2007/07/03 21:07
Nine
My parents had been separated for a few years already, but the announcement that they were divorcing still hit me out of left field.
It was a foreign concept to me at the time. My mom and dad had been married since before I was born, my grandparents for more than thirty years each. I didn't have any friends -- well, as stated yesterday, I could stop there, but I didn't know any kids whose parents were divorced. They didn't talk about it on the TV shows I watched or in any of the books I read. So I was operating under the assumption that the separation was temporary, and that sooner or later my dad would be moving out of his smelly one-bedroom apartment and back into our house.
In retrospect, I should have known it was coming. They'd never really gotten along very well. Some of my earliest memories of my parents in our childhood house involve trying to squeeze between them to break up a shouting match. They simply could not coexist under one roof.
Regardless, it tore me up. I'd always had a temper, but now my fuse shrunk from Chinese-acrobat to Lilliputian. I yelled at teachers, withdrew from classmates, refused to participate in group activities. I'd just joined Cub Scouts not long before, but after they dropped the bomb I wasn't having fun anymore and almost quit. And I wasn't fun to be around either; they probably would have welcomed my absence.
Help came from sources I'd have never expected. From my den mother, whose son was always so quick to join the taunting (if not the ringleader); from Andy, the crazy kid on the playground who used to beat me up but now saw a kindred spirit; from my brother, a product of the same broken family who somehow seemed to take it a lot better than I did. And my parents, rather than becoming more distant with the divorce, put even more effort into ensuring that I was healing and progressing.
Today my parents have remarried. To other people. And I'm past being upset about it. No, I'm glad they're happy now. Let's face it -- if banging your head against the wall makes you unhappy, there's no sense in doing it forever. Better to admit your mistake, cut your losses and go find something softer to bang.
(I don't know about you, but I could have done without that mental image.)
It was a foreign concept to me at the time. My mom and dad had been married since before I was born, my grandparents for more than thirty years each. I didn't have any friends -- well, as stated yesterday, I could stop there, but I didn't know any kids whose parents were divorced. They didn't talk about it on the TV shows I watched or in any of the books I read. So I was operating under the assumption that the separation was temporary, and that sooner or later my dad would be moving out of his smelly one-bedroom apartment and back into our house.
In retrospect, I should have known it was coming. They'd never really gotten along very well. Some of my earliest memories of my parents in our childhood house involve trying to squeeze between them to break up a shouting match. They simply could not coexist under one roof.
Regardless, it tore me up. I'd always had a temper, but now my fuse shrunk from Chinese-acrobat to Lilliputian. I yelled at teachers, withdrew from classmates, refused to participate in group activities. I'd just joined Cub Scouts not long before, but after they dropped the bomb I wasn't having fun anymore and almost quit. And I wasn't fun to be around either; they probably would have welcomed my absence.
Help came from sources I'd have never expected. From my den mother, whose son was always so quick to join the taunting (if not the ringleader); from Andy, the crazy kid on the playground who used to beat me up but now saw a kindred spirit; from my brother, a product of the same broken family who somehow seemed to take it a lot better than I did. And my parents, rather than becoming more distant with the divorce, put even more effort into ensuring that I was healing and progressing.
Today my parents have remarried. To other people. And I'm past being upset about it. No, I'm glad they're happy now. Let's face it -- if banging your head against the wall makes you unhappy, there's no sense in doing it forever. Better to admit your mistake, cut your losses and go find something softer to bang.
(I don't know about you, but I could have done without that mental image.)
I'm glad to hear that I was some help in the situation. I didn't exactly understand what was going on at the time either, but being a bit younger, I didn't necessarily understand the whole "Mom and Dad living together" thing. They had been separated for so much of the time that I could remember that I didn't really know what it was like to have parents living together happily. That is, until Jerry and Dawn came into the equation. Only then did I really know what it was like to have parents who loved each other.
Getting older, and wiser, I realize that I should have been more broken up over the break-up. But I have so few memories from when Dad lived in the house with us. There's one of me waking up late at night and watching part of Terminator with Dad. There's a few memories of hearing Dad whistle at us to come home from Josh's house. But aside from that, I don't remember much of those days. Unlike you, I didn't really understand my friends' parents being together still.
It hasn't scarred me in any way, it hasn't caused any issues with my life that I am aware of either. Growing up with our parents being separated and then divorced was what I considered normal. It wasn't until the middle of 1988 that I realized how it was supposed to be, and by that time, I was old enough to really start to get it and deal with things in a healthy way.
What a difference a couple of years makes, eh?
Getting older, and wiser, I realize that I should have been more broken up over the break-up. But I have so few memories from when Dad lived in the house with us. There's one of me waking up late at night and watching part of Terminator with Dad. There's a few memories of hearing Dad whistle at us to come home from Josh's house. But aside from that, I don't remember much of those days. Unlike you, I didn't really understand my friends' parents being together still.
It hasn't scarred me in any way, it hasn't caused any issues with my life that I am aware of either. Growing up with our parents being separated and then divorced was what I considered normal. It wasn't until the middle of 1988 that I realized how it was supposed to be, and by that time, I was old enough to really start to get it and deal with things in a healthy way.
What a difference a couple of years makes, eh?
I'm reading these posts backwards... but, I ALWAYS find it interesting to hear others stories about dealing with their parents divorce. I don't know if it's age or the parents or what, but everyone has such a unique story, even if the circumstances surrounding the situation are similar.
I am sure both my brother and I would remember things differently, and I know for a fact he does not harbor some of the same anger that I do... but, I think both of us were and still are scarred by the events. But, that doesn't mean I don't think it was best for all of us...
Regardless, divorce is tough, at any age, and no matter what the reasons.
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I am sure both my brother and I would remember things differently, and I know for a fact he does not harbor some of the same anger that I do... but, I think both of us were and still are scarred by the events. But, that doesn't mean I don't think it was best for all of us...
Regardless, divorce is tough, at any age, and no matter what the reasons.
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