I was cleaning out some boxes of mine tonight and I stumbled across this column I wrote back in summer 2005 (age 16). I love finding things like this. Reminds me how much I like writing.
------
The shimmering sun reflected off the plush green grass through the sliding glass door as my parents sat me down on the couch. Thoughts swirled through my 6-year-ol mind as I attempted to understand the reason for this talk. An anxious feeling began to bubble in the pit of my stomach and my body began to shift uncomfortably in anticipation of a possible punishment.
"Honey, there is something we need to tell you," my mother said, her voice strained with emotion, tears clouding her deep brown eyes, "Your father and I are getting a divorce."
My father, attempting to remain composed, questioned whether he should hug me, hold me, or sit in silence. Both looked to my 2-year-old brother, sitting on the floor playing with blocks, completely oblivious to the quake our seemingly perfect world had just experienced.
Our family had moved to St. Louis not even 10 months ago, and in doing so we left family, jobs, and best friends in Kansas City. At the age of six, my energetic and carefree persona had resonated through our Midwestern home but in that past year, through a move, a new school, and meeting new people, I had transformed into a shy, anxious child, new to a neighborhood firmly rooted in the strong bond of past relationship.
Now they were telling me that they were uprooting me yet again to return to the embrace of the loving outstretched arms of familiarity waiting in Kansas City. But this time my father would not be joining us. The prospect of only seeing my father once every two weeks confounded my senses.
But as one must after any life altering experience, I put the past behind me and welcomed my new life with the idea that I could create another perfect world; unfortunately one that only few saw as perfect.
A single mom raising two young children in a new home in a new neighborhood in a well-to-do suburb seemed to astonish onlookers.
Despite the immense mileage, they cooperated. They never fought, at least not in front of me. They were civil, making decisions concerning their children together. Standing firm together, they enforced rules and regulations. And as my father moved close-by and parents remarried, the critics began to realize that we could make this work.
Fast-forward 11 years.
That little girl hoping for familial perfection now lives with the unanticipated consequences of four parents. Two different rooms, two different beds, two different homes, and two different sets of rules personify a ping-pong game.
I am the ball. Traveling back and forth, back and forth, and at times I find myself surprised that I have survived. Constantly packing and driving, I have mastered the art of adaptation, that of curfews, surroundings, and expectations.
To some it may appear a burden and perhaps it is, but it is one that I know as commonplace. Four adults now occupy the executive board of my life. Four parents attend teacher conferences and school meetings. Four wardens monitor the friends and the boys. And four detectives know everything.
My situation might seem overwhelming, confusing, frustrating, or bizarre, but they have given me opportunity and turned our problems into a disguised blessing.
If anything, they have bestowed upon me the best gift of all.
Four people who will always love me.
------
The shimmering sun reflected off the plush green grass through the sliding glass door as my parents sat me down on the couch. Thoughts swirled through my 6-year-ol mind as I attempted to understand the reason for this talk. An anxious feeling began to bubble in the pit of my stomach and my body began to shift uncomfortably in anticipation of a possible punishment.
"Honey, there is something we need to tell you," my mother said, her voice strained with emotion, tears clouding her deep brown eyes, "Your father and I are getting a divorce."
My father, attempting to remain composed, questioned whether he should hug me, hold me, or sit in silence. Both looked to my 2-year-old brother, sitting on the floor playing with blocks, completely oblivious to the quake our seemingly perfect world had just experienced.
Our family had moved to St. Louis not even 10 months ago, and in doing so we left family, jobs, and best friends in Kansas City. At the age of six, my energetic and carefree persona had resonated through our Midwestern home but in that past year, through a move, a new school, and meeting new people, I had transformed into a shy, anxious child, new to a neighborhood firmly rooted in the strong bond of past relationship.
Now they were telling me that they were uprooting me yet again to return to the embrace of the loving outstretched arms of familiarity waiting in Kansas City. But this time my father would not be joining us. The prospect of only seeing my father once every two weeks confounded my senses.
But as one must after any life altering experience, I put the past behind me and welcomed my new life with the idea that I could create another perfect world; unfortunately one that only few saw as perfect.
A single mom raising two young children in a new home in a new neighborhood in a well-to-do suburb seemed to astonish onlookers.
Despite the immense mileage, they cooperated. They never fought, at least not in front of me. They were civil, making decisions concerning their children together. Standing firm together, they enforced rules and regulations. And as my father moved close-by and parents remarried, the critics began to realize that we could make this work.
Fast-forward 11 years.
That little girl hoping for familial perfection now lives with the unanticipated consequences of four parents. Two different rooms, two different beds, two different homes, and two different sets of rules personify a ping-pong game.
I am the ball. Traveling back and forth, back and forth, and at times I find myself surprised that I have survived. Constantly packing and driving, I have mastered the art of adaptation, that of curfews, surroundings, and expectations.
To some it may appear a burden and perhaps it is, but it is one that I know as commonplace. Four adults now occupy the executive board of my life. Four parents attend teacher conferences and school meetings. Four wardens monitor the friends and the boys. And four detectives know everything.
My situation might seem overwhelming, confusing, frustrating, or bizarre, but they have given me opportunity and turned our problems into a disguised blessing.
If anything, they have bestowed upon me the best gift of all.
Four people who will always love me.
