I've been wanting to write a little about me recently because I feel like even though I'm very outspoken on the internet, people don't seem to know very much about me. Like the in's and out's of an Amy Jo. I suppose I can come off as a very strong person, and mostly I am, but I'm also MEGA sensitive and softhearted.
So what I've decided to do is to make three separate blog posts since I'm 30 years old. I'll do age 0-10, 11-20, 21-present. And to go ahead and answer the question in the title:
30 years old/ cis- Female / Born and raised in Northeast Missouri, Louisiana, Portland, Amsterdam, and now back in Louisiana.
So yeah, I was born in Quincy, Illinois. My mom was *old* (36) when I was born and everyone was super worried something was going to be wrong with me because she was old. But they were wrong... or were they??? lol. Anyways, from what I understand I was a super chill baby. (see below)
Oh look, it's me sleeping again. Surprise, surprise. TBH, nothing has changed.
Meet my Grandpa Wisehart. He (from what I've heard) lied about his age at 15 so he could start working on the railroad- and he continued to do that until he got sick with black lung. Also, his birthday was on Valentines day and his name was Victor Valentine. I always thought that was the coolest story and name and LAWD I wish I could have photographed him and known more about things he did throughout his life.
My life from age 0-5 was pretty normal. I lived in a town of 1000 people. My sister and brothers were pretty much not living with us because they are much older than me. So even though I have siblings I grew up with that *single spoiled child* kinda vibe.
I was honestly the same as a child as I am now at 30 years old. Not scared to get dirty, naked most of the time, but also loved flowers and being pretty.
My oldest niece, Terah, was born so we drove down to Louisiana every year. Usually for some holiday. This is us in New Orleans, just missing one of my brothers because I think he was in the military at this point.
Honestly I'm not sure what else to say about me during the first years of my life. I have a lot of sacred memories about my Dad, and I was Daddy's Little Girl. My first words were "Pretty Baby" and "Daddy". My mom told me that he used to stand over my crib telling me I was such a pretty baby alllll the time. We'd go fishing, I'd go to his work, I'd go to the gas station, etc. etc. We were pretty much attached at the hip.
Then when I was 5 years old he passed away. It was sudden and horrible. He was 45 and had a massive heart attack while driving home from work. Apparently he pulled over near a golf course and he landed on the horn. Doctor's were playing golf nearby and ran over. They tried to revive him but they couldn't do anything.
One memory I will never forget is the moment we got the news. It's seared into my brain, even though I wish I could forget it ever happened. I remember seeing a friendly face behind the screen door. A guy who worked with him, and it was in the late afternoon. He asked me if I could go get my mom. Everything after this seemed like slow motion and I was absolutely terrified. I ran and hid under the piano bench for hours and hours.
I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't get it. I went through the motions. We had the wake for him and I remember staring at the open coffin in a dimly lit room at the funeral home. Staring at his face, but he looked like a doll. My kindergarten teacher gave me a teddy bear, who I later named TinkerBell because it had a tinker noisey thing inside. I remember being happy about that toy but being confused about what was going on. I remember the funeral. I remember the family being at our house. I remember what I wore and the way the tarp looked over the grave. And after this my brain kind of goes silent. I feel like memories are blocked, except for some bad ones and a then a few good ones as I got a bit older.
My mom got me a cat, and I named her Sassy. I remember she picked me up from the babysitter one day and she had a kitten inside of a cardboard box in the car. I was so excited. Apparently I took her everywhere with me because here I am on the floor at my Grandma and Grandpas farm house.
I remember going to First Grade. I remember being terrified of being alone. My mom told me that I would have a meltdown every time she would get out of my sight. I wasn't like this before my Dad died. In first grade I remember going to the bathroom. I hated it when other people heard me pee so I would go to the bathroom at random times in hopes that no one would also be in there. But one time I did and someone else was in there. I stood propped up against the wall, staring down at my skirt and white cowboy boots.
I couldn't hold it anymore and I peed myself. I grabbed a bunch of paper towels and ran into a stall. I cleaned myself off and rolled up my socks in some paper towels. I went back to class and pretended nothing happened. My teacher tried to ask me and I remember being mortified and just telling her everything was fine. It was fine. It was fine. It was fine.
I got home and threw the boots into a closet and never wore them again and never told anyone about the incident.
I made it through somehow. I guess I took notes from my Mom. A grieving woman who just prematurely lost her husband. She picked herself up and went to college, getting a degree in Accounting and getting her Certification as a Public Accountant.
So from 5-10 years old I can't really remember much else. I feel like those years of my life are blocked from my memory for the most part. I mean, yeah, I remember some teachers at school and some vacations with my mom, but mostly it's blurry. Trauma will do that to ya.
And this is me signing off, with two final photos taken about a year apart-- and me going from straight up tom boy to flower princess. (Next year it was back to tom boy)
Wow, same, gurl, same.