Ok, kids are in bed, have my laptop, my husband is mumbling something about the turkey he ate being bad….but for right now…I’m blocking it all out. Just going to sit, take a deep breath, and focus. I haven’t been here in a long time. So…hello.
When I look at the last date that I wrote on my blog, I’m a
bit shocked, surprised, saddened but also excited. There’s been so much going on these past few
years that even getting back to doing a favorite thing such as writing is such
a joy. I guess there couldn’t be a more perfect time for me to sit down and
write this next entry.
Since moving to Detroit from Omaha, NE, almost 12 years ago,
I’ve been so overwhelmed by the sense of “community” here. So many people think
of Detroit as being everything it is in the news…and it can definitely be
that…but it’s so much more. It’s the people here that make it so special. The
people that mix and melt and mesh together that make me so proud to have the
chance to raise my children here. I actually feel more at home here than I have
anywhere else and many people that I’ve known for years have found that
difficult to understand.
Growing up in Nebraska, it was just my mom, my sisters and I.
My father left us when I was 12, I had a sister that was 5 and a very baby
sister that was 6 months old. We definitely lived on the “wrong side of the
tracks” in our part of Omaha. There was that divide between the wealthy kids
and us kids from our area very far away literally and figuratively from the
“rich kids.” My dad was gone, my mother struggled to get by, and also struggled
with her mental illness. She tried to keep it all together while keeping food
on our table. We survived with the help of some very saddened grandparents,
WIC, Food Stamps and very generous, anonymous angels from our church. I remember asking myself…will the shame I
feel ever disappear? How will I ever meet a friend outside our neighborhood
that will accept me? How will I get out
of this abyss?
We needed to shop at thrift stores out of necessity. At the
time, it was so horrible for me…as a teenager, there was an embarrassment that
set into my soul in the beginning that was almost unbearable. The pain of even
thinking that someone would find out that I had to shop at a Goodwill or
Salvation Army was just simply too much. But there was nothing we, as a family,
could do. I remember so much about these stores back in the 80s. I can almost
remember the smell of some of them. I can see the dirt underneath the racks,
the condition of the items coming in.
About this time, “Pretty In Pink,” with Molly Ringwald was
released in theaters. That movie changed my life. When Molly’s character,
“Andie,” is faced with the heartache of watching her father endure hardship in
his life, she does what she has to do to get by, by making her own clothes,
etc. I thought to myself…I need to make this experience work in order to get
through these high school years. I would only purchase clothes at the thrift
stores with labels that said Gap, Liz Claiborne, Guess, etc., with the
babysitting money I earned. That way, if anyone from school asked me where I
got my shirt, pants from, etc., I would just remember the tag on the label so I
wasn’t completely lying. When you’re buying things for $1.00, you can sure get
a lot of clothes. By the time I was in high school, I remember one of my
friends said…”Wow, Christy…you must be so rich, I never see you in the same
thing twice!” I thought to myself…if you only knew. My house is such a wreck,
our washer and dryer are in our kitchen.
As I grew older and our mother became increasingly ill, she
ended up needing to be placed in and out of mental hospitals. She would get so
sick, get lost and the police would find her in the snow two weeks later, completely
barefoot. It devastated our family. When the police ended up putting her in a
state hospital and one of their “doctors” ended up hurting her…my younger
sister and I drove two hours to this hospital, in our Goodwill outfits, sat
across the longest conference table you could ever imagine, and I threatened
the head of this hospital to go to every TV station, radio station and
newspaper in the state until they released our mother to us so we could take
her to a different hospital.
And all of that was done in black pants and a black and
turquoise jacket that I picked up at Goodwill.
I was 25 years old. I’m 41 now. It’s amazing these moments that stick
out in your head…and how the moment can be so intense that even your clothes
are burned in your mind.
Goodwill was a matter of survival for my family. Now it’s
kind of “hip” to shop at thrift stores and trust me, I’m still a thrift
shopper…love vintage clothes, the thrill of the hunt, etc. But deep down inside
of me…I’ll always have that ashamed, little girl that remembers what it was
like to have my “secret.” But now that little girl realizes the joy of being able to grow up and move on and not care one bit about what people may think. There is no more fear.
I had a connection to Goodwill Industries of Detroit last
year and went to them with this idea of having a fashion show. What Goodwill
did for me…what SO many people have done for my sisters and me in our
lives…I’ll never be able to repay them all. But in some small way, if there was
anything I could do for Goodwill, this was an idea I had. But wouldn’t you know
it…they already had it on their radar. This is now the “Second Annual” Goodwill
Fashion Show and I’ve told people that I have big dreams for it in years to
come. Their “Shop For Jobs” program is phenomenal, especially in this area.
That’s why I feel so at home here. You’re giving so much more than money to
Goodwill when you’re purchasing items from them. You could be giving back
someone’s dignity again. Someone’s hope, their self-worth.
If you’ve finished this to the end, thank you from the
bottom of my heart.
If not, I understand. I’m this wordy in person as I am on
paper.
If you’d like to attend an amazing Goodwill event, please
come to our fashion show on April 27th, at 11am, at their new store
in Dearborn. It’s going to be such a great way to give back to our communities.
Please see our poster (here) for more info.
Have a WONDERFUL day and happy shopping!
Once again you amaze me...wonderful piece. I hope you keep this blogging up. I enjoyed them previously and this latest entry proves you need to keep writing/blogging etc. Miss you my friend!
ReplyDeleteTrue...in person you are not so wordy because instead you are so selflessy focused on the person you are engaging with that they walk away feeling encouraged, cared about, and whole. You are beautiful girlie! (((Hugs)))
ReplyDeleteI appreciate your comments more than you both could ever know. I've wanted to start writing again for so long and it's amazing how everything happens for a reason. I feel the same way about you both, please know that. Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart.
ReplyDeleteComing from the same neighborhood, I totally feel you. It wasn't cool or fun to shop there, back then. I remember being so embarrassed about shopping there, and I never wanted my future kids to know that feeling. I had a friend in high school who had all the name brand clothes - new - and I was so jealous. But you know, I think I (you too!) am a better person for it. My kids don't know what it's like to wonder if they'll have the things they need. Sometimes, I wish they had that perspective.
ReplyDeleteOh, I completely agree, 1,000%, Kate. And although I would never wish mental illness or hardship like that on anyone in the world...the way I grew up now means so much to me too...especially now that I'm a parent. I know you feel the same way. Our little neighborhood made such a mark on me in so many ways...but I was still so fearful even within our neighborhood. The fears I had of everyone knowing what was going on inside our home. I didn't know where to go for help so we dealt with so much alone.
ReplyDeleteWhat amazing, heart-warming and honest post Christy! love ya girl!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Cheryl....sure appreciate it! Sending love right back! xoxox!
ReplyDelete