Looking Back: 1986
Mom met my step-dad through mutual friends. They dated for over a year, and we made frequent trips to west Texas to a tiny town called Quitque. I loved the two hour drive, because me and bubba would play games in the back seat. Our favorite was to lie in the space beneath the rear windshield, between the window and the back seat, and go flying forward when mom would tap the breaks. It's a small miracle we survived childhood. We got along so well during those times.
We hung out with our future step-brother, and thought he was the coolest. He and his dad lived in a sad two bedroom duplex, with white walls, white lineoleum, and white appliances. Everything was cheap and always dirty; partly because west Texas is in the desert, partly because two guys lived there and never cleaned. My future step brother was a huge KISS fan, and his bedroom walls were covered with posters of Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley, Paul Stanley, and the other guy. He had every album they ever made, and he thought I was a cool little kid because I listened to KISS on my Sony WalkMan. We shot baskets at the high school gym on the weekends, because future step-dad was a coach there. It felt nice to go unlock the gym ourselves and play HORSE as long as we wanted.
Mom and step-dad married in the living room of my aunt's house. I was 12 at the time, and everyone tiptoed around me, knowing I wasn't keen on having a step-dad. It felt wrong, all of it. I had such a clear image of what life was supposed to look like, and having step-parents wasn't in the picture. But neither was divorce. Funny how some things never change. But things were changing, and as much as I tried to resist, I grew to love my step-dad.
Life started to have some structure and I both resented it and craved it. Having been committed to gymnastics for half of my life, I found a common love of sports with him. He was a natural coach, and and encourager, both which I needed.
Mom and Rob decided to move out of the HUD home after marrying, and found a nice three bedroom home in a nicer neighborhood in the same school district.
My brother and I were thrilled to be living in a nicer home. We felt safer, yet oddly isolated. The kids didn't ride their bikes like they did in the HUD neighborhood. Neighbors didn't talk as much. It was lonelier.
The summer before my eighth grade year, something new appeared. An unwelcome sense of dread and fear. I would sit in the back seat with the bright evening sun in my eyes, feeling paralyzed. Utterly full of worry and sadness, but no words to express myself. I was afraid of going back to school. Having been a straight A student every year before with plenty of good friends, I was suddenly stuck. I remember staring into the distance, just hoping the awful feelings would suddenly disappear. Mom made me an appointment with a middle age male therapist, who insisted that she leave the room during our session. He sat on the couch next to me and stared back at me, making the sick feeling in my gut so much worse. He didn't help, but I wasn't one to give up so easily.
We hung out with our future step-brother, and thought he was the coolest. He and his dad lived in a sad two bedroom duplex, with white walls, white lineoleum, and white appliances. Everything was cheap and always dirty; partly because west Texas is in the desert, partly because two guys lived there and never cleaned. My future step brother was a huge KISS fan, and his bedroom walls were covered with posters of Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley, Paul Stanley, and the other guy. He had every album they ever made, and he thought I was a cool little kid because I listened to KISS on my Sony WalkMan. We shot baskets at the high school gym on the weekends, because future step-dad was a coach there. It felt nice to go unlock the gym ourselves and play HORSE as long as we wanted.
Mom and step-dad married in the living room of my aunt's house. I was 12 at the time, and everyone tiptoed around me, knowing I wasn't keen on having a step-dad. It felt wrong, all of it. I had such a clear image of what life was supposed to look like, and having step-parents wasn't in the picture. But neither was divorce. Funny how some things never change. But things were changing, and as much as I tried to resist, I grew to love my step-dad.
Life started to have some structure and I both resented it and craved it. Having been committed to gymnastics for half of my life, I found a common love of sports with him. He was a natural coach, and and encourager, both which I needed.
Mom and Rob decided to move out of the HUD home after marrying, and found a nice three bedroom home in a nicer neighborhood in the same school district.
My brother and I were thrilled to be living in a nicer home. We felt safer, yet oddly isolated. The kids didn't ride their bikes like they did in the HUD neighborhood. Neighbors didn't talk as much. It was lonelier.
The summer before my eighth grade year, something new appeared. An unwelcome sense of dread and fear. I would sit in the back seat with the bright evening sun in my eyes, feeling paralyzed. Utterly full of worry and sadness, but no words to express myself. I was afraid of going back to school. Having been a straight A student every year before with plenty of good friends, I was suddenly stuck. I remember staring into the distance, just hoping the awful feelings would suddenly disappear. Mom made me an appointment with a middle age male therapist, who insisted that she leave the room during our session. He sat on the couch next to me and stared back at me, making the sick feeling in my gut so much worse. He didn't help, but I wasn't one to give up so easily.
I LOVE this song. I had the tape in high school and would play it on the way home...
Comments
Taking care of 2 boys, aged 4 and 1.
It's all just a blur...
Ahh The Bangles. I wanted to be Susannah Hoff's...