My family is different. Different being a complete understatement. I was adopted, found in the Wastes when I was approaching my first birthday. Sometimes I feel like I have memories of that day even though that sounds crazy. I was barely old enough to think properly, but a part of my brain can still remember seeing them. The way my mom picked me up, a huge smile on her face. She had been waiting for me. My father some ways behind her, scared out of his mind of me and everything I stood for. He had never been the domestic type. I can sense that my grandfather was there, I knew him for such a short time.
Despite my father's complaints, my mother's stubbornness won out, and I came home with them. My father often remarks that it was the only time her hard-head had ever been a blessing instead of a burden. They took me back to Rivet City, my temporary home. I swear I can recall the endless hours I spent being rocked by my mother while my father sulked. It took him a while to come around to me. I don't blame him, if I had experienced half the things my father has I would have felt the same. My parents didn't speak for about a week, until dad caved to my mother's cold shoulder. He always says she was good at getting him to change his mind, without ordering it. After that you could say my father was hooked. "I took one look at you and I wish I hadn't. You were so perfect. Still are." He says each time I bring up the subject. I always adored my mother, but my father was the one I was joined at the hip with. It must have been hilarious, a small blonde little girl wrapped around a six-foot-five ghoul. Our mutual love was like no other father or daughter. Possibly rivaling that of my mother and my grandfather.
Its almost unfair to pick my father over my mother, they both taught me such different things. My mother taught me to be kind and to help others. She always practiced both in her daily life. Not to mention the stories of her heroism across the Capital Wasteland. My father always said her greatest charity however, had been purchasing his contract. To which my mother would scoff. It had been no charity at all. Teasingly she would say, "2,000 caps might have been a bit steep."
My mother was the one I could always turn to when I got hurt. She had spent her whole life studying under my grandfather. While her advanced medical training was helpful, but what she did best was comforting me. Each scrape was always treated with the proper medicines, a kiss, and a hug. She also taught me how to read and adore books. But most importantly she taught me that a woman could be strong in the Wasteland. She was living proof of that. "All you need is the proper training and confidence." That which my father provided. While my mother was the softer more emotional parent, my father was the tough one. He taught me how to fight. My mother could have, but she knew that my father wanted to train me. It was as if teaching his little girl how to fight was everything to him. Between one and three he taught me stealth. I was too little to use weapons or hold my own in a fight, so I had to know how to hide. When I was four he began teaching me small hand-to-hand combat. At five I got a knife. Up until ten I worked with knives, traps, and unarmed combat. At ten, just like my mother I received my first gun. Every time I graduated from a new skill my father looked so proud of me. But it wasn't easy work. My dad was a tough teacher, he wanted to make sure I was properly trained. We would often fight whenever he was tough on me. He just wanted me to be safe. "Women have it bad out here." He would repeat, "But you wont. You will take down anything that tries to hurt you." Even though we fought, my dad was always encouraging. When I first got my 10mm, I couldn't hit anything for shit. I spent hours practicing on old milk bottles but my aim was terrible. I hit a few, but only out of sheer luck, not technique. I cried, fearing I would never amount to what my parents had. Both of which could take down anything that stood in their way. He had simply wiped away my tears and told me to keep trying. Putting his arms around me, my father had helped steady me and correct my aim. "A little higher." He had directed, then told me to shoot. It hit, and so did every other shot there after.
My mother still says, "You are the best thing that ever happened to us." Im glad she feels that way, but in my opinion it's the opposite. My parents are the best thing that ever happened to me. When they found me, I was starving to death in a baby carriage on the outskirts of the DC ruins. Probably dumped off by some biological piece of shit raider parents. I would have died there had my mother not be brave enough to approach me. I would have never learned to fight if my father hadn't been brave enough to raise me. I would have never been cared for or so completely loved if the two of them had never met. But it all happened. It all fit so perfectly into place. They took me home to Megaton and named me Violet. It was the first flower my mother ever saw in the Wasteland. She had been fresh out of the vault and scouring the ruins of the Arlington Cemetery. My father had been old enough to know the name. Together make a big weird family. My father the ghoul, my mother the famous vault girl, and me the child they never thought they would have. We are different, but we are also perfect. Still are.
Authors Note: It took me SO long to figure out how to write this idea down. Thank you for reading! :)