Autobiographical Notes: I was a free range young-un

I was reared by hippies and grew up living on a communal farm. My parents – all five of them – were poly-amorous.  There was always a house full of kids and no one seemed concerned with who belonged to whom.  We were expected to obey any of the adults who lived there, even the ones just passing through.  We all knew who our mothers were and a few of us knew, for one reason or another, which of the two men had actually fathered us. The farm was officially owned by my biological father, who everyone simply called Doc. Papa Bill was the other man in the house.  He was married to Mother Sarah.  Doc was legally married to Mother Celeste, my mother, but he always slept alone.  Momma didn't. She shared her bed with Mother Anna.  They all five shared one large room with three beds.

Daddy passed away in  1998 when I was 22.  He had set up a corporation to own the farm and issued 25 shares of stock.  In his will he left one share to each of the surviving parents and one each to the  21 siblings who had grown up on the farm.  This was the first time in my life I actually knew how many brothers and sisters I had.  As it turns out I have two brothers and two sisters who are full siblings.  Seven others are half siblings – two have the same mother and five the same father as I – and of the other nine, one is a neighbor girl who was being abused and  came to our house for protection and the rest are offspring that have no blood relation.  To avoid legal hassles, Doc and Celeste legally adopted every one of the children before they were a year old – except for Hope, who was 10 when she came to us for shelter.

I was a free range young-un.  By the age of three I had taught myself to read and had more or less learned how to walk upright. Shortly after my third birthday momma put a harness on me, attached me to one of the German Shepherds and told the dog to make sure I didn't do anything stupid.  Then she pointed me out the door, told me to go explore the world, and that if I had any questions come back and ask.  Otherwise, she'd see me when I was 16 and ready for a drivers license. In the meantime, she reminded me, don't be late for dinner.  I wasn't totally sure what the word meant but I was pretty certain that I had just been weened.

Before you start condemning my mother for child neglect, keep in mind that there were five adults, fourteen older children and a German Shepard nanny that out weighed me by a hundred pounds to look out for me.  For the next seven years I wandered around the farm, got dirty, got in the way, asked all kinds of questions, and without anyone telling me it was happening, I was home schooled. And seldom late for dinner. I read everything I could get my hands on (a lot of it not necessarily age appropriate) and I learned who I could ask about certain things and when to keep my mouth shut.  Up to a point.  I never have quite mastered that art.

I'll continue with My Autobiographical Notes next time with  'Education: Biology 101'