Earlier, I posted about work and I just deleted it. It was nice to get that off my chest but far too dangerous. I've decided to take a new direction with my blog and talk about what made me who I am today. I've led an interesting life in the past, which is why I lead a relatively boring (but happily boring) life now. I think it will be good therapy for me and maybe even for you, who knows? And along the way, I suppose some musings from daily life that may serve as comic relief.
I'll give you a small summary to begin with, which will kick off and set the tone for the new blog. How did I come to be a working mom of one and wife? It was quite a road. It started in a little hospital called Mount Clemens General Hospital in Mount Clemens, Michigan. It was 1973, slightly before disco and after hippies. My parents were a young, restless housewife and a mild-mannered, soft-spoken Air National Guardsman. My brother was 3 1/2 years old and not happy about my arrival. He was interested in getting a puppy. Imagine his surprise when he discovered it was me and not a golden retriever wrapped in that receiving blanket. My parents were happy to have a baby girl, though not necessarily happy with each other. I preserved their facade (well, at least my mom's facade) for about 3 1/2 years. My mother told me at some point after I reached adulthood that when they found out she was pregnant with me they had stopped trying for a baby because they were unhappy in their marriage and then....oops...there I was. I'm not sure how she imagined that would make me feel, but then again, my mom isn't so good with caring about how anyone feels but her. My arrival came some time in the middle of the night. My grandmother tells me the story of how she waited and waited for me, then came home from the hospital and collapsed with exhaustion only to awaken a few hours later prepared to go and teach 30 sixth graders whatever it is that you teach sixth graders. I guess nowadays someone in her position would have called in sick but not E.B. Nope, that's where I learned to persevere. She's the one who taught me how to make it in life, even through hard times. Without her, I have no idea where I would be now....but that's for another entry.
I don't really remember much before my mom and dad got divorced. The only part I remember about them being together was fighting. And I remember the day that they told us they were breaking up. I was 3 1/2 years old and my world would never be the same. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I think divorce will scar a child for life...if the parents do it maturely and properly. It's what happens after, with two people that are trying to find themselves while they forget that they created two lives, that's the part that fucks everything up. Anyway, I sat on my toy box when they told me, the one that my dad made for me in his work shop downstairs. Dad's workshop was off limits. To keep me away from the dangerous tools, I was told that the boogey man lived there. Probably not the best thing but it worked. I still look over my shoulder every time I go downstairs to do laundry.
When they told me I didn't really understand. And I didn't realize it at the time, but they had already been separated for some time and sleeping in separate beds. This was just when Daddy was moving out. You have to understand that I was a Daddy's girl. My dad could do no wrong. All I ever wanted was to be with him. To have him hold me. He's the only one who I remember showing me some measure of affection. My mom was always too busy to do that. So him leaving the house was devastating to me. I felt like there was something I'd done to cause it. Somehow if I had been a better girl, he wouldn't be leaving. It was a lot for a little kid to grasp. I wondered if my parents didn't love each other anymore, did that mean that they might stop loving me? It was 1977, before quality time and therapy and all that feelings crap. Nobody told me that they wouldn't stop loving me one day. If they had, years later it would have felt like a lie anyway.
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