January Harold, District 6

I’m not your classic handsome, I guess you I would say. I didn’t grow up thinking “oh, I’ve got to be good looking”, for f---s sake. No, I knew that I was good enough to get by, if that’s what you want to know. There’s nothing worse than someone who thinks this is the most important thing.

I don’t associate myself with people who need this to be important. You get by with what you need, and we were put on this earth the way we are. I’ve got my height on plenty of men. I don’t think that’s a problem. No one ever saw me as short or weak. I’ve got inches on people, around 6 foot 2, and at least a hundred seventy pounds, maybe more. I’ve had enough odd jobs to lifting things and running around to give me the extra bulk to my frame.
I got my share of scars here or there if that’s what you really want to see.

Kid’s stuff, that’s what it is. I learned how to handle myself so I didn’t need to get more. It’s disgusting what people mangle themselves with because they have something to prove. No, not me…

I got the strength I need and the muscle and the brains. You aren’t going to find me in something out of capitol men’s fashion, either. I don’t see the point in spending so much on all that s—t. We’ve got enough to worry about and enough mouths to feed for me to be wearing something out of a catalogue.

Sometimes I put pomade into my hair and part it to the side. February will run her hands through it, when we lay together. She likes the chestnut color of my hair, and how I shave it at the sides of my head but let the stuff on top grow long. It goes well with my brown eyes. Plain as plain could be, I figure. I just can’t be bothered until it gets to a length where I have to bother with it. The kids like to tease me about the pomade since they say when I’m wearing it something fancy must be happening.

I am all things to all people. I am a comfort. I am a leader. I am a disciplinarian. I am an accomadater. I am a dreamer. I push myself in every direction, to please all of those around me. I have always kept myself in the middle of things by doing so, because I know that by keeping everyone happy, I can be happy. They deserve to be happy. As rough as the world is, I know that I can provide a little bit of warmth and sunlight into their lives. And I can raise Cain if I feel like they aren’t living up to my expectations. That’s what a father does… he breaks you down, and then builds you up. He lifts you up to the moon, so you can get to the stars. I dream big and I fail big. No sense in living small for other people. That’s what I try to do with my kids—February knows that I take it hard when one of them fails or gets hurt. Or makes a stupid decision.

I expect a lot out of everyone because I give so much of myself. I hold everyone to the same standard that I hold myself, and that’s as close to impossible as you can get. I know Marchello gets frustrated with me, and the rest of them look up to me like I’m some sort of hero-figure. I know that if I can point them in the right direction, they’ll get where they need to go. They’ll find the way. I can protect them. And I’ll be d—ned if anyone thinks that they can tell me how I’m supposed to raise them. This goes for anyone in the group, too.

They know they don’t have to gripe and whine behind my back. They just need to tell me to my face if they want something changed. They just know how hard the door will hit them on the way out. The door is that-a-way. So I run a tight ship. Can you blame me?

They used to say I was wearing a mask. I had a way of screwing up my face to hide how I really felt. Serves me well in a tight spot. But there’s something more to that. Something I don’t always show to people. I can flip on a switch and be the life of the party, or I can sit in the back and watch. I can put that mask on and you’ll never know who I was before. It’s pretty near exhausting, I’ll tell you, but it gets things done. Leaders have to be flexible, and I ring out those notes like a d—n guitar player.

No one gets too close. I can’t. I won’t. No one else gets inside, not even February. I can’t be depending on someone else when there are 11 that are depending on me. I’ve got enough to worry about when it comes to keeping order and having people think things about me. So I hide things away, tight and within me. Some of it comes to the surface every now and again. I’ll be the first to admit I can fly off the handle. I get a little manic with my ideas, like they’re flowing out of my head. That’s just how genius works though, isn’t it?

I don’t like revisiting my past. I think it’s a waste of time, that’s why. Too many people are ready to cry over spilled milk, and that isn’t me. I pulled myself through what I’ve been through, and I learned that living takes a lifetime. We are challenged and torn and thrown every which way. Trust me, I know.

I grew up in the District with a father and mother. You’d think it was a surprise, seeing as I’ve got a bunch of orphans and wanderers and runaways. No, I had a father and mother. I was their only son. I came out of my mother and I guess her body decided that there just wasn’t room in this world for another Harold. She took it pretty hard. She always had wanted a girl, something to balance out the testosterone in my family I’d guess.

We weren’t poor. They did something in science, I can remember that much. I was six or so when things started getting rough. My father would take to yelling all the time with my mother.

There were other women involved. They couldn’t settle it, and they didn’t want me around to see. He would drink a lot, and she would yell. They’d break a lot of things, and I’d slide into the background like a shadow. They went on like this for a couple of years. For a while I thought they were going to get better.

He couldn’t give it up though. The drinking got worse. The fights got worse. There was more than broken dishes and yelling. I was embarrassed by them. I couldn’t go out in public. I couldn’t have friends over, so I didn’t. I hid away from the world and bottled it up inside. He raised his hand to me a few times, and my mom a few more. He spent us into debt, too with the others that were involved. My mom started to medicate herself to get away. It was too painful for her I guess.

So I started taking care of the both of them. My dad would be too drunk to walk. My mom would be too depressed to get out of bed. I saw it—things a kid that age shouldn’t see—and boy, it made me grow up fast. I went from being 10-years-old to acting like an adult in a flash. I hid their behavior as best as I could, as best as I knew how. I was so concerned with how everyone thought of my family. I was ashamed of them. I was ashamed of how my father had driven us into this ditch, and my mother for not getting me out of there.

He killed her. That’s what I say to myself. No, he didn’t murder her, but he might as well have. They say her heart gave out from whatever it was that she was on, and I think that she overdosed. I remember feeling cold for a long time after that. People said I should have been mad at him but there wasn’t anything to feel then. It was a numbness that I couldn’t fill with anything else. I had failed in keeping them together, and in taking care of her. I was never going to fail like that again.

He drifted into a depression after that. The bottle was the only thing he saw consistently. Our debt got rung up pretty fast, and we lost our house. It was then that I decided I wasn’t going to live for anyone else that was going to ruin my life. Like h—l if he was my blood. I decide when and who I care for, not just because of his last name or what he gave to me.

I walked away from him and didn’t look back. I was resourceful and always looked ahead. I found a roof to put over my head, food to eat, and a job to do. It was a lot easier than living with the two of them. But they did give me something I couldn’t shake: I wanted a family… I wanted to give. So badly. I didn’t want to just go on living in this numbness forever. I could go day in and day out making my way if I needed to, but there had to be more.

I met February on the street. She stopped me in the tracks—I kid you not—with her gorgeous smile. I saw that she needed—I felt that she needed—something. So I hounded her until she couldn’t say no. It was the first time in a long time that I felt anything. I knew she was different. She was the first one that I took into the fold. Then I found the rest of them, one by one, and I wasn’t saying no. I knew each one of them needed it. So I took care of them, settled them in, and made space. We moved a bit but now we know we are supporting one another, and what it’s all about. And that does us just fine. I’ve got my family now.

This is for the Yearlings plot in district 6.

Also, his possible face claim...