happy childhood

When you are a kid, whatever is going on in your life is normal to you. You don’t know that other people live differently than you. It’s cool when your dad had manic episodes, you usually get to do something fun and get to buy a lot of stuff. You think flying on a plane every other weekend to visit your dad is normal. You think it’s normal that your grandparents aren’t allowed to spend the night at your house. Wait a minute… all this stuff that goes on in my life is fucked up? My brother and I will still tell stories about when we were kids to our spouses, and they have looks of horror on their faces. I swear my mother-in-law thinks I make stuff up. But, then you realize that everyone has a fucked up life, its just a different kind of fucked up then yours.

My messed up childhood started with a shotgun wedding, due to the fact that it was still taboo in 1980 to be pregnant out of wedlock, and my father was from a devout Catholic family. So, neither of their families were too pleased about it. My parents were 21 &22 when I was born. Babies. Anyway, they stayed together until I was about 7, and those 7 years and the custody battle that ensued were brutal. I don’t remember a lot from this time (both because I was young, and I think I blocked stuff out). Even the memories I have are fuzzy. I think when I was a toddler, my dad starting showing signs of mental illness and addiction (see-genetics! Early 20’s is often the onset of mental illness) and it was no bueno. He was stereotypically bipolar, an alcoholic (I’m sure among other things), and abusive towards my mother. There’s a lot of vague memories that all play to an 80’s soundtrack (my parents used to stay up late, listen to records, drink, and eventually fight). Other women showed up at our house. A hole was punched in the side of the house. Finally, he left and went back to NYC. I don’t know exactly how that arrangement panned out, but we went to they typical every other weekend,2 weeks in the summer, and he was supposed to pay child support. The custody battle went on forever. My dad kept fighting for more time and less child support, yet he would literally forget to pick us up from LaGuardia airport (we flew alone), and never paid child support. We spent most of our time with our grandparents when we were supposed to be with him. I eventually just got caught up in my own life, and not feeling like he cared if I was in his life or not, and just stopped visiting. Eventually after about 8 years of fighting over us, they got divorced.

But, shortly after my parents seperated, my mom met my step-dad. He was a police officer that came to a domestic call at our house. He would go to the restaurant where my mom worked to woo her. He found a weak, broken women to manipulate. My mom was relieved. He agreed to live with all of us, and we got a new house, and a new unofficial step-family (they were engaged, but couldn’t get married because she was still married to my dad). At first I thought this was a good arrangement. We never had ANYTHING when my mom was alone. We were on free lunch and government peanut butter. Now we had more food, more clothes, more activities. But as I got older, either things changed, or I just realized things. I’m pretty sure my step-dad hated my brother and I. We couldn’t do anything right. He got jealous if my mom spent too much time with us. I was a gold-star kid, and I wasn’t allowed to READ on school nights (at 16 years old) after 9PM in my bedroom-lights out. If I was 2 minutes past my 9:30 curfew-grounded for 2 weeks. I got honor roll-it should have been high honor roll. And he HATED my dad. I get that-he was horrible to my mom-but I think that’s why he hated us too. He hated my dad so much, he made my mom miss my wedding in Mexico because my dad was going to be there (I sure felt loved that time) My mom and step-dad went out drinking every night and had screaming fights until the wee hours of the morning keeping us up (good thing I wasn’t reading after dark!). I don’t know exactly how it all unraveled (I left the house at 18 and only had short stints back there), but they got divorced in my early 30’s. This man hasn’t spoken a word to me since the divorce. Not a word to me about Ian’s birth, accident, or death. It’s like I never existed to him after being in my life for 25 years.

So yeah, because of these shining examples of fathers, I kind of have issues. I’m extremely sensitive to fighting. I literally get scared. If my husband raises his voice (even if he’s right) I instantly retreat. PTSD shit right there. I start shaking. I have never once been in a fist fight. I would probably run away if someone tried to hit me. I also dated men like them. Men that manipulated me, and made me feel like such garbage that I didn’t feel worthy of a better relationship…I just kept dating them after all the other people they slept with. I was going to make them love me, since I couldn’t make my fathers love me. I was desperate and beautiful, every guys dream girl. Luckily, I met my husband (who actually does love me) and I was able to not get trapped into a life with a bad guy like my mom did. It was important to me end up with a guy who was a good father (that was seriously a major requirement to marry someone), so my children didn’t go through what I did-wondering what was so horrible about me that I couldn’t even get my dads to love me. And I carried that unloving version of myself for a long time. The guys I dated just amplified it. It’s taken me a long time to undo the damage that was done to me, a child feeling unloved turns into an adult with bulimia (they’ll love me if I’m skinny enough), addiction (they’ll love me if I’m fun), and depression (they would love me if I wasn’t so terrible).

I finally decided to forgive them. I look at my dads and feel sorry for them. My bio dad had such severe mental illness that he was just not capable of being a parent. It would be like If I had one leg, I wouldn’t be able to walk. He had such bad (usually untreated) bipolar and addiction, he couldn’t parent. My stepdad was a hardened police officer, he lost both his siblings before they were 50, his parents treated him like they didn’t love him as much as his siblings. He didn’t know how to love either. But, I still have love for them. They are part of my fabric, and a big part of what makes me, me. And, I have a lot of empathy for my bio dad-I understand how mental illness can take you down, its done it to me (I just happened to get back up). Bottom line, they both missed out. My brother and I are genuine, good people, who are respectful and kind. We have great kids who they could’ve been grandfathers too. So, they must have inadvertently impacted us in a positive way. Whether it be we learned what NOT to be, we ended up ok. I finally learned to love myself after years of therapy and really after Ian’s death. I think I’ve said it before, but when he went to the afterlife he took the exact, screwed up, damaged, loving, devoted, stretch-marked mom with him-and to him that mom is perfect. So, I realized I was great, just the way I was. DEFINATELY, no thanks to my dads.