Growing up I’ve always wondered what my purpose in life would be. What did God have planned for me? What was my mission in life? Although I wasn’t raised in the church I feel that I have always had a spiritual pull towards Christianity and God. I can remember asking my mom to take me to church but I suppose being in the military it may have been a little hard to find a church home. Nah, my parents just don’t get into the church thing. Both of my parents were raised in the church so it seems odd that they didn’t raise their children the same way. Either way I feel I turned out okay, bumps and bruises aside. You see, my relationship with my parents has always been a bit of a sticky situation. Basically between puberty and the age of twenty-five our relationship was pretty much nonexistent. My mom and I have never seen eye to eye on anything and although I did have a bit of a closer bond to my dad I couldn’t exactly relate to him. Obviously, his knowledge of the aches and pains of being a young black girl in America was limited. Yes he has a little sister but it’s not like he’s ever menstruated, right? So with that said we move on to my mom. Well, mom was mom and being mom was complicated. I know that she loves me and my sister in her own special way, but her way usually wasn’t the best way in my case. Now when it came to my little sister that was a different story. My sister was the baby and could do no wrong, plus she has a hard time letting go of the cord if you know what I mean? Don’t get me wrong. I love them both to pieces, just in my own special way. Over the years I’ve learned to accept that I can never be my sister and that mom and I will never see eye to eye on most anything. I think my view of my parents first began to change when I was approximately five years old. I can remember my parents saying, “If you tell the truth you wont get a whooping.” Well of course to the preschooler who is forever into everything this sounded like a sweet deal. That is until I attempted to take them up on their offer. I don’t remember what I had done but I do remember that I made it a point to be honest. Unfortunately, I think my get out of jail card must have expired by the time I had gotten ready to use it, because a whooping is exactly what I got. Now this wouldn’t have seemed so bad had I not witnessed my sister save her own butt by telling the truth. So right then and there it was made clear to me that my sister was officially the golden child and I was the black sheep.