Post by charlotte abigail tucker on May 9, 2011 15:11:19 GMT -5
CHARLOTTEabigail TUCKER
this biography is (complete!)
[/justify]- - tell us, who wears the pants around here?Your Name: Bells
Other Characters?n/a
How Did You Find Us?Site ad- - give us some basics, what do we need to know?
Full Name: Charlotte Abigail Tucker
Nick Names: Charlie, Char
Age: Twenty-four
Birthday: August 16, 1987
Birth Place: Bridgewater, South Dakota
Grade: Graduated/Girl's Counselor
Gender: Female
Orientation: Heterosexual
Face Claim: Carrie Underwood
- - so how did you end up here at Deer Creek?
"I've always been a hometown kind of girl. Granted, Here in Montana on Deercreek Ranch isn't necessarily where I grew up, but there are a lot of similarities. It took me leaving for college to realize how much I missed my roots. I came here after choosing Montana over Washington D.C. I could have worked in Child Services behind a desk in a depressing cubicle, but instead, I chose to go down the less beaten path, and come help where I was needed as a counselor under the resident general psychologist, Benjamin Lewis. I wanted to help these kids more than ever, show them that there can be a light in their world, if only they look hard enough. I'm not from any cookie cutter family myself, so I can relate, which could be the breaking point for these kids, the reason I could make a difference."
- - well, give us the full run down, your whole life story
"My life story, eh? Well I might as well yack your ear off in that case. But if that's what you want' that's what I'll give you.
It all started off on an old farmstead in Bridgewater, South Dakota, population roughly 500. It was a small town, just a few folks, families, some people living by themselves, nothing too glitzy. But we always knew about each other's business, which could be both beneficial and negative at the same time, depending on the situation. My mother stayed at home and cooked, homeschooled us girls, that is, my sister Julie and I until high school when we made the transfer. My father was the worker of the family, running the stables, much like the ones here at Deercreek for his entire life, even after the incident. He was a stern man, never ever dared to wear his heart on his sleeve, and anyone that did in his presence were sure to get a fine justification for their actions. Dad never really 'connected' with us, but found much more of a love for the finest breeds of horses you'd ever seen. And they sure were beauties. If he could have shown that sort of love and attention to Mama, maybe she would have stuck around. But life isn't always a cake walk is it? Mama felt that she was being under-appreciated, and we knew it, Julie and I, but we never said anything. Who would we tell? Daddy wouldn't respond to it without tell ing us to quit our moaning about and mind our own business, or go shovel some hay, something of the sort. So there we were, helpless in the line of fire, as we watched their marriage, and our family, crumble to pieces without having much to say or do about it.
One night, it was just too much for Mama to bear, and after some stern words and bickering from the kitchen, outside closed bedroom doors, we heard footsteps into a bedroom, one about thirty minutes after the other. We assumed all was fine and went to bed. Turns out it wasn't fine. She didn't even leave a note, but all of her belongings, the truck, and our mama had all disappeared within the night. Julie and I were obviously devastated, but all Dad managed to do to conceal his pain was head out to the stalls, after all, the horses needed feeding and grooming. And that's how it went. He never really showed his emotions, and Mama never came back. Julie took it the hardest, she was only twelve at the time, and I was sixteen myself. In all honesty, I don't think Dad knew how to show his emotions, as he'd been alienating himself from the concept for such a long time, he had forgotten all about them. But poor, poor Julie. She went down the wrong track, finding her own ways of comfort through substance abuse and instant gratification in physical ways. She was so young, and that's what hurt me the most, was losing her. But she'd didn't disappear in the way Mama did, no, hers was a much slower, painful kind of disappearing. With so much substance abuse, finding love wherever she could, especially in a bottle, her mind started to go, consumed only by liquid luck, or the man who was willing to provide it. First it was just partying and not returning home until late, at about fifteen years of age, then as she grew older, we started getting phone calls home from school wondering where Miss Julie Tucker had been, if she was ill or otherwise unexcused. Dad never did address the issue though, he didn't remember how to talk to his daughters, I suppose.
One particular night I can recall waiting up for Julie, waiting all night, just for her not to come home. I waited and waited, walked around to her normal spots, the bars she was often found in the back with some fella, fondling her hair or her arms or face, but no one remotely familiar was to be found. I thought about going to the neighbors, but as they had already assumed that we Tuckers were a lost case and quite the taboo family for having our mama run out on us, it would only spread more gossip, which was exactly the opposite of what I was looking for. So I went back home, I circled our land twice, maybe even three times, I don't remember. I went searching for her all day until I had blisters on my feet, as each step seemed more desperate than the one previous. And still, no sign of her. I went back home finally, hoping on my last hope that she'd be passed out in her bedroom, that she would be alright, but life had thrown me just a few more lemons, and Julie was nowhere to be found. I went to the stables to shout to Dad that she was missing, and all I got back was a blank stare, as if he was forgetting who I was already, as if I was some stranger living in his house that he vaguely knew, as opposed to the father that had raised his daughter up to life for years running. This was the summer of my freshman year of college, where I had been attending a community college for psychology. I knew, or at least hoped in my heart that Julie would come running back home again, that she wouldn't disappear like Mama, that she'd run into my arms and cry her heart out and never let go. The reality of that was far fetched, and it wasn't a healthy living condition for anyone at the place we called home anymore. Dad wasn't with us, or rather, me, mentally, anymore, and hadn't really been for about five years, since Mama left and never came back. Julie was no where in sight, despite my frantic calls to the sheriff's department to put out a missing persons report. I'd call every day, no matter where I was to hear back news, any news at all, about the status of Julie. Still, no news, and it was time to go back to college for the fall.
I had made a large decision at that point to go somewhere else. There was a part of me that wanted to stay nearby to keep close, just in case Julie wanted me, that Julie was going to come home, but the realistic part of me told me that it wasn't going to happen as long as Dad was around. He was quite the grade-A neglecter, one serious form of emotional abuse. She would never come back to such a situation, unless she knew that it was safe, completely safe. And we both knew that coming back home to a house with empty souls was not the right place for a misplaced girl with alcoholism and most likely sexual abuse.
I took a big step and applied to far off colleges, the four-year university sort of deals. I had little belief that I'd actually make it into most of them, but still I did what I could and made the effort. With applications sent out to the University of Pennsylvania, MIT, Stanford, Brown, Duke, Princeton, UW Seattle, UT Austin and Northwestern University in Illinois, I had received four acceptance letters, but as financial aid and responsibility came into play, the school I chose was Stanford, and within a year, I bought myself an education at one of the leading schools in the United States to pursue my passion for the mind. The following fall in 2007, I was to attend the university to finish up my B.S. in Psychology, where I'd grow in my passion, engrossed in the mind and in helping others achieve a healthy way of mind.
In 2009, I graduated ranked in the top 200 of my 1700 class. I certainly did work hard there, going to school full-time, working in the Mood and Anxiety Disorders Lab in my spare time. Through such, I gained enough knowledge to fuel the passion to go straight into graduate school, right after graduation. I moved a little bit east, to Argosy University in Chicago, Illinois to pursue my graduate degree in Counseling Psychology, specifically in Psychopsychology. It reminded me most of home, of a place I've always had conflicting opinions on whether or not I should ever return to that place. But I've always thought that I might be able to justify some of those awful happenings if only I could help other people with their lives. And now , after graduating in the spring of 2011 and landing a job as a Girl's Counselor at DeerCreek Ranch out in Montana, a place much like home, I'm able to let those dreams and goals come full circle.
Somewhere deep in my heart, I need to believe that Julie is still out there, getting by. She's not gone forever. Nor is my Mama, She too, is getting by, but this is only what I can assume to ease my conscience. I need to do this for myself. I know that Dad is fine, and always has been with those horses, the only company he's ever needed. WIll I have animosity towards the idea of these horse programs here, or will I be able to embrace them as a release for young souls searching desperately for change in their lives? My goal is to keep a clear mind, a patient and warm heart to be able to relate to these kids, to help them to the best of my ability, and possibly even change some behaviors here. That would be enough to keep me going. After all, no one is perfect, we all have our own struggles. If I could make it easier for someone else, I might in turn make it easier to overcome my own past."
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]It all started off on an old farmstead in Bridgewater, South Dakota, population roughly 500. It was a small town, just a few folks, families, some people living by themselves, nothing too glitzy. But we always knew about each other's business, which could be both beneficial and negative at the same time, depending on the situation. My mother stayed at home and cooked, homeschooled us girls, that is, my sister Julie and I until high school when we made the transfer. My father was the worker of the family, running the stables, much like the ones here at Deercreek for his entire life, even after the incident. He was a stern man, never ever dared to wear his heart on his sleeve, and anyone that did in his presence were sure to get a fine justification for their actions. Dad never really 'connected' with us, but found much more of a love for the finest breeds of horses you'd ever seen. And they sure were beauties. If he could have shown that sort of love and attention to Mama, maybe she would have stuck around. But life isn't always a cake walk is it? Mama felt that she was being under-appreciated, and we knew it, Julie and I, but we never said anything. Who would we tell? Daddy wouldn't respond to it without tell ing us to quit our moaning about and mind our own business, or go shovel some hay, something of the sort. So there we were, helpless in the line of fire, as we watched their marriage, and our family, crumble to pieces without having much to say or do about it.
One night, it was just too much for Mama to bear, and after some stern words and bickering from the kitchen, outside closed bedroom doors, we heard footsteps into a bedroom, one about thirty minutes after the other. We assumed all was fine and went to bed. Turns out it wasn't fine. She didn't even leave a note, but all of her belongings, the truck, and our mama had all disappeared within the night. Julie and I were obviously devastated, but all Dad managed to do to conceal his pain was head out to the stalls, after all, the horses needed feeding and grooming. And that's how it went. He never really showed his emotions, and Mama never came back. Julie took it the hardest, she was only twelve at the time, and I was sixteen myself. In all honesty, I don't think Dad knew how to show his emotions, as he'd been alienating himself from the concept for such a long time, he had forgotten all about them. But poor, poor Julie. She went down the wrong track, finding her own ways of comfort through substance abuse and instant gratification in physical ways. She was so young, and that's what hurt me the most, was losing her. But she'd didn't disappear in the way Mama did, no, hers was a much slower, painful kind of disappearing. With so much substance abuse, finding love wherever she could, especially in a bottle, her mind started to go, consumed only by liquid luck, or the man who was willing to provide it. First it was just partying and not returning home until late, at about fifteen years of age, then as she grew older, we started getting phone calls home from school wondering where Miss Julie Tucker had been, if she was ill or otherwise unexcused. Dad never did address the issue though, he didn't remember how to talk to his daughters, I suppose.
One particular night I can recall waiting up for Julie, waiting all night, just for her not to come home. I waited and waited, walked around to her normal spots, the bars she was often found in the back with some fella, fondling her hair or her arms or face, but no one remotely familiar was to be found. I thought about going to the neighbors, but as they had already assumed that we Tuckers were a lost case and quite the taboo family for having our mama run out on us, it would only spread more gossip, which was exactly the opposite of what I was looking for. So I went back home, I circled our land twice, maybe even three times, I don't remember. I went searching for her all day until I had blisters on my feet, as each step seemed more desperate than the one previous. And still, no sign of her. I went back home finally, hoping on my last hope that she'd be passed out in her bedroom, that she would be alright, but life had thrown me just a few more lemons, and Julie was nowhere to be found. I went to the stables to shout to Dad that she was missing, and all I got back was a blank stare, as if he was forgetting who I was already, as if I was some stranger living in his house that he vaguely knew, as opposed to the father that had raised his daughter up to life for years running. This was the summer of my freshman year of college, where I had been attending a community college for psychology. I knew, or at least hoped in my heart that Julie would come running back home again, that she wouldn't disappear like Mama, that she'd run into my arms and cry her heart out and never let go. The reality of that was far fetched, and it wasn't a healthy living condition for anyone at the place we called home anymore. Dad wasn't with us, or rather, me, mentally, anymore, and hadn't really been for about five years, since Mama left and never came back. Julie was no where in sight, despite my frantic calls to the sheriff's department to put out a missing persons report. I'd call every day, no matter where I was to hear back news, any news at all, about the status of Julie. Still, no news, and it was time to go back to college for the fall.
I had made a large decision at that point to go somewhere else. There was a part of me that wanted to stay nearby to keep close, just in case Julie wanted me, that Julie was going to come home, but the realistic part of me told me that it wasn't going to happen as long as Dad was around. He was quite the grade-A neglecter, one serious form of emotional abuse. She would never come back to such a situation, unless she knew that it was safe, completely safe. And we both knew that coming back home to a house with empty souls was not the right place for a misplaced girl with alcoholism and most likely sexual abuse.
I took a big step and applied to far off colleges, the four-year university sort of deals. I had little belief that I'd actually make it into most of them, but still I did what I could and made the effort. With applications sent out to the University of Pennsylvania, MIT, Stanford, Brown, Duke, Princeton, UW Seattle, UT Austin and Northwestern University in Illinois, I had received four acceptance letters, but as financial aid and responsibility came into play, the school I chose was Stanford, and within a year, I bought myself an education at one of the leading schools in the United States to pursue my passion for the mind. The following fall in 2007, I was to attend the university to finish up my B.S. in Psychology, where I'd grow in my passion, engrossed in the mind and in helping others achieve a healthy way of mind.
In 2009, I graduated ranked in the top 200 of my 1700 class. I certainly did work hard there, going to school full-time, working in the Mood and Anxiety Disorders Lab in my spare time. Through such, I gained enough knowledge to fuel the passion to go straight into graduate school, right after graduation. I moved a little bit east, to Argosy University in Chicago, Illinois to pursue my graduate degree in Counseling Psychology, specifically in Psychopsychology. It reminded me most of home, of a place I've always had conflicting opinions on whether or not I should ever return to that place. But I've always thought that I might be able to justify some of those awful happenings if only I could help other people with their lives. And now , after graduating in the spring of 2011 and landing a job as a Girl's Counselor at DeerCreek Ranch out in Montana, a place much like home, I'm able to let those dreams and goals come full circle.
Somewhere deep in my heart, I need to believe that Julie is still out there, getting by. She's not gone forever. Nor is my Mama, She too, is getting by, but this is only what I can assume to ease my conscience. I need to do this for myself. I know that Dad is fine, and always has been with those horses, the only company he's ever needed. WIll I have animosity towards the idea of these horse programs here, or will I be able to embrace them as a release for young souls searching desperately for change in their lives? My goal is to keep a clear mind, a patient and warm heart to be able to relate to these kids, to help them to the best of my ability, and possibly even change some behaviors here. That would be enough to keep me going. After all, no one is perfect, we all have our own struggles. If I could make it easier for someone else, I might in turn make it easier to overcome my own past."
