Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Daily Story 57 - Looking Back, Part 1

(Breaking this one up into four parts since it's mostly just memories and it'll give me time to get more written so I don't keep falling behind... I hope.)

I honestly don’t know if there was ever a time when my parents could actually work as a team. Every time something big came up, they’d fight, and it usually ended the same way. Either Dad would win and Mom would spend the rest of the day sulking, or Mom would win, I would end up getting traumatized somehow, and Dad would have the job of damage control. They never really got the hang of compromising.

Dad was a total softy. He wanted nothing more than to keep me happy and safe, even if it meant lying to me and sheltering me from the world. Mom, on the other hand, kept no secrets. She wanted me to be honest and sensible, and she wanted me to learn by experience whenever possible. Dad worked with computers and kept the house’s technology up-to-date, and Mom was obsessed with history and the arts. Dad liked things to be clean all the time, Mom practically encouraged me to spill glitter all over the floor. It was really as though they were complete opposites.

Usually my parents could get along and their disagreements wouldn’t result in much more than angry glares shot at each other while they thought I wasn’t looking. Sometimes they’d turn I remember a few of the incidents that caused them to really go at it. There was the time I wanted a Nintendo, the big rock climbing trip that my dad thought was too dangerous for me, the time I asked why kids couldn’t watch R-rated movies… and of course, the night they realized I had really caught the Bastard’s eye. And when they fought, man, did they go at it. It scared the hell out of me.

I’ve asked a lot of people about Mom and Dad since I got home. I guess they really got along well before I came along. From what I can tell, they were a really good couple, and they were really in love. I guess their relationship got strained when they found out their firstborn son was a blue wolf, complete with a panic disorder and a mind that needed special attention, or maybe they just weren’t meant to be parents together. Either way, things really changed when mom and I got out of the hospital.

She really didn’t do too well when I was born, to be honest. Her body was just too weak or something, or it wasn’t built right, or something wasn’t in the right place… I dunno. It was hard on her, though. She had to stay in the hospital for three weeks, and I guess I was in the NICU for a few days. It wasn’t what I would call a happy first Christmas, although it wouldn’t have mattered to me since I can’t remember it anyway.

Everyone called me a survivor. Even now, people have this idea that I can endure just about anything, and I guess I can see why they say that. I mean, I’m not in the best place emotionally right now, but I’m still alive, and I can still be happy sometimes. I guess my little sister didn’t get that survival gene, though. Her little underdeveloped body just didn’t have the strength to survive a premature birth. Not that she didn’t have spirit, though. I mean, when I saw her in the hospital, she grabbed my finger so hard I thought she was going to cut off the circulation. She just didn’t want to let go, nor did I want her to. But in the end she was pulled away from us all, and Dad sent me to stay with my grandparents so he and Mom could mourn without leaving me in the dust. For the longest time after that, Mom and Dad hardly ever fought. I think they were just too tired.

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