The experiences of my past shape me. In my eyes, my home is my family. My home was a paradoxical place, full of many ups and downs. I do not regret anything in my life, for I do not know the man I would be today without them. This is a glimpse at the story of how I came to this point and the home from which I came
From the moment I was born in D, the very town I now find myself attending college, my parents’ lives changed forever. Early on in my life, my home changed constantly. My parents had me at a very young age and thus struggled to support my emotional and financial needs. Despite the stress of the situation, both my mother and father tried their very best to raise me in the best environment they could.
Due to me, my parents never got to experience college life and instead went to work in order to raise me. We constantly traveled early on, moving from place to place in rapid succession based on financial need. There were some college attempts, but normally events came up that would interrupt any attempt at a college degree. The shining light in my life was my Mimi and Poppie, the great-grandparents on my mother’s side.
They were a ranch family living in Valliant, and they helped to support my parents and me early on in basically everything. When I was around five years old, we finally settled down in V as our permanent residence. My dad got a well-paying job with room for an increase at the paper mill, and for the first time I could remember, there was a sense of security in our lives.
We moved into a residence owned by my Mimi and Poppie, and we began to have more emotional and financial security finally. Despite my childhood memories being hazy, I remember the defining feature of this time was the long hours my father worked and the bond I forged with my mother. I was a very sheltered child, rarely leaving the house. I considered my mother my best friend and constantly spent time with her.
Not until later on in life did I recognize the toll the overtime had on my parent’s relationship.When I was seven, my parents took me out to Olive Garden at a rather inconspicuous time. Even though we were traveling more, we still rarely ate out except for events. While eating, my parents told me something that would change my life forever; my mother was pregnant with what would become my first brother.
I was taken aback by the news, but I was filled with indescribable excitement overall. Fast-forward to about half a year later, and my beautiful brother was born. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. Furthermore, for a time, everything seemed good. However, this happiness did not last, for soon after my brother’s birth, my father changed. He became more absent, began to work longer hours.
Furthermore, even at the young age of eight, I could tell our household’s atmosphere was changing. My mother started being overly happy, but I could see right through it; I could see the sadness in the lines of her face. Some nights I would wake up to the sounds of their arguing, their bickering. I would often sneak to my brother’s room and hold him late at night in some adolescent attempt to protect him from the tension outside his door.
Nevertheless, I could only do so much. My father soon left us, moved out of the house. He went through what one might describe as an early life crisis. In response to this, my mother became more independent to better support my brother and me. My brother and I spent many days with my Mimi and Poppie as she went to the junior college about an hour away. She lost many precious hours in pursuing a license from cosmetology school.
I rarely saw my father during this time, and I remember overhearing talks of his reckless behavior. During this time, I helped raise my brother and acted as a father figure. I was so young, yet I felt as if I had to be the father he did not have. I matured rapidly at this time in the hopes that my brother would not have to.
My mother tried her best, but I bore the full force of this time period despite her best efforts. Soon, I began to pick up a change in our household’s atmosphere; I could tell something had happened. Moreover, soon after my mother obtained her license, I learned of the news; my father had impregnated another woman.
I had a hard time understanding this at the time, but I was filled with a bittersweet sadness. I felt as if I had just lost my father, but at the same time, I was excited to have a sister. As I would learn in my teen years, this woman whom my father had my sister with came from a rough place and struggled with drug addiction. As I turned 10 years old, my fears of losing my father were turned on their head. He began to re-integrate into my life, and he and my mother began to talk more.
Moreover, contrary to what many would have expected, the scandal of my father having my sister was perhaps the best thing that could have happened. The event was a turning point in my father’s life; he seemed more mature, steadier in his choices. From the moment forwards, he never looked back. He moved back in with us, and it seemed as if we returned to something resembling a regular family dynamic.
My father had a fortunate break at the paper mill and suddenly made a six-figure salary. We began to live more comfortably and soon after bought our first house. Despite the financial change, this time in my home life was not very peaceful. My sister was born soon after, and my father was gone a lot trying to help the other woman raise her. It was like this for a period of about a year before the other woman began to go off the deep end.
She began retaking drugs and tried to push my father out of her life. As I would learn later, she began to neglect my sister and emotionally abuse her. This was yet another turning point in my life, for as I turned 13, my parents began to pursue full custody of my sister to help her escape this life.
After a year full of legal struggle, my parents got what they wanted, my perfect sister. She adjusted well into our family, as she did not really have a parental presence before. From the moment she stepped into our home, I knew a single truth that would stand until this day; this girl would never be my stepsister. She was a part of our family now just as much as my brother.
I was a bipolar teenager, more than most. I had pent-up anger at my father from the years he was gone and at my mother for being gone so much during that time despite the fact she was doing it to get a better job for us. Looking back on it now, my parents did not deserve my anger. Despite their mistakes, they were trying to turn it around and create a better future for us.
Despite their flaws, my parents had always tried to put my siblings and me first, even if that meant that they went without. During the years that followed, my siblings and I were spoiled beyond reason, getting most anything we wanted. My parents seemed to have put their past behind them finally and were at peace. My siblings and I grew closer than most, rarely arguing as so many do.
I struggled to shake the parental persona I had adopted during my father’s absence and saw my siblings as my own children at times. I was overprotective of them at times, always feeling as if I had to be on guard for them. Perhaps I did not want them ever to have to go through some of the things I endured during my childhood. I could not shake the feeling that this time in our lives was limited, that we would return to the broken family we once were.
As it so often happens in this world, events like to repeat themselves. Entering my sophomore year of high school, my family and I went to eat at the same olive garden that they had announced my brother so many years ago. As fate would have it, my parents announced their third and final child together, a new baby brother. Despite my excitement, I found myself experiencing contrasting feelings about the situation.
Looking back on these times, perhaps there was a deep-rooted fear my father would leave us again due to past mistakes. Before I knew it, my next sibling was born. The immediate happiness of a child’s birth did not last long, for he was born with many health complications that impacted my family for months. His lungs were severely underdeveloped, and he had to be taken to hospital to hospital for weeks.
Many doctors feared he would not survive. We stayed with my Mimi and Poppie during this time, and I, for the most part, kept my siblings organized and watched over them. I grew closer with my siblings during this time, never really leaving the house despite the knowledge my great-grandparents could take care of them. Eventually, my new baby brother came home for the first time after months of fighting his health issues.
I first laid eyes on him at the age of 15 and fell in love at first sight. During this time, all my life pieces had seemingly fallen into shape. We were a happy family of six, and the only stress I endured was everyday life. It was like this for so long I felt as if it could not end. Alas, it ended as all things do in this world, and it ended with a diagnosis.
My Poppie was diagnosed with cancer when I was 18, at the beginning of my senior year. To say he was a third parent to me is an understatement; he raised me and influenced me in ways that words do not do justice. He was the constant presence in our lives that seemed unbreakable, the person who was always there to turn to over the years no matter what our family was going through. With a single line, I knew he would be gone.
The person hardest hit by this other than me was my mother, as he was her rock. Over the months that followed, it felt as if the foundation upon which our family was built began to crumble. My mother began to grow distant from my father, and there was an aura of sadness that hung over all of us.
My Poppie died at 9:31 on a Sunday night, in his home with me, my mother, and my Mimi by his side. His death hangs over me to this day. Losing him was the hardest thing I have ever endured. I tried to be there for my family as best as I could through it all. While we have healed, the scars of losing him run deep. In the months that have followed, my family has had its ups and downs, but we have stayed united through it all.
Much has happened since then. Years of events have passed. Perhaps one day I will be able to put the most recent happenings in my life into written form. For now, I am not ready to. I now stand here now, carved into the person I am today by my home throughout my life. I have many regrets and wishes, but I would not change anything about my childhood. I am flawed, but I am proud of who I am. Above all else, I am thankful for the home I have been given.
