I wrote this a while ago and just decided to post it today….

I can hardly say my life is abnormal because it isn’t.  It is actually quite even with the “norm”.  So why did I decide to write a blog about it? Mainly because I did not realize this fact until I was in my 30’s.
There may be one or two things about my life that differ from others, but that is what makes it mine and not yours.  I started as a normal, happy kid who thought her life was pretty good.  I had friends to play with, parents were together and looked happy, did pretty well in school, and fought with her sisters.  That was, until I was about 6 or 7. 
1984. That was the year I turned 7.  That was also the year my parents decided to separate and divorce. I remember the way they told us, my sisters and me.  They brought us all into the living room and I sat on Dad’s lap.  I was wearing my favorite nightgown.  A yellow one with little lace ruffles around the neck and a cartoon raccoon on the front.  It is funny how you remember things like this.  If you were to ask me what I did 3 days ago I would struggle to remember. Anyway, I was on my dad’s lap in the rocker-recliner and Mom said that dad was not going to live with us anymore.  I laid back and closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.  I knew it wouldn’t fool anyone, but I did not want to hear that.  That meant my world as I knew it was over.  Dad shook me a bit and tickled me to get me to open my eyes and sit up.  I did and I remember not saying much.  I did cry.  I did not want my dad to go away.  I idolized him, I was his baby. I did not understand why this was happening.  I do not remember much else from that night. It is like the camera stopped filming after they told us. 
Life after that was different to say the least.  We saw dad every other weekend and on various holidays. He was different to me.  It was almost like he was not really my dad, just a man who looked like him.  I still loved him, but it was weird.  He lived in a few different places. An apartment across the street from the hospital he worked at, an apartment above an electronics store, and one or two other places until he moved into my grandparents’ house after they passed away.  I was not comfortable in any of these places.  I never felt like I had a place there, like I was just thrown in among the other things.  Only my middle sister, Becky, and I had to go on visitation days.  My oldest sister, Lora, was not my dad’s biological daughter, although he did adopt her, and was old enough to choose if she wanted to go or not. I loved seeing my dad, but hated going to his place.  Other than feeling invisible and sometimes in the way, we basically just stayed in the apartment and watched TV.
At one point, when I was about 10 or 11 maybe, I would fight going to Dad’s.  I did not like it.  I would end up not going to school the following Monday due to migraine headaches. This happened every other Monday like clockwork.  I guess this could be where you could say I started internalizing things and getting sick from it. 
It is not like I didn’t want to see my dad; I just didn’t like how it was different.  I have never dealt well with change.  I still don’t for the most part.
My memories of my childhood are spotty at best.  Timelines are inconsistent and vary.  I remember things and think they happened at one point in time, but speaking to my sister, they may have been earlier.  It is funny, most of the memories I do have that are easily remembered, in a relatively cohesive order, all happened before the split.  I remember getting onto the bus for my first day of First Grade.  I remember the squirrel that would come onto our front porch to the window of our kitchen and eat the peanuts we set out for him (I called him Elvis).  I remember seeing Mom throwing dad’s stuff out the back door.
My favorite memory was when we all went to Wisconsin Dells as a family.  I believe the year was 1983.  The last family vacation we would ever have as a complete, whole family. At the Circus Museum I remember seeing dad taking a picture of my sister, Becky, and me as we rode an elephant. Riding the carousel, watching the circus parade, and walking through all of the tents I got to see all sorts of things that fascinated me.  I think that is when I decided I wanted to become a circus clown.  I thought it was the best job in the world. You get to wear silly costumes, paint your face, and make people smile. What could be better? 


~ by phoenix924 on August 31, 2011.

One Response to “I wrote this a while ago and just decided to post it today….”

  1. I love that you wrote this out Alicia. I love that you are so honest with your feelings. I love that you called the squirrel Elvis.

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