My father was a hardcore Christian. My mother was raised Christian and fell right into my dad’s way of life as he was considered handsome by my mom. Apparently other women fancied him as well, he was said to be quite the lady’s man. My mom later discovered, he was taking part in behaviors with other women she was not aware of, before her and during. The birth order of this man’s children? First, they had my eldest sister, then my middle sister. My eldest sister is about 5 years older than me, and my middle sister is about 2 years from me. I have another sister, a sister my father never told my mother about. Apparently, he had another daughter, with a Samoan woman. If you have ever met a Samoan person, they are often tall, and incredibly powerful looking. This much can be seen in a photo of my father, standing with his Samoan daughter at her wedding. He was a little man (in appearance, despite being 5’10) next to giants, grinning as if he did not have a problem in the world. As if his life was not oddly and horrifyingly dysfunctional. So, in all, I have two full-blood sisters and one half-blood sister. I have never met the half blood sister, and I imagine I never will. What is there to know about my lost, true eldest sister? Why would she even care to talk to me? What would we talk about? “Hey, so you might want to watch out for our dad, all his kids agree, he’s a monster and you’re the 1 of 4 who actually still speaks to him.” Which says a lot. Do you know how much I wish I had a decent dad? All the lessons I missed out on. The role model I never really had… you think I want that? I was born because of my father’s wishes. When you think about everything, well, it is just rather ironic isn’t it? My father, the person who I have not spoken to since I was 19 years old, is the reason I exist. Not just in the obvious way that he literally made me with his body (he was the seed, my mother was the soil, it is common, look it up sometime), but he also demanded I was born. And why? Well, my father has an older sister, and he is the youngest of the two, more importantly to him, girl, then boy. So, he wanted to recreate that dynamic. My father tried to repeat a lot of things from his childhood, not all of them good. Some say there is a reason I cannot remember most of my childhood, but I deeply disagree with the implication. I just feel like I would remember anything traumatic, typically those kinds of things get burned into my mind forever. Regardless, what this all implies is that my middle sister, was essentially, a mistake. My father wanted a boy, she came out a girl, and therefore, they had to keep trying. So here I am. “Third time’s the charm.” But he was not the only parent that insisted I be born. My mother and I have had several differences, but I have learned to navigate my own emotions, and hers, to get to a point where we can both thrive. Even if we were not on the good terms we are, she still gave me life. Not just with the attitude “Ok, a baby is growing in me, may as well let them be born.” But she fought for me. So, I must respect that. My mom was in labor with me for about 24 hours as I recall. And I also recall that I was born about 1pm in the afternoon, or was it 1am? Either way, on November 11th, 1985, the pushing and sluggish process was not the only battle she had to fight through. Months earlier, my mom’s doctor told her she should have me aborted. That is right. If my mom followed her doctor’s advice, there would be no “Onision”. That man’s many years of medical school and years of experience no doubt led him to look at your neighborhood friendly Onision and say, “Abort that thing.” Some of you are slapping your knee, saying “Dang it! That was our chance!” and you know what, good for you. No sense in me even being mad about it. Sure, you are toxic for wishing death on people, but that is not my business. The rest of you might be feeling a less malicious emotion, maybe even shock. Are you pro-life? Is the idea of me being aborted as a fetus upsetting? And why was I supposed to be aborted anyway?
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