Nine people, no money, one bathroom...

The Oldest of seven children and still living to tell the tale. We were all born between 1960 (late) and 1969 (early). They called my mother Fertile Myrtle. Dad was a womanizing SOB and wasn't around much. Apparently he had not heard of the women's' movement but, neither had my mother. Barefoot and pregnant and eventually divorced and a single mother. She tried for ten years before she threw in the towel. Those who wonder why I defend a safety net (read welfare system) should know that my dear ol' dad just wouldn't pay child support. When they did catch up to him he had very little to disperse. Hence my left leanings throughout my adult political life. Don't pigeon hole me though, you would be surprised how conservative I can be. (I am not stupid enough to believe that changing one's mind means you are a flip flopper, I think it means you "think" unless someone is paying you to "think". Totally different.) But I digress.

I have three sisters and three brothers. Almost all equally spaced between the ten years from my conception to my youngest sister's birth, with a boy born after each sister and a sister after each ensuing bro. The sisters, sisters ugly as we have been referred to and referred to ourselves, have a connection that includes love, hate, sex, recycled boyfriends, clothes, shoes, hairbrushes, kids and divorces. My mother ran the house even with my step dad there, we refer to him as our Father Figure. I have a strong Grandmother and Great grandmother and we were a matriarchy for sure. Boys were there to take out the garbage, otherwise they were stealing our bikes or stripping our Barbies. At least, that's how we felt for a while. Later our brothers became big assets to us but as children they were often in our way.

Nine people, no money and one bathroom. It is amazing none of us ended up in jail or institutionalized; for longer than a day or so anyhow. It has made for some odd takes on life: politics, child rearing, love, marriage and common sense in general. Sarcasm is a genetic disease in my family. You have to have a huge sense of humor and love of the ironic to survive here.