My parents decided to move to a new home in the next largest town next to us when I was 7 or 8 years-old, and my brother was 10 or 11 years-old. I didn’t really understand why at the time, but I realize now it was a last-ditch attempt on my dad’s part to make my mom happy. She was a social butterfly and did not like living in the country.
As a child, I loved living in the country! I took for granted what it was like to have grandparents a mere 500 yards away. Although they moved into town as well, there were no mobile home parks in the newer suburb we moved to. It was a nice split-level home just inside of the city limits. I don’t remember a lot about the time we spent there, but it was a short amount of time, possibly six to eight months. We spent part of a summer there, and through the holiday season. I remember that Christmas so vividly because I was sick with the flu. I can recall laying on the couch in the living room, watching TV and my throat hurting like it was on fire.
After the holidays were over, my parents seemed to be in their room a lot more than normal. I could hear their voices, but they were kept hushed, and I could not make out the words they were saying. A short time later, my dad stood at the top of the stairs with a suitcase, announcing to us that he wouldn’t be living there any longer. I always thought I was screaming at him to stay, but I realize now, the screaming was only in my head.
I realized my life was changing in a big way, but I didn’t know how wildly it would be changing. The bottom seemed to fall out of life, at least as an eight-year-old understands life.
My dad moved into an apartment complex in the city, and my mom, my brother and I moved to a townhome in the same complex. It was a new, two-story brick townhome, with tennis courts being built on the property when we moved in. My grandparents stayed in the mobile home park where they had moved to be in the city, after our last move. With my mom working, we became true latch-key kids, without the safety net of our grandparents being close.
We were fortunate to always have our own rooms at every home we lived in. While my brother continued to collect his beer cans, I began collecting and hiding food.
I was taught to bake at an early age and would make sweets after school, only to hide them in bowls under my bed so I could eat them later in peace. It was shameful to me that I ate that much, and my mother was always extremely conscious of weight – both hers and mine. My mom either didn’t notice, or chose not to say anything to me, and that was fine with me. I found I could manage my life fine if I had food to cope with my feelings.
It was at that time; my mom began dating. There was only a couple of dates we were privy to, being included in the dates a couple of times. One had a boat and took us out on the river. One had a jeep and took us 4-wheeling in a bumpy, empty parking lot that later became the new Maid Rite in town. The date ended when I smacked my face on the rollbar of her date’s Jeep after hitting a large rut in the dirt that popped most of one of my front teeth off. I have always been accident prone! It started a long journey of painful dental work that followed me throughout my life.
Within a few months, my mom met her 2nd husband, our stepdad. I remember being introduced to him when they returned from their first date. He was young, and a nice man, but my brother and I were still reeling from the divorce and moves. I think it added insult to injury for us when we were expected to treat him like he was a second dad right away. Even the night we met him, my mom was insistent that we kiss him goodnight, which felt extremely uncomfortable.
We had already switched schools twice in a year and were soon to embark on a whole new adventure; moving out of state, switching schools again, and trying to adjust to our dad and grandparents being farther away than ever.
Our soon-to-be stepdad was living in a medium-sized town a 4-hour drive and a state away, working as a real estate agent after graduating from the state university in the same town. My mom was 29, and he was 25, having never been married or had any children. I have reflected now how much they must have loved each other, or at least how much he loved her, taking on two young stepchildren at that age. Kids that were hurting and angry, at that. I turned nine-years-old in that little ranch house. I continued to eat my feelings, along with anything that was placed in front of me.
While my brother was dealing with his first classes as a new student in 7th grade, I was going into 4th grade and participating in local church group activities, which allowed me to start again, making a couple of new friends.
I think it was always harder for my brother to change schools. He had amblyopia, starting when he was around eighteen months old. By this time, he didn’t have to wear a patch over his left eye anymore, but the glasses he had to wear then (and now), were very thick, particularly on one side. Kids can be very cruel, particularly in that pre-teen stage. I can imagine it was very hard for him, being away from the dad and grandpa he idolized, accepting a “new dad”, and yet another new school.
Little did we know, our lives would be in upheaval again soon.
Did you experience a divorce between your parents when you were young? How did you cope with the changes in your life as a result?
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