People and Places: Where I've Lived and Who I've Been
My parents got divorced in the Fall of 2000. My siblings and I were all very young; I was only 2 1/2 at the time. At such a young age, I clearly did not understand the tremendous impact, both positive and negative, this change would have on my life - I would never know what living as a family felt like, or living in one house felt like, and would never go on a family vacation with both parents at the same time. I hope it does not seem as though I am saying that blended family's are disgraceful or awful by any means; I believe family's of all shapes, sizes, and colors are blessings! But my father re-married, and my step-mom had three older daughters. Six kids, two family's blended to one, and a new house and environment to learn to love.
I grew up in the home my parents once shared. My mother got sole custody of my two siblings and I, thus she got to keep the house. Thankfully, my dad and step-family didn't move too far away. House number one (and there were many for him, unfortunately) we'll call the Yellow Mansion. They lived here the longest, from around 2001 to 2008-09? At this time, I was a very young and optimistic child. I spent a great deal of my time running around, care-free, and absolutely enamored by life. I loved to visit my dad's house, which I never understood to be temporary, and was always playing with all of my siblings. The Yellow Mansion is my favorite house my dad has lived in. It's so close to my mom's house, and was in route to school every day. So even after he moved, this whole decade later, with it's tired and saggy front porch, random half fence, and abandoned car in the back yard the most recent owner had left, and it's foreclosed signs posted in the windows, I can still look at the face of the Yellow Mansion and reminisce on the simplicity of my life back then.
But like I said, he moved, a lot, and after the Yellow Mansion he never stayed anywhere too long. House number two was technically a sort of apartment, so that's what we'll call it. It was pretty spacious for just my dad and step-family, but on the court ordered day and weekends we came over, it became a little cramped. It only had three bedrooms, but we managed. Regardless of where my dad ended up living, we always found our own way to entertain ourselves, or enjoy our circumstances. I never once remember anyone complaining about our situations, we all just seemed so determined to enjoy what we had without dwelling on all we did not. Anyways, I digress. This complex also had multiple playgrounds, and very friendly neighbors with similar mindsets, which made it easier to get along. I can't remember how long we stayed in any houses past the first, really, but we may have stayed here through at least two winters.
I expect you expected there to be different cities or countries intertwined in this, and I'm sorry to disappoint. There were only about three different small towns in a 30 mile radius, so I don't know that I've grown too much. But after number two there were seven more houses in a ten year time span, including a family friend's camper, an aunt's cottage, and a hotel.
Life was not easy for that side of my family, or for that half of my life. As I grew older, it became increasingly more complicated to go from a stable home life to an unstable one. And, in all honesty, difficult to mentally. I found it hard to want to visit my dad's house at a certain age, and eventually I did stop going...
Looking back on my life, in all its complicated yet beautiful glory, I find myself proud of it in a sense. I do not claim, in any way, shape, or form that I am a well-rounded citizen of society, but I do believe I would be far worse (and less mature) had I not grown up the way I did. As a teen, when I ultimately stopped visiting my dad's house (but not my dad!), I thought that was the right thing to do. I thought the stress of my step-family, the unstable home life, the anger of the divorce I was never old enough to remember, and the feeling of betrayal I had toward my father thinking he had picked another family over his own, would all just disappear the day I never went back.
I was very mistaken.
In fact, now, at twenty years old, I think I just made it worse. Instead of speaking up and sharing my feelings, I held them within and spoke through very negative and hurtful actions (i.e. never returning to my dad's). I have nieces and nephews I have never met because of my teenage angst. There are a lot of things, like my dad's time, I have missed out on because I was afraid to just use my voice.
So, to circle back to the title of this post, I have lived in 10 total homes - my mother's stable home, which I am typing this from now, the Yellow Mansion, the Apartment, the Camper, the Dead End Street, the Aunt's Cottage, the Rental Basement, the A Frame, the Hotel, and the One Bedroom (which is the most recent, and the one I never returned to) - and I have probably been close to 5-8 total people. I don't expect that number to stop either, I know for a fact I have more growing to do.
If this blog post teaches you anything, I hope it's that sometimes words are more important and meaningful than actions. And I hope you hadn't planned to have your life figured out by a certain time or age, because you will never stop growing or changing. You will look into your past and wish you still had something you so easily disposed of back then, or delve deeper into your present and wish you were being a kinder, more dependable, loving child, partner, friend, neighbor, or stranger. Trust that everything happens for a reason, even if it seems as though there is no reasonable explanation at all. That is the beauty of life, isn't it? All this maneuvering through our uncertainties?
But like I said, he moved, a lot, and after the Yellow Mansion he never stayed anywhere too long. House number two was technically a sort of apartment, so that's what we'll call it. It was pretty spacious for just my dad and step-family, but on the court ordered day and weekends we came over, it became a little cramped. It only had three bedrooms, but we managed. Regardless of where my dad ended up living, we always found our own way to entertain ourselves, or enjoy our circumstances. I never once remember anyone complaining about our situations, we all just seemed so determined to enjoy what we had without dwelling on all we did not. Anyways, I digress. This complex also had multiple playgrounds, and very friendly neighbors with similar mindsets, which made it easier to get along. I can't remember how long we stayed in any houses past the first, really, but we may have stayed here through at least two winters.
I expect you expected there to be different cities or countries intertwined in this, and I'm sorry to disappoint. There were only about three different small towns in a 30 mile radius, so I don't know that I've grown too much. But after number two there were seven more houses in a ten year time span, including a family friend's camper, an aunt's cottage, and a hotel.Life was not easy for that side of my family, or for that half of my life. As I grew older, it became increasingly more complicated to go from a stable home life to an unstable one. And, in all honesty, difficult to mentally. I found it hard to want to visit my dad's house at a certain age, and eventually I did stop going...
Looking back on my life, in all its complicated yet beautiful glory, I find myself proud of it in a sense. I do not claim, in any way, shape, or form that I am a well-rounded citizen of society, but I do believe I would be far worse (and less mature) had I not grown up the way I did. As a teen, when I ultimately stopped visiting my dad's house (but not my dad!), I thought that was the right thing to do. I thought the stress of my step-family, the unstable home life, the anger of the divorce I was never old enough to remember, and the feeling of betrayal I had toward my father thinking he had picked another family over his own, would all just disappear the day I never went back.
I was very mistaken.
In fact, now, at twenty years old, I think I just made it worse. Instead of speaking up and sharing my feelings, I held them within and spoke through very negative and hurtful actions (i.e. never returning to my dad's). I have nieces and nephews I have never met because of my teenage angst. There are a lot of things, like my dad's time, I have missed out on because I was afraid to just use my voice.
So, to circle back to the title of this post, I have lived in 10 total homes - my mother's stable home, which I am typing this from now, the Yellow Mansion, the Apartment, the Camper, the Dead End Street, the Aunt's Cottage, the Rental Basement, the A Frame, the Hotel, and the One Bedroom (which is the most recent, and the one I never returned to) - and I have probably been close to 5-8 total people. I don't expect that number to stop either, I know for a fact I have more growing to do.
If this blog post teaches you anything, I hope it's that sometimes words are more important and meaningful than actions. And I hope you hadn't planned to have your life figured out by a certain time or age, because you will never stop growing or changing. You will look into your past and wish you still had something you so easily disposed of back then, or delve deeper into your present and wish you were being a kinder, more dependable, loving child, partner, friend, neighbor, or stranger. Trust that everything happens for a reason, even if it seems as though there is no reasonable explanation at all. That is the beauty of life, isn't it? All this maneuvering through our uncertainties?
Comments