In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1925)
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In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. That’s a partial lie. I don’t ever remember receiving advice from my father; although, my memory is defective and he wasn’t always around much. He worked a lot and when he was home - well, I don’t remember what he would do when he got home. I think he would eat dinner and maybe turn on the television and then fall asleep on the couch. Yeah, we’ll say that’s what he did. He was an interesting man. He was funny, fairly kind and occasionally, like any stressed parent, a little frustrated with the world. We were like two peas in a pod. We laughed at the same things, we made and ate the most bizarre food combinations and when we got home from a long day, we’d change into sweatpants yet leave our nice blouse or sweater on. I’m glad someone finally understood me. There was something about my father that I just can’t put my finger on. He is just so awesome.
All I remember about my childhood is when he had to leave, so I was told. I didn’t know where he was going, I just knew he wouldn’t be staying with mom and I anymore. He was a very tall man, about six-foot-one, and was crazy strong. He had been a sculpted bodybuilder for several years. I don’t remember the day very well. Outside it was a beautiful and happy day, maybe it was spring, but inside our apartment it felt more like the depressed winter months. I walked into the kitchen to find my mother standing in her yellow and purple silk bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her freshly washed hair. My father was standing with her and the room was full of tension - tension that I did not understand. He carried a mattress out the door and that was it. I didn’t know where the hell is was going, no one bothered to tell me. Next, I’m sitting on the paved driveway. My mother is behind me and my father is about five feet in front me of. “Who do you want to go with?” she asked me. What five year old knows how to process what is going on and how to ultimately respond to that question. Tears strolled down my face. I looked back at my mother. A brunette with hazel eyes. She was just the right height and was lean as can be. She had a beaming smile that was hard to resist. And then my father, my other half, someone I could relate more to than my own mother. What a horrible decision for a child to make. As children we don’t want to upset others, we want everyone to be happy. We are taught to share. Couldn’t they share me? They could and they did and I hated it.
It’s sad how childhood memories can be either extremely happy or sad. I don’t believe there is an in between. All I remember is a lot of tears, frustrations and anger. Childhood is supposed to be fun and carefree. You’re only supposed to cry over spilled milk and scraped knees and when your mom washes your favorite blanket or stuffed animal, not divorce. Now I would have to say that divorce therapy was the worst. What five year-old knows what divorce means and what five year-old should have to go to therapy? My parents would drop me off and I’d color with other children who were in the same boat as me and I might have shed some more tears. There wasn’t much talking and there was no laughter. The room wasn’t well lit and it was full of tension like every other spot in my life. What a sad situation. And when it was time to go, it’d gather my belongs and meet my mother at the door. As I walked out the door clutching my mother’s hand, I’d wave to my father and yell, “Bye daddy!”. Every other weekend, I would pack a bag, my favorite stuffed bear and wait patiently for my dad to pick me up. It was like a miniature vacation from my mother. We always seemed to get along no matter what. The colors of his new apartment reflected our insides. A dark bluish gray as if our insides were bruised with sadness and hurt. While he lived there, I don’t think he ever gave me any verbal advice. Maybe he wanted to show me to always persevere no matter how disorderly life gets.
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