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Nov. 10th, 2003 08:34 amWhen I was very small and my parents were in college, they would occasionally tuck me into bed between the two of them and let me drift off to sleep while they were studying. I remember one night when I didn't want to go to sleep in their bed, I wanted to go to sleep in my own bed, so I pretended to go to sleep. Every time I got real still and pretended to be asleep my dad would tickle the end of my nose with the eraser on his pencil and I would laugh. That gave me away a few times before I was able to keep my composure enough to not laugh when he tickled my nose. So he picked me up and carried me downstairs to put me in my own bed.
Two years ago I went home to attend my little brother's graduation. The night before I was to fly back to Ohio, I laid on top of the covers between my parents and we watched "Deep Impact." They fell asleep before the movie was over. So I climbed off the bed, shut off the TV, went upstairs and put myself to bed. That was the last time that I ever laid between my mom and dad like I did when I was a child.
A week after Alex's graduation, my mom notified us that she was filing for divorce. Of course, this wasn't a surprise to me. But it's like a knife in the heart when I think of how close they used to be. When you're little and you see your parents making out like teenagers on the couch, it makes you feel secure and comfortable, even though it wigs you out a little, too.
I lived on a farm until I was about 9 years old. I used to watch my dad chop wood. He would line up 10-15 logs in a circle around him and just start swinging that axe. He didn't stop until they were all split. *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* I was just in awe of his power and strength. In my eyes, he could do anything.
I remember the exact moment when I realized that he was just a person. I was 13. He was drunk. He was slouched down on the couch so far that he didn't appear to have a neck. He made some crude comment about me not dating or "getting any." I didn't answer. I just went to my bedroom and shut the door. Our relationship just went downhill from there.
When I was 18, I got a call at about 2:30 AM from the police department. They had my dad (drunk again) pulled over on the side of the road and if I came to pick him up, they wouldn't take him to jail. So I went and got him. At my apartment, he said he was hungry, so I gave him the leftovers of my dinner. Then I went to bed, but I stayed fully dressed. Apparently, the food I gave him wasn't enough, because he pulled some frozen hamburger patties out of the freezer and threw them in a frying pan on high heat. Then he passed out. I remember hearing something like someone crumbling tissue paper and I couldn't quite place the sound. So I got out of bed and opened my bedroom door. The smoke was so thick that I couldn't see the far wall of my apartment. Then the smoke alarm went off. I saw flames shooting out of the frying pan. I took the pan off the burner and turned it off, opened all the windows, took out the hairdryer and started trying to blow the smoke away from the smoke alarm. Dad slept through all of it. A few hours later when he came to, he asked me to take him to his car. So I did. I didn't say a word to him. I dropped him off and went back home. The acrid smell of smoke was still thick in my apartment, so I left the windows open. It was February and freezing cold. I called Ken and he happened to be home. He came over and we just sat and talked in my smelly, cold apartment. Then I got a frantic call from my mom. I had called her after I got the alarm to stop ringing and told her what had happened. She had gone to a friend of my dad's to set up an intervention. Dad had picked up some valentine's day chocolates for her and then stopped by that same friend's house. He saw her there, threw the candy at her and demanded a divorce. The closest thing I ever got to an apology from him about that night was, "I hear I owe you a new frying pan." That night my dad went from being just a person in my eyes, to being a horrible person. I haven't been able to relate to him at all since then. He's mean when he's sober and he's stupid when he's drunk.
I'm tired of Amanda always telling me to cut him some slack. He won't be attending my wedding even though he's being extended an invitation. Why am I expected to be OK with this?
So even though I can't stand to be around him, why does it hurt so much that I'll never see him again?
Two years ago I went home to attend my little brother's graduation. The night before I was to fly back to Ohio, I laid on top of the covers between my parents and we watched "Deep Impact." They fell asleep before the movie was over. So I climbed off the bed, shut off the TV, went upstairs and put myself to bed. That was the last time that I ever laid between my mom and dad like I did when I was a child.
A week after Alex's graduation, my mom notified us that she was filing for divorce. Of course, this wasn't a surprise to me. But it's like a knife in the heart when I think of how close they used to be. When you're little and you see your parents making out like teenagers on the couch, it makes you feel secure and comfortable, even though it wigs you out a little, too.
I lived on a farm until I was about 9 years old. I used to watch my dad chop wood. He would line up 10-15 logs in a circle around him and just start swinging that axe. He didn't stop until they were all split. *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* I was just in awe of his power and strength. In my eyes, he could do anything.
I remember the exact moment when I realized that he was just a person. I was 13. He was drunk. He was slouched down on the couch so far that he didn't appear to have a neck. He made some crude comment about me not dating or "getting any." I didn't answer. I just went to my bedroom and shut the door. Our relationship just went downhill from there.
When I was 18, I got a call at about 2:30 AM from the police department. They had my dad (drunk again) pulled over on the side of the road and if I came to pick him up, they wouldn't take him to jail. So I went and got him. At my apartment, he said he was hungry, so I gave him the leftovers of my dinner. Then I went to bed, but I stayed fully dressed. Apparently, the food I gave him wasn't enough, because he pulled some frozen hamburger patties out of the freezer and threw them in a frying pan on high heat. Then he passed out. I remember hearing something like someone crumbling tissue paper and I couldn't quite place the sound. So I got out of bed and opened my bedroom door. The smoke was so thick that I couldn't see the far wall of my apartment. Then the smoke alarm went off. I saw flames shooting out of the frying pan. I took the pan off the burner and turned it off, opened all the windows, took out the hairdryer and started trying to blow the smoke away from the smoke alarm. Dad slept through all of it. A few hours later when he came to, he asked me to take him to his car. So I did. I didn't say a word to him. I dropped him off and went back home. The acrid smell of smoke was still thick in my apartment, so I left the windows open. It was February and freezing cold. I called Ken and he happened to be home. He came over and we just sat and talked in my smelly, cold apartment. Then I got a frantic call from my mom. I had called her after I got the alarm to stop ringing and told her what had happened. She had gone to a friend of my dad's to set up an intervention. Dad had picked up some valentine's day chocolates for her and then stopped by that same friend's house. He saw her there, threw the candy at her and demanded a divorce. The closest thing I ever got to an apology from him about that night was, "I hear I owe you a new frying pan." That night my dad went from being just a person in my eyes, to being a horrible person. I haven't been able to relate to him at all since then. He's mean when he's sober and he's stupid when he's drunk.
I'm tired of Amanda always telling me to cut him some slack. He won't be attending my wedding even though he's being extended an invitation. Why am I expected to be OK with this?
So even though I can't stand to be around him, why does it hurt so much that I'll never see him again?