Born to Teen Parents

June 11th, 2009 the first episode of Sixteen and Pregnant aired on MTV. This was during the height of the obvious fact, that preaching abstinence is not the same as teaching sex education. Over 1 million teenagers got pregnant between 1976 and 2002, and my mother was one of them.

My beautiful mother, Danielle, was born in Syracuse, New York. Forced to move to the small beach town of Cape Carteret, NC during middle school. She would say she hated the move due to the slow pace of the country town. But then she wouldn’t have met my father. Little did she know how much would change at a high school band camp when she met a tall dirty blonde-haired boy named Benjy.

It was not just a random hookup that created my sister and I. Their love story is very romantic. I have had the joy of reading the binder book of love poems my young father wrote my mother. I have smiled hearing the story of how my grandma met my dad working in the shoe department at Sears. She thought he would be perfect for her before they even met. I have watched the many times my dad kissed my mother’s cheek unprompted at the dinner table. They are an amazing couple, despite their unconventional beginnings.

My mom had my older sister, Lillian Paige at age sixteen and then three years later I was born. My parents were married by the time my mom was pregnant with me. Both sides of my grandparents are very religious so as soon as my mom turned eighteen they had to do the ‘right’ thing and get married. Despite it all, I am happy to say that next month they will be celebrating 27 beautiful years of marriage.

My mom’s teenage years could be a novel in itself that I hope she writes one day. To speed through she graduated high school a year early. Worked her ass off in community college, and transferred to the Univeristy of North Carolina. Which then prompted us to move to the affluent town of Chapel Hill.

My dad is a die-hard Carolina fan and was overjoyed to make the move. He also wanted a better education for us, since school is very important to him. My dad has been a teacher for over 25 years. He is an amazing educator and loves school, I sadly did not inherit that trait. Benjy will proudly show off his face in our small-town paper for being the only kid to never miss a day of school. You see, my parents weren’t partiers, as the stereotype goes. They were annoyingly well-behaved teenagers. Well, minus the whole getting pregnant thing.

When we moved to Chapel Hill it became first blaringly apparent to me that my family was different. By the front desk ladies at school questioning if my mom was my sister. To my friend’s parents who looked like my grandparents. To the random cashier at the grocery store asking in confusion looking at us how old my parents are. To the fact, my sister and I shared a bedroom for the first six years of my life. While my classmates had their own rooms, plus a playroom.

I noticed judgment from other parents toward mine. Which I hadn’t understood why for a long time. I recall hearing an assumption at ten that I had two different dads. I knew by then there was a TV show making a mockery of teenage pregnancy. People all around the world sat around to watch the poor teenage pregnant girl’s mental breakdowns. I was lectured about the shame of teen pregnancy in health class. “Don’t get pregnant, it’ll ruin your life.” Although I never felt there was anything wrong with my life, to me, we seemed happier than others.

My parents were my first friends, I loved spending time with them. I love to watch home movies my dad would record on his chunky video camera. I look back at myself laughing with my big sister and playing with homemade sock puppets with my dad. My first love for documenting my life was reflected in those memories he captured. My dad and I would record cooking shows together, “Downings Dazzling Deserts - Only for a dime.” My creativity was constantly encouraged in my home.

My mother would bring me to work in the summer. No, I didn’t get to go to sleep away camp like the other kids, I didn’t want to anyway. I loved to sing Alanis Morissette on the way to work. To sit at the extra office computer and write a novel about a British girl named Teal. Loved the nights my dad came home late from his second job and carried me up the stairs after falling asleep watching What Not To Wear in my parent’s bed. Nothing about my childhood was lacking except for the approval of others around us.

I like to compare the way my family operates like we are teammates on a game show, trying to win a challenge with a blindfold on. It often feels like we are competing against everyone just to survive but with a handicap. Our camaraderie might be obnoxious to some, nevertheless, I adore it. We have a ritual of putting our hands together and shouting “To Family.” A quote from the infamous final scene in the movie Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over.

Many have looked down on my family just for them for being such young parents. In my opinion, it’s heavily based on the way teen parents are portrayed in the media. My parent’s story isn’t like The Secret Life of the American Teenager (2008) or Juno (2007). It’s a unique one that was built off of real love and determination to keep pushing through no matter what.

As I analyze myself, I used to not be able to pinpoint why I had a deep feeling of being an outcast. Which now feels blindly clear it’s because I was. It feels like I have been different, I have been judged my whole life because it’s true, I have been.

It was amplified in the town I grew up in where most parents were 10-15 years older than mine. They were doctors, lawyers, and professors. I will always remember the stares from bystanders. It wasn’t just because my parents are beautiful, which they are. We didn’t look like your usual family of four in Chapel Hill.

I never felt that sense of community other locals preach about here. My parents and I weren’t going to cookouts or family get-togethers. They weren’t friends with any of the other parents. Not because they didn’t want to be, we weren’t getting invited to things. I only have fallen in love with Chapel Hill as I have gotten older. The younger me would not believe I now am happy living in this town.

At some point during that coming-of-age time, I decided that I would embrace being different. I took it a bit too far at some points. For example, I would not wear shoes at school because I thought it was stupid we all had to wear shoes inside. My wanting to be different turned into my wanting to be defiant. I didn’t want to do anything anyone else was doing it. I didn’t want to get Spotify because everyone else had it. I didn’t watch Glee because everyone else loved it. I didn’t like pizza because everyone else did. I didn’t want to take the SAT because everyone else was. I didn’t want to go to college because everyone else was. I didn’t listen to the 1975 because everyone else was. The list goes on and on.

I grew what I would now know as an Indivualism Complex. This is a term used to describe an obsession with being unique and different. I don’t know, even now, if I am not liking something because I genuinely don’t like it. Or just because everyone else does. It’s a strange part of me, it gets me in trouble sometimes. I know not to label parts of me as good or bad, there just simply is me.

I am ultimately glad I chose the route I did. When I think about what my other option would have been, feeling ashamed. I could have let the shame that others were projecting and let it take over. Shame was breathing hot down our necks our whole life. No one wants to see a young family thriving since they did the ‘wrong’ thing.

I find a weird comfort in being uncomfortable. A need to be a contrarian in conversions. An obsession with having to remind people there is always more than one opinion. I don’t do well when there is a group consensus I don’t agree with. We get so comfortable living in an echo chamber that I feel responsible for breaking it.

I used to be afraid to share my opinion since it varied from most. Too scared to be more of an outcast than I already was. I am not afraid anymore.

My family was living on an island alone for a long time, but I liked our little island. Even when I was physically alone I loved to play by myself more than with other kids. I never felt lonely or weird in my home. It was when I left my house that I felt I couldn’t relate to the other kids around me. I have always felt very seen and adored by my parents. Just not as much by the rest of society.

The only way I truly feel connected to others is through writing. I remember first feeling I could use my writing to bond with others in high school. When I anxiously shared a spoken-word poem on YouTube. That caused many new people to tell me they understood what I was saying. Ever since then, I have continued to feel most seen by others through my words. Art in general will always be the perfect recipe to feel a part of something special. I am so obsessed with music, photography, film, and dance because of chasing that feeling.

January 5th, 2010, Penelope Hope came into the picture. My family of four became a family of five. Now Lilly and I weren’t just the kids with young parents but also the kids with a baby in the house. I love being a big sister it’s one of my proudest accomplishments. I loved singing Penelope to sleep at nap time and helping as much as possible around the house. It’s a bit strange now that my parents are of ‘normal parent age’ with my little sister. It seems that she doesn’t have to go through the same judgment we did.

I ask Penelope, who is fourteen if she feels like an outcast the same way I did, and she says no. I am a bit shocked to hear that. I wonder if maybe part of that fact is because my parents are struggling less financially than they did when I was a kid. My older sister, Lilly, and I both are very defiant and strong-willed people. We are deeply unique and I take much pride in our indivualism. I have a distaste for being like everyone else. Because everyone else excluded me. I believe it’s in our family's blood to be proud to be different. Yet, I am very curious if Penelope will turn out the same way. Either way, I will love her no matter what.

Another battle I have been fighting lately is that I still am subconsciously pushing myself to stay on the outside. Why would I want to join the inside where I have never belonged? I know there is beauty in community, in having many people to talk to, be with, and support you. I have been lucky to meet some amazing friends as an adult. They have brought me a sense of community I have never known. It just doesn’t come naturally to me to want to join groups or to reach out the same way it does for others. I have taken such pride in being on my own for so long.

If I am not different, then who am I? If I am included, then what does this mean?

Maybe in time as I grow, I will shed the protective shield I have built around myself. I can’t just hang out with my family forever, or else I would. They often feel that they are the only ones who fully accept me, who fully understand me.

I am beyond lucky to have always been so adored by my family. I know many people were not as fortunate as me, and they’ve had to find their family. Found families are just as special as blood ones, I have witnessed that real love.

However, I am so filled with love because of my parents. I am so proud to be who I am today because of my upbringing. We had to fight for more things than most. I learned the value of resilience from a young age. If I didn’t learn that lesson over and over again, I doubt I would still be here standing tall.

There is always an exception to every stereotype. I encourage you all to challenge your thinking. Do not let those snap judgments of someone define them before you get to know them. Every human has lived a story, you just have to want to take the time to hear it. And I thank you if you’ve read this far for doing that today.