve definitely seen more history than I have, I do wish you could see the mess Obama is making of our Country.  Ha!

I miss hearing you give the kids and grandkids crap for buying anything other than a Ford!  I know you worked hard at Ford your whole life, and I’m proud to tell you that I’ll never buy anything else!  You’ll be pleased to know that every time Tracy or Joey has a problem with their cars, I’m the first to say, “That’s what he/she gets for buying a piece of crap that’s not a Ford!”  😉

I went back and read my Facebook messages from you the other day.  Oh, was it great to see your last message to me: “Nice boat. Bye.”  I miss your emails, too.  They would always make me giggle when I saw periods in the middle of sentences and ten spaces between each word!

I missed buying your handkerchiefs at Christmas this past year.  And it just wasn’t the same not having to stress out about remembering birthday wrapping paper so that your birthday and Christmas presents didn’t get mixed up together!

The boys still talk about the time you told them that if they gave me a hard time, you’d “knock the hell out of ‘em”!  Every time they see a rainbow, they get excited and say that it’s you looking down on us.

Gram and I still sit in the living room for hours and talk about you.  Would you believe that we still can’t get through one of those conversations without both bawling our eyes out?!  I’m sure you can believe it!  You always gave us a hard time about crying so easily!

I still wear your shirts to bed.  My favorites are the one with the American flag and eagle on it and the Ford Mustang one, of course!  Now I just wish I had a pair of suspenders to go with them like you always did!  😉

I can still hear you insisting that I eat more every time we came to see you.  “Pop, I’m good.  We just ate dinner, and I’m still full.”  “Aw, come on, Marie!  You need to eat.  Gram made spaetzles and cream puffs.  You can’t say no to that.  You’ll hurt her feelings.”  “Oooookay, Pop… But just a little!” 

I will never, ever forget the phone call I got that terrible morning.  The day started off like any other wintry Saturday… An early morning getting the boys ready for their wrestling tournaments.  Our only care in the world that morning was whether they would bring home the gold.  That changed in seconds.  Even when I heard it, I couldn’t believe it.  I was numb.  It couldn’t be true.  My granddaddy was going to live forever.  He lived through the Depression, war, and lung cancer.  He couldn’t be gone.  Someone was wrong.    

We rushed over to your house, and it wasn’t until I saw you – asleep in your bed – that I believed it.  You looked so peaceful.  Not like the times you were uncomfortable in the hospital, wishing you were back home in your own bed.  I held your hands, and they were so cold.  I wished I could have warmed you up.  

I thought about every summer I spent with you and Gram and how we would fight when I was a pre-teen brat.  I thought about our trips to the racetrack and how you would always give me a few dollars and would bet on my horses for me since I was too young.  I thought about sitting at the dining room table playing poker with you before I was even in kindergarten.  I thought about watching you and Gram dance at Charlene’s wedding and thinking that it was the most beautiful dance I’d ever watch.  I thought about how, when I got married, I refused to make my maiden name my middle name because then I’d have to get rid of “Marie,” and that’s what you called me my whole life.

I’m so proud to be your oldest grandchild, and I’m damn proud to be a Terwilliger.  I hope that I’ve made you as proud as you’ve made me.  I love you, Poppy, and I miss you beyond anything that I can put into words.  Whoever said that time can heal all wounds obviously never had a Poppy like you.

In Loving Memory of

John Edwin Terwilliger

December 24, 1935 – February 4, 2012

Tiffany Kleiman ~ Author

“I don’t care if a reader hates one of my stories, just as long as s/he finishes the book.” ~ Roald Dahl, WD

Jeanne Grier

A Modern Day Mom

The Meat & Potatoes of Life

By Lisa Smith Molinari


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