Post by Lady Tatsh on May 9, 2008 1:25:49 GMT -6
There are very few things that make me cry.
Saying I never cry would be an outright lie. I do cry. I cry a lot, mostly when I'm upset or frustrated. I think all my friends have seen me cry at least once. Whether it was a late night escape to another's house after a fight or pressure cracking the facade of leadership.
There are, however, very few things that make me cry just thinking about them. I can sit through sad movies, write sad stories, play sad games, all without batting an eyelash. I guess I've become numb to it all.
There is one thing that will make me cry, or at least want to cry, every time without fail.
Perhaps a bit of backstory is in order.
My parents are divorced, have been for many years. I'm not even sure when they split, just that one day I was shuttled to Missouri with my mom and sister to live with someone that... definitely wasn't my dad but was supposed to be. I remember moving around a lot as a kid, being a navy brat did that to you. At first I thought that dad was coming home and we were moving to another base. Logical, right? Or at least to a four-year-old.
I recall one of the rare times my father was home. Being in the Navy he was away nine months out of the year made it hard on all of us. He made an effort to be home for our births, which I suppose counts as effort. The memory, barely three seconds long within my skull, is me looking at my dad's feet. While living in Virginia we visited the beach often, and this memory took place there. My father held me in his arms as the waves washed over his feet. I remember thinking how far away the water looked, how high up I thought I was. I was such a small child then. It's one of the few memories of my dad when he wasn't yelling at mom.
I grew up with sparse visits from my father. My mother labeled him the carnival dad. He'd visit every few months for a few hours, take us out to eat and some fun activity before going back home. It never really bothered me until I got older. Dad was less with Macy and I and more with his new wifey. I didn't even know he got married until after the fact. Lynn? Who's she?
Things were rough for a while. Medicines, hospitals, moves... It was a lot for a girl to take. I found a new motivation however, in the form of a baby girl. My sister Elizabeth made me want to be a better person, so that I could set an example. I'm like the second mom, I guess. When I'm away Lizi asks mom "When is my Jourdy coming home?". When I was at summer camp, having a jolly good time, I got a letter from Lizi and dissolved into such homesickness that I cried for the remaining six days of camp. This child was my motivation, my meaning, my weakness.
I never liked my stepdad all too well. He was an angry chap, sometimes abusive, and we always butted heads. I wanted so many times for him to leave, better yet to push him off a bridge or some such means of ridding a pest. It wasn't until I was older that I realized how wrong that was.
Not because I'd feel guilty for making him leave, nor for mom being single again, but for Elizabeth.
The thing that makes me want to cry, every damn time, is that I don't want Lizi to grow up without her dad. I don't want her to ask mom when daddy is visiting next, or to hear her upset that daddy can't make it to visit this time. I don't want her to grow up with another man trying to be her dad, knowing her dad is somewhere far off, likely with someone who wants to be her mom. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially not a small child.
Especially not that little girl who sees past my flaws and facade enough to love me in spite of all I've done.
For this, I'll tolerate Ken. For this, I'll make her day brighter.
For this, I cry.
-------
Thought about this for a while and wrote it in one sitting. What do you think?
Saying I never cry would be an outright lie. I do cry. I cry a lot, mostly when I'm upset or frustrated. I think all my friends have seen me cry at least once. Whether it was a late night escape to another's house after a fight or pressure cracking the facade of leadership.
There are, however, very few things that make me cry just thinking about them. I can sit through sad movies, write sad stories, play sad games, all without batting an eyelash. I guess I've become numb to it all.
There is one thing that will make me cry, or at least want to cry, every time without fail.
Perhaps a bit of backstory is in order.
My parents are divorced, have been for many years. I'm not even sure when they split, just that one day I was shuttled to Missouri with my mom and sister to live with someone that... definitely wasn't my dad but was supposed to be. I remember moving around a lot as a kid, being a navy brat did that to you. At first I thought that dad was coming home and we were moving to another base. Logical, right? Or at least to a four-year-old.
I recall one of the rare times my father was home. Being in the Navy he was away nine months out of the year made it hard on all of us. He made an effort to be home for our births, which I suppose counts as effort. The memory, barely three seconds long within my skull, is me looking at my dad's feet. While living in Virginia we visited the beach often, and this memory took place there. My father held me in his arms as the waves washed over his feet. I remember thinking how far away the water looked, how high up I thought I was. I was such a small child then. It's one of the few memories of my dad when he wasn't yelling at mom.
I grew up with sparse visits from my father. My mother labeled him the carnival dad. He'd visit every few months for a few hours, take us out to eat and some fun activity before going back home. It never really bothered me until I got older. Dad was less with Macy and I and more with his new wifey. I didn't even know he got married until after the fact. Lynn? Who's she?
Things were rough for a while. Medicines, hospitals, moves... It was a lot for a girl to take. I found a new motivation however, in the form of a baby girl. My sister Elizabeth made me want to be a better person, so that I could set an example. I'm like the second mom, I guess. When I'm away Lizi asks mom "When is my Jourdy coming home?". When I was at summer camp, having a jolly good time, I got a letter from Lizi and dissolved into such homesickness that I cried for the remaining six days of camp. This child was my motivation, my meaning, my weakness.
I never liked my stepdad all too well. He was an angry chap, sometimes abusive, and we always butted heads. I wanted so many times for him to leave, better yet to push him off a bridge or some such means of ridding a pest. It wasn't until I was older that I realized how wrong that was.
Not because I'd feel guilty for making him leave, nor for mom being single again, but for Elizabeth.
The thing that makes me want to cry, every damn time, is that I don't want Lizi to grow up without her dad. I don't want her to ask mom when daddy is visiting next, or to hear her upset that daddy can't make it to visit this time. I don't want her to grow up with another man trying to be her dad, knowing her dad is somewhere far off, likely with someone who wants to be her mom. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially not a small child.
Especially not that little girl who sees past my flaws and facade enough to love me in spite of all I've done.
For this, I'll tolerate Ken. For this, I'll make her day brighter.
For this, I cry.
-------
Thought about this for a while and wrote it in one sitting. What do you think?
