Chase the Challenge and Conquer: My 4 R’S: Rubble, Recovery, Rebuild, Relationships

Contents

Dedication:

INTRODUCTION

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

WORKS CITED

Dedication:

In Loving Memory of Lincoln Anthony Ford

To: Anaya and Allen Ford

"Endure the hardship but embrace happiness

and live in the moment."

April J. Ford

INTRODUCTION

I’ve always wanted to write a book but just didn’t think anyone would ever want to read about my life. I guess I was also reserved about the whole idea because maybe I didn’t want everyone to know my real life, from the ugly stories of my childhood past really through later in life the struggles and blockages. I even thought about writing this book as an anonymous author, but how would that work out anyway, would I give myself a pen name?

You see everyone always thought, April has it made, she has everything. Not like I was parading around with a fake facade but I am proud of my accomplishments. People just don’t realize the effort and commitment involved and instead only see the end results. I’m far from perfect and have had to handle both failure and success. In some instances, success can be more challenging to handle or maintain than an instance of failure. I emphasize to people that I’m not lucky, just blessed. Some people can’t grasp this concept because they don’t have the belief of true blessings. People are only able to recognize what’s called swag, a hip term that represents nice clothes, appearance, and other materialistic items. I do have one friend however, Damon, who was able to see not only my swag but also recognize my inner-worth, my swagger. I would expect out of all people he would, after all he wrote a book about swagger himself. He commented, April, you do have everything: intelligence, spirituality, joy, and thoughtfulness. Notice these are internal aspects of what really makes a person. I just see myself as blessed, moving with energy and purpose, not really labeling it with any terminologies.

The more I thought about writing this book, I came to the conclusion that this would help fulfill my true life purpose of helping to heal others; my self-gratification is putting a smile on someone’s face. About three years ago, I was soul searching what my true purpose in life was according to God. I read novels like, A New Earth -Awakening to Your Life Purpose by Ekhart Tolle, The Secret by Rhonda Bryne, Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert as well as other motivational and self-empowerment books. I may not have agreed with everything I read but it was just part of the process. There was just a yearning rooted deeply inside me to know. I’m certain that many of us have experienced this same feeling at one point in their lives. It wasn’t as if I was going through a mid-life crisis scenario as I was only in my late twenties, however at this point in my life I do have it all, maybe only for a brief moment all at once, but cohesively I am truly blessed.

Through the trials of my childhood I would say I came out ok. I graduated from college with an engineering degree, I have a career with a six-figure income, found my soul mate and got married, had two beautiful healthy children, a home, cars, and traveled world wide. Many continue to ask how given my circumstances, how do you have time to workout, how do you have time to volunteer, how do you have time with both kids? One simple secret is that I just make time for what’s important to me, the rest… I’m going tell it all just how as my story unveils. It’s easy when you’re empowered and awakened by the true gifts and abilities given to you by God.

Chapter 1

SHORT CHILDHOOD

So where do I even begin? My earliest childhood memories would be a good starting point. I was born in San Francisco, California and grew up in the surrounding areas. I can remember walking to school by myself as early as kindergarten, or possibly first grade. Being in 2010 now, I wouldn’t think to have my daughter (in first grade) or my son (pre-K) walk to school alone. The term that describes me would be a latchkey kid since I did wear one of those small silver beaded necklaces with a key on it.

I have one childhood memory from when we were living in San Francisco near the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station. I was living with my mom, biological father, and brother. I recall my mom and father arguing when my mom threw this yellow hamper with a brown cow sticker on it onto the ground. I then looked out the window, watching my father leave but I can’t remember if we saw him after that. Intriguing how our childhood memories are selective. I think that’s all I remember from that age period.

My life as a child was pretty unstable now that I look at, moving from one household to another and from one city to the next. At least it was from one relative to another, but why? I was living with my mom, grandma, and uncle, and then I was sent off with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. When my brother and I were about eight or nine years old we moved to the Philippines for about a year. Our grandma and aunt took us there, but they left us there with relatives we barely knew. Where was my mom? What was the reasoning in this? To this day I’ve been told it was for disciplinary reasons. Supposedly the Philippines was a stricter environment. Were we that bad? I couldn’t think to have my son and daughter away from me that long and so far away, no matter how crazy they drove me! I do recall a thought I had when I was about five or six years old, when my mom had her boyfriend. I asked (maybe just to myself and not out loud) why she would spend more time with him than her own kids? This was an unstable and detrimental environment.

Even though my living conditions were unstructured I was able to have the opportunity to grow up being close to my grandma, who the family called Mama. I lived with her whether she was at my mom’s house or living with my aunt. I remember her joyous smile and her being in the kitchen all day cooking. I loved Mama’s French toast and kare kare (a Filipino oxtail dish). This must be where I got my inspiration and passion for cooking. Mama fit the description of a perfect grandma as she would watch everyone’s kids. I remember having all my cousins to play with while Mama watched us all. I was the only girl for the majority of the time, so I grew up like a tomboy. Mama cooked for the entire family, kept up the house, and went on all the family activities. How did she do it all? That’s a grandma! At the time, I can only recall that it was my aunt and uncle who had the normal family life, living in a nice house. They would recently have their baby girl, so Grandma watched her too. It’s funny to point out that their new baby girl was also born on Grandma’s birthday. From what I observed, this is what I wanted when I grew up: getting married, having a family, a nice house, and a normal life.

My brother and I lived with our relatives in the Philippines for a year. Luckily, Mama taught us how to speak the national dialect, Tagalog. which my brother and I were able to speak fluently. We had to adjust to the basic living conditions. I mean it wasn’t like we were living like the rich and famous here in the States (people in the Philippines refer to the United States just as the ‘States’), but the Philippines was considered a third-world country. My family there wasn’t completely poor but it was drastically different from what we were used to. Shower stalls were outside (note that I said stall and not bathroom), there was no hot water nor flushing toilet, and there was only one bedroom—well, you get the picture. The family in the Philippines were born-again Christians whereas back home we were being raised as Catholics. Was this the reason why we were sent here—to be disciplined in this strict environment? The everyday chores were so laborious. A memory that’s ingrained in me was the task of waxing the hardwood floors by hand and then buffing them with a coconut shell. Yes, you take half of a coconut shell and use it with your foot to buff out the wax.

As if my surroundings were not unfamiliar enough, I didn’t know what to think when a trusted person I was introduced to started making inappropriate contact with me—frequent contact. The following thoughts raced through my mind: Why is this happening? What do I do? Who do I tell? I didn’t know what to think. I was in an unfamiliar place, so I felt like I just had to let it happen. So my brother and I lived in these conditions for about a year; I remember we took entrance exams to start school there but we ended up going back home to the States. Needless to say, we missed an entire year of school.

Shortly after coming back from the Philippines, my brother and I moved in with our mom. This time she had her own apartment—no aunts, no uncles, no cousins, no Mama, no Papa (Grandpa). She did still have her boyfriend though. We soon moved again, and this time it was with the boyfriend. Now that I think of it I can’t remember if our new baby sister came before or after we just came back from the Philippines. I think she was born shortly before our arrival back home.

This is where my childhood ended. I was happy to help out with my cute little baby sister of course but I was forced to grow up too fast in all facets with daily living. This boyfriend had his own evil intentions. Abuse was coming full force from all angles: verbal, physical, and even sexual. I remember my brother and I had to write and rewrite the story of the true meaning of Christmas and if we didn’t write it correctly we would get hit with a brush and have to rewrite it again. Sometimes I would even face the punishment of getting touched in uncomfortable and inappropriate places. It got to the point where I didn’t want to care about Christmas, not even the gifts. Can you image a ten-year-old not caring for gifts? I didn’t want to believe in Christmas anymore to avoid the pain, and I was willing to disregard my most favorite holiday.

Random stuff would occur in our dysfunctional apartment. I could hear my brother scream from the bathtub as he was getting punished. My mom, being a nurse, worked the late-night shift. The nights became the worst for me starting at this young age. I still don’t understand why I was left at night with this evil monster. This monster had two personalities: one would appear to be a father-like figure to instill discipline and the meaning of education during the day, but at night he took advantage of children.

My brother ended up moving in with our biological father. I don’t recall why I didn’t want to go with him. Instead I chose to stay to be with Mom at the cost of also being with this monster.

Why was all this happening to me? I left the Philippines feeling violated after being touched in inappropriate places, and I came home to this? We then moved farther north in California. I guess my mom and her boyfriend moved here to be closer to Mama and to paint their family picture of buying their first home. The home we first lived in was old and needed work. How did he expect a ten-year-old to know how to paint and do all this hard manual labor? From painting to weeding the yard to clearing the gutters, I felt like a slave. I didn’t feel like a child who could just go to a neighbor’s house to play.

As years went on, I wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel like a child since I had to do all this housework, cook on some occasions because my mother slept during the day and worked at night or sometimes worked doubles, and watch after my sisters. Yes, by this time my mother had another child. I firmly believe in teaching kids responsibilities around the household, but this was beyond what you’d find on a chore list or reward chart at this age. I felt like I had to grow up so fast being a big sister and mini-mom doing the cooking, cleaning, and yard work! I had no social life—or should I say I was not allowed a social life. I remember one time when a group of girls in my neighborhood invited me to their house for a dance practice, but that’s all I remember because I wasn’t allowed to go. I wasn’t even allowed to spend the night at my own cousin’s house.

I dreaded each evening’s calling—a calling into the master bedroom. Why did my mom have to work nights? This life went on, and I don’t know how I was able to use the strength that God gave me to live each day and night to survive; all I know is that I did. Who knows— I could have just given up and run away or committed suicide. Sometimes I wished that the monster in my life was dead and gone. I realized that God gives us the strength and we have to choose to bring it out and use it. He will in other cases carry us if we cannot walk through it ourselves. In this particular situation, he must have carried me through and I’m thankful that I didn’t go down the destructive paths.

I think what helped me survive was that I was able to accept the good side of this monster I was living with without being in denial. We did go on family trips albeit cheap trips and no fancy family vacations. He was also an involved parent with my schools and in my classrooms. I guess the schools would have never known his personality at home. He also enforced the importance of