Let's start at the beginning....

I was born in the middle of a snowstorm. I think that was a sign of what was to come. February 10, 1976. My mom and dad both say I was a very good baby. I was pretty too, I've seen pictures. I had four older sisters and two older brothers, but they were all from previous marriages. My dad had 3 daughters, a son, and an adopted daughter from his first marriage, my mom had a son. Needless to say, there are a lot of us. Both of my parents come from large families. My dad had 2 brothers and 6 sisters, all with the same parents. My mom had a total of 19 brothers and sister, including one that is 8 years younger than me.
When I was born, my mom and dad lived in a motel. They were the partying type, but that was ok, I slept through anything immediately home from the hospital. My mom said I was the easiest child to care for that she had ever seen. I ran my own bath at 18 months. I played in my sand pile for hours, almost never cried. Sounds good doesn't it... It's not all happiness, I was kind of spoiled.
My family is made up of 1/3 drunks, 1/3 Devoted Baptists, and 1/3 drunken drug addicts. And felons, generations of felons. That's not pride you are looking at, it's the simple truth. I guess I am trying to explain what MY "normal" is. I bet I could almost write a soap opera...hahaha... I am not bragging, but I was blessed with an ability to learn very quickly. I knew my ABC's and could count, write my name, name colors, draw clothed stick figures all before it was time for preschool. I wasn't allowed to attend, they said it wouldn't do me any good anyway. 
My one full blooded sister was born in September of 1978. She is my best friend, and without her, I probably wouldn't be here to air my dirty laundry to the free world.
My dad told me that I was angry when mom came home with her. He said I was excited at the thought, but when mom was gone, I got mad, then when I saw her, I was really mad! First of all, back then, it was uncommon for the father to be in the hospital where I live. Second of all, they kept the mommy and the new baby for a few days. I was 2 1/2 at the time, he said I told him, "but daddy, can't we get a puppy instead." My sister was sick from birth. She cried constantly. My mom said I would gather up all of my toys and put them by her and say, "don't cry baby, you can have my toys." Doctors accused my mom of "babying" her too much. No one thought there was anything wrong, she was just a big baby. When she was older, maybe 4, they decided she had a spastic colon.
We had an interesting childhood. Our older siblings on my dad's side were kind of split in the way they felt about us. Our brother, one sister, and the adopted sister treated us well, the other two did not. The youngest was the worst. She's 4 years older than me, and as far as she was concerned, we stole her daddy. I found out why in 2009. My dad had been separated from their mom for ten years when I was conceived. However, their divorce was finalized in August of 1978, my sister was born the first week of September, and my parents were married September 30th. It makes sense to me now why they "blamed" us for dad leaving their mom.
My mom's son, Garth, wasn't as bad. He was in foster care because he was a little criminal. He only visited until he was about 14, but he is 6 years older than me, so you can imagine the things he could come up with for blackmail. I can't tell you how many times he got my allowance. He truly loved to bully me and my sister. Our other brother, Bill, is 8 years older than me. He was the protector. They could be quite a team together though. 
My dad is a complex character. He was an alcoholic. He also came from a very violent background. He loved my mother too much. He abused her severely for many years. My sister and I were NEVER in any physical danger, but it did a number on us psychologically. Fortunately, it made us both stronger women for all we witnessed. 
I'm not gonna go into great detail, I respect both of my parents, mistakes were made, as well as amends. My dad passed away June 30, 2009, he was 62. I see no need to drag his name through the dirt. I will say he was all country, Merle Haggard was his favorite, and just now, as I mention him "Are The Good Times Really Over for Good" starts playing.... He cut iron in a local scrap yard for about 30 years, for a long time, he was paid a penny a pound. I'm talking in the 90's! He would give anyone the shirt off of his back. He worked absolutely every day of his life that he was able and he believed that a man's word and a handshake should be enough to cut a deal. I miss him dearly. I am named after him. I'll tell the story in his words.... "there was this old mexican guy that used to come to the yard for iron from time to time. He always called me Billy Joe, that's not the same as William, but it's close".
He had an awesome sense of humor. He was always pullin pranks on us when we were kids. We'd go camping and fishing and stuff, but the older we got the less it happened. He drove a garbage truck for about ten years. My sister and I would fight over who got to go. I never stayed in the house with mom, if dad was under the truck or working in the garage (we junked metal) I was right beside him. I was more than happy to get him a beer or a wrench. Anything to hang with dad.
The older I got though, the worse the abuse toward my mother got. Dad didn't worry about who was around when he hit her. It could be at home, or in the middle of a party somewhere. He was very violent when he got to a certain point of intoxication. He never did drugs, he drank. He drank a lot. He didn't even drink liquor often, maybe a shot here or there, but always beer. Never less than a case.
My sister and I would make plans on how to diffuse the situation and get mom out of the house. When we went through this, the only way any one could be arrested was if the officer actually saw him hit her. Broken jaws, noses, black eyes, none of that was enough evidence to arrest him. They would make my mom pack us kids up and go somewhere else for the night. The next day, sometimes two days later, we would go back home and things would be ok for a few days.
They divorced when I was 8. Then they remarried before I turned 9. When I was 11 they divorced again, and although that divorce stuck, they "visited" each other on occasion over the years. My sister and told mom that if she married him again we were moving out. We had had enough. I will never forget the day my dad apologized for everything that we had been through as kids and asked me to please NEVER be with a man like him. I promised, and although I have had a couple close calls, I have stuck to my word.

(it's 4am, I'll write more soon...)