Making Change

By Captain Charlie

From the tumultuous beginnings of a rough childhood, where the echo of neglect and longing reverberated through her days, Charlie defied the odds and ventured into the great unknown, leaving the familiar behind in search of something more.

Through the vast expanse of the American landscape, listeners will traverse alongside her, experiencing the trials and triumphs of a nomadic spirit yearning for belonging and purpose. From the dusty highways to the neon-lit streets of Las Vegas, each step brings her closer to the realization that home isn't a place but a feeling found within the heart.

Amidst the glittering lights of Sin City, love blossoms unexpectedly, weaving its tender threads through the fabric of her existence. In the arms of a kindred soul, she discovers a newfound sense of belonging, laying the foundation for a real family rooted in love and shared dreams.

Yet, as she stands at the precipice of her aspirations, gazing into the vast expanse of possibility, a profound revelation dawns upon her. In a moment of clarity, she understands that the pursuit of fame and fortune pales in comparison to the transformative power of touching lives deeply, even if it's just a few.

Through poignant reflections, this story invites listeners to rediscover the beauty of simplicity, the richness of human connection, and the timeless truth that true fulfillment lies not in the spotlight but in the quiet moments shared with those we hold dear.

Prepare to be swept away on an unforgettable journey of self-discovery, love, and the realization that sometimes, the brightest stars shine not in the sky but within the depths of our own souls.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Captain Charlie
• Release date: Feb 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215856666

Captain Charlie

Captain Charlie hopes to spread her music and her mindset, and to encourage everyone to understand something better exists and it is never out of the reach of determined hands. We all have struggles. We all have challenges. We all will feel defeated from time to time. But it is how we handle those moments that defines who we are.You are beautiful. You are a light. You are loved.

Book preview

Introduction

Memories.... They can hold us captivated, stranded in a smile. They can sing us to sleep and carry us away. They can scar as well, and leave us with doubt, pain, sorrow, anguish.... Memories are a magical thing. They shape us, they guide us, they teach us, they make us feel. Memories paint life's picture. Here is my recollection, my book of memories, the story of how I came to be me. This story begins in a small city north of Detroit....

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Birth to Age 10

A loud BOOM from the living room shook me awake. A strong breeze of whiskey pulled at my nostrils as the light poured into the room from the opening door. The shadow man was here again. His silhouette appeared so strong, so overbearing, but with each step he took, his weakness was brought to light. That sound again… the sound of his voice dancing across the room to where I lay, gently landing on my ears.

Angel, you know I didn’t mean to- well I didn’t want- look, I promise with all my heart I would never hurt you.

I shook, hearing the bruises scream in rebuttal and the tears crashing to the pillow. Liar… Liar… LIAR I screamed inside, but I was interrupted by the shadow.

You know how it is. I mean… you know how your mother makes me act….

Again, the breeze of whiskey plucked at my nose as he exhaled. He stumbled to my bedside, disgracing the elegance of his slurring speech. A kiss goodnight, a tear on my pillow, and the silhouette faded into the beam of hallway light. As the door closed, the light shrank away, as did I.

Most nights weren't like this. Most nights he controlled himself. Most nights he would be the fun Dad I remembered. He would dance around the basement to his music, pretending to be a karate man and we would all laugh and giggle and join in. For a time, my father was a hardworking man who provided for our family, who encouraged us to learn and to laugh and to play. He taught us that if we wanted anything out of this life, education was the door to opportunity and optimism was the key to finding that door. He also had two daughters from a previous marriage. They were as wonderful and amazing as Dad was on a good day. Essentially, they were the embodiment of all of his good qualities. We didn't get to see them as often as we would have liked, but when we did it was always a wonderful time.

Mom was an in-house parent. Early on, she seemed to have all the energy in the world for everything; for play, for teaching, for creating, for cooking, for cleaning. There wasn't a day that went by where dinner wasn't prepared at a decent time, where the house wasn't clean, where we hadn’t played to our hearts content. We had a perfect little middle class family.

We lived in my Grandpa's home. He was already very old when I arrived in this life, but for the first few years he had his energy. I remember that he always smiled when I tried to make him laugh. He had the sweetest smile too, heartwarming and sincere. Grandpa always said I reminded him of Grandma with my curly little mop head and my constant smile. Sadly, most days I remember of him were days he spent in his room. He wasn't all too able to move around due to arthritis, but he still managed to dance to his record player or get up whenever he heard my brother picking on me just so he could come bop him with his cane.

My brother and sister were my best friends all through childhood. When our parents weren't around, we would make up the silliest games to pass the time... pretending to be dogs, wrapping each other in blankets like burritos, jumping across the couches in attempts to fly…. None of us could see the roadblocks lining the horizon.

Dad was laid off. He found a new job the first time it happened, and the second, and I believe even the third. But he was already prone to drinking and with each failure, it got worse. Sadly, when he lost the last job he found himself too committed to the bottle to return to work. He became merely a shadow of the wonderful man I once knew. It went back and forth, some days being lovely and everything was fine again, going to the zoo or taking a walk up to the park, but other days we would all have to leave the house and stay the night somewhere else. It wasn't long before our perfect little family had crumbled into only a memory.

My parents started receiving food stamps and donations from Goodwill because Mom had to take care of us solo and Dad was stuck in his own world. The good days had faded and now the bad ones came too often. They began the divorce process. At this point, Mom had also become Grandpa's caretaker. He was completely bedridden. Things fell apart all around us. Dad became more violent, Grandpa passed away, and Mom took my sister and me and moved us into a hotel. My brother refused to come with us and stayed with Dad. I can't recall why that was, but soon we were divided.

I can't remember how long we stayed in that little hotel room, bags packed with everything we could carry. We lived on the bare minimum and didn't even have a way to go to school. Life was crashing before my eyes, and with that realization I went to my dreams, the only place safety was a reality.

Chapter 2: Crossing the Mitten

Age 10

Far away in a place where pain wasn’t real, in a place where magnificent wonders surrounded me, I was happy. But far away only came in dreams, and dreams only came with silence. As Mom's voice shook away the forests of lollipops and gumdrops, I faded back into my bedroom.

Wake up, time to go! Come on, get out of bed.

But this was just a Saturday. No school, no responsibilities, just Saturday. My feet, however, did not care. Despite the sputtering motor in my head demanding rest, they obeyed.

My right foot hit the floor. Left followed. Stand, step, fall. I attempted to regain my composure, but as my eyes met the box repacked full of my belongings, getting back on my feet was the least of my concerns.

You remember your aunt, stated Mom in her everything-is-okay-but-really-it’s-not voice that she used all too often. You will be staying with her for a little while.

My brother had been with my dad that morning and was going to stay behind. He was my best friend, my brother, the one person I trusted fully. And with the end of my first amazing friendship came the start of a million questions.

Why would Mom do this to us? Where are we going? What did we do wrong? How long would I be separated from my brother? Where was Dad? Why was this happening? Why? With questions unanswered, Mom gave us each the longest hug she could manage. I remember hearing her crying and seeing the puffy redness in her eyes as if she'd been crying all night. A very short moment later, we were hopping into my aunt's car. Buckled up and eyes latched on our fading life, we sat in wonder of the road ahead.

We spent several days with my aunt, where we learned that our childhood home was being sold. When my Grandfather had passed and the divorce had finalized, my Dad waited for his inheritance in a hotel nearby the one we'd stayed at. My brother had come over a few times, but mostly was with Dad. The day after my aunt took us, Social Services visited my mom. Though it wasn't what they intended, they were content with us staying with a different aunt and uncle of ours who had a history in foster care. My brother was allowed to stay behind, though I never found out why.

Back in the car. So have you guys heard of Hudsonville?.

No, but why do we have to live there anyway? I get that mom can’t afford kids, but we can get jobs. We work really well around the house, pleaded my sister.

Hah, no. That is a sweet offer but there is much more about it that you won’t understand until you are older. You’ll be staying with your aunt and uncle until your mom gets back on her feet. Rest your eyes. We have a couple hours left.

We pulled up to the perfect dream house, complete with a long driveway, beautifully sun-tipped flowers, and a small creek flowing through the backyard.… We pulled up to our very own fairytale.

Chapter 3: Lessons in Change

Age 10 to Age 17

My aunt and uncle watched from the front porch, waving and smiling at us as if they’d won the lottery. They were overjoyed to have two young new members of the household, especially considering they had a son of about the same age. At first glance, they looked like the classic Midwest family, the wife being a little thick in stature and with short, curled hair… the husband with his beer belly and farmer’s tan. They looked as average and normal as one could hope for. And for about a year, it was the perfect ending. We went on vacations, had wonderful dinners near nightly, received new clothes and shoes…. We went camping in the summertime, built memories that a normal family would have. Finally, we had a normal family.

As time passed, so did the veil of perfection. Year by year, my aunt and uncle abused their guardianship more. Through the rough times, however, I did have an outlet. I began frequently writing poetry to relieve all the negativity that was brewing inside me, all the painful feelings that resulted from my life up to that point. At the age of thirteen, a family member gifted me their old acoustic Takamine guitar. I took one lesson, realized the internet was just as informative, and began my journey into music. My poems seemed to fit perfectly over the instrumentals I was creating. Soon I was booking a few shows here and there, nothing substantial, but still a chance to share my creations. In my music I found peace, a kind unobtainable before. It gave me the ability to tell the world how I felt without telling anyone what was actually happening. A release.

Since learning guitar, something in me had changed. I think through having a new escape, I had grown up some, learned to carry myself differently. And with my newfound persona, I began to spend time with my neighbor, Mitch. With the growing tensions at home and only having peace in my guitar, I was reaching out for the world to save me. Mitch was the first to see my hand. He was a tall, lanky boy with jet black shoulder-length hair. When things got too crazy at the house, I would go hang out with him for what seemed like days. When his house became crazy, I'd return the favor. Like my music, Mitch had become an escape. Through the hardest times, we were nearly inseparable. None of you will know what this means, but for Mitch I wanted to mention that I will always remember our green umbrella....

On days where Mitch needed to come over, I felt safe. Despite their willingness to overstep boundaries, my aunt and uncle would rarely ever act the same around company, regardless of whose company it was. They would instantly paint on faces of love and compassion, portraying a perfect family to anyone dim enough not to look past the mask. Family, friends, no one the wiser. When we didn’t have company, my music also seemed to work. The idea that I was practicing and learning something seemed to suffice as a proper excuse not to be around. I could hide away with my guitar and a notebook, at least for a little while.

Initially, my sister got the worst of things. She was the maid. She was the black sheep. And if I spoke up, I was no better off than her. I learned to do what I could in silence, helping her in little ways that wouldn’t garnish attention. I’d volunteer to take on some chores, have passive little talks with my aunt in attempts to get her to lighten up, any little thing I could do that no one would catch on to. Despite my efforts, it grew worse. It seemed we had finally reached the top of the roller coaster after years of the tick-tick-tick. And as we started our descent, crashing seemed inevitable.

I agree that kids should do chores, but I don’t think my aunt understood how often they really need be done. My sister would clean for hours on end, and when she was all finished and ready to go play with friends, my aunt would tell her she couldn’t leave because she missed a spot. After doing all the work over, they would tell her