December 7, 2004
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final bit… (the beginning is two entries down)
Nothing lasts forever, does it? Nothing good and nothing bad. I can’t talk to my mom about any of this because she bursts into tears and goes on about how she ruined my life. Actually, I prefer not to consider my life ruined, and it’s not really helpful to have to comfort my mother. She had no idea, she really didn’t. Why would she? I guess I must have talked to her on the phone? I don’t remember. I can only assume what I thought.
I’ve participated in a few alternative parenting boards. The general tenor is anti-interventionist in regard to children’s services. I say hell no. Call. Please call. If someone had called for me it might have mad a lot of difference. I don’t see how it could’ve made it worse.
So spring break rolled around and mom flew in to see us at the new house. I don’t remember the airport or anything after, but I remember this short bit: the walk from the car (our old grand torino) to the door. It was in that infinitessimal interval that my dad, in front of me, asked my mom for a divorce and all hell broke loose.
I don’t remember anything else until sitting in my treehouse back in Denver. It was moving day, but the new people had showed up early. I had a cool fort in the ancient oak in the circular driveway. The new kids climbed up and said, “get out of here; this is our treehouse now.” Then they said, “and we get to keep your dog too!” It turned out that my mom had figured that Lily the black lab would be left with the new family while Golda the brilliant and loving golden retriever would go live with one of her friends. We were getting a house, but she’d have to go to work full time, so I guess I can understand it better now. but not entirely. Still, she did the best she could, I guess.
I don’t remember the rest of third grade, but I remember having all kinds of math problems in the fourth. No one figured out that I didn’t know my multiplication tables until late in the fifth grade. I had attended two other grade schools by then. I wound up in accellerated math again by seventh grade. I took trigonometry my sophomore year in high school, well the first half anyway. The teacher reminded me of my dad, the way he talked, the way he made me feel invisible… I flunked at midyear and my mom pulled me out. She got me a tutor instead. I took it again the next year and got an A. I loved that teacher. I distincly remember that class and every minute in it was a relief.
Hmm… I feel a lot better. I should go get myself some proper snowboots and get something done around here.
Comments (13)
i dont have a comment, only a tear
it’s so easy to forget that kids aren’t just along for the ride in our lives, that they’re living their own at the same time, and bumps we hardly feel can knock them right the hell out of the truckbed. i’m sorry you lost so much of your childhood. that shit ain’t right, but like the cancer makers say, you’ve come a long way, baby.
i hope you pushed those little fuckers right out of the treehouse
… sorry, but geezus kids can be intolerable. i admire the hell out of you for pulling yourself through this painful process of recognition and healing. and you do it with such awareness and grace.
the treehouse dog thing just put me over the edge… i’d have snapped. i can’t believe you made it through and came out so beautiful and strong…
so sad satori.
your treehouse memory sort of reminds me of the movie, “men don’t leave”. have you seen it?
It’s hard to read what you’ve written, not because it’s bad, but because you’re my friend and I care about you and how you feel. What you’re doing is brilliant because it gets all those family myths and bad feelings out there instead of always being internalized. It’s their problem, not yours, but you suffered for it. And also that I could write some similar things…they’re feelings that are raw and they hurt. I don’t think my parents ever forgave me for having real needs of my own. I see that your father was equally selfish.
I think the reparenting thing is very cool. I think you’re on the right track to finding healing that works for you. I’ve been working on forgiving my parents for a lot of my childhood. Not because they deserve it, but because it allows me to move on and live my life. Some days are better than others.
You know, I am super proud of the person you have become.
love you
thanks baby, I’m proud of you too!
I love you more today, than I did ever before.
I’ve sat here and noshed on my granola while I read the last three blah-gs and . . . well damn honey, we’ve got too much in common. Right down to the teacher in third grade who presumed you were a moron because you didn’t catch the division straight away.
I hate Mr. Wilson. HATE HIM to this day. But … this isn’t about me, it’s about you. And you’re incredible, dammit. Just awesome. And now I know what your ISM is going to be. (Had me stumped for a few days …)
keep on going.
and get on msn darnnit. i have more questions.