my parents got married. It was not the best thing to do, in my opinion, for any of us. I lived in a home where everything was very disconnected. We never did anything as a family, except move across the country when the Air Force demanded it. Dad had his radio room, Momma had her ceramics, and I had my reading. We did eat together at about 4:30 or 5 pm when my dad got home, but we weren't really a family. We never took vacations (and as a result, neither do I, really. I just use my PTO for doctor's appointments and an occasional time off at home, going nowhere.) We lived in California and never went to Disneyland or the San Diego Zoo, for example, and I would have loved to.
Before you say, yeah, but you wouldn't be here. Sure I would. At eight years old I did the math and realised it was only eight months between my parents' wedding and my birth, and I wasn't born early. My parents had actually broken up and then she found out she was pregnant. It was 1966. Abortion was illegal. She was barely 19. To their credit, my mom's parents both said she could stay home and they would help take care of the baby, which was pretty enlightened for the time. Despite my withdrawn relationship with my parents, I loved my grandparents very much, and my grandfather in particular was a very good male role model for me. It was my dad's mom who wanted them to get married, and they did. I loved Nana very much (she was the 'fun' grandmother, after all; Ma showed her love in other ways), but she should have butted out.
Within a month, seeing as they'd both dropped out of school (he was in engineering at UK; she was in Good Samaritan's nursing school to become an RN), my dad lost his exception for the draft, and knowing that he would be drafted, he decided to enlist to make sure he could choose the branch to serve in, at least, and he chose the Air Force. Besides, he needed to get a job to support his new family..
That's how my dad wound up doing three tours during the Vietnam War. He was in Vietnam, Thailand, and Cambodia repairing aeroplanes. I always felt that he blamed us a bit. I know he tried to divorce my mom when I was two, while he was overseas, but she wouldn't do it long distance. My mom was very emotionally needy, and in her entire life [after they finally divorced when I was 15] she had to have a man in her life, and her personality changed with each one (she married a total of four times). She liked what he liked. The only time I really saw my mom's primary personality was between marriages.
I grew up as a hindrance, and I was mostly ignored, except I was expected to console my mother emotionally when she was upset and we were very enmeshed at the same time. I spent years trying to get their love, trying to be the 'good girl', getting great grades, and quietly trying not to do anything to upset them. I never really wanted for basic physical needs, and I was never physically abused, but emotionally I was neglected and I've spent the rest of my life trying to get over that.
As a result, as an adult, I broke off my relationship with my dad after he lied to me. I'd tried to rebuild our relationship after the divorce when I was out of the house, but we wound up estranged. That happened in 1993, after my grandmother died, and lasted until his death in 2018. We never reconciled.
In retrospect, living with my mother did more damage than my dad as I was growing up, because she was there. He was off serving overseas most of the first six years of my life and then left when I was 15. I modelled so much of my behaviour off of her. There was a lot of good, of course, I'm sure. But we were way too close in some ways. But it was always about her. I know she didn't mean it to be, and I've never figured out why she was so insecure. I do know she had social anxiety, and in retrospect, she had a lot of anxiety, and that's where I get it from, I'm sure. I never cut off ties with her, though, even though I should have. But as we got older I pulled away. I spoke with her about every three months and came home for birthdays and Christmas. I especially stayed away once she married my last stepfather. He was an okay guy, and I'm thankful he was there in her last years, as he was able to take care of her where I wasn't, but his sons were all addicts and caused all sorts of grief, to the point as my mom lie dying my grandmother's house where they were living was known as the 'drug house' and the cops were there time and time again. I refused to go there after a visit where my mom casually mentioned that I should be careful about loose needles as my youngest stepbrother had Hepatitis C and tended to leave them around. I'd just stayed in his room, and she hadn't mentioned it then. I never went back, but rather visited her whenever she was in the hospital.
After my parents died (she did in 2017, just shy of 70, and he did in 2018, when he was barely 70) I got a bit of closure but not really.
I'm not writing this to whine. I'm just trying to get a handle on my feelings. Mostly I felt unloved. Now I know people who have certainly had it much worse. But I don't even remember most of my childhood, and I know there was trauma, but I don't necessarily remember what happened. Most of my memories are from school or playing with friends. Frankly, there were a few good things about my childhood in the home I remember, but very few. I thought everyone's memory was like that for so long, but then I found out it wasn't. I think it's very telling that I've blocked out whole swaths of my childhood, but I don't really know why. It bothers me immensely.
Anyway, that's my story. Make of it what you will.
