Nothing to See Here…

This is Amber.  Amber is a senior in college and her major is journalism.  Sometimes she sends me the writing assignments she does in school.  This time, I said I wanted to share the one she shared with my internet friends and she said I could share it with anyone I wanted so I picked you - THE ENTIRE INTERNET!  HA!  OK, realistically, I’m sharing it with just the two of you who visit me daily (you know who you are!) 

(Please, no one point out how many times I used some form of the word share in that last paragraph.)

She’s a good writer, I think.  Young still with lots of time to hone her technical and stylistic skills.  Maybe someday she’ll pay me minimum wage to proof read and edit her manuscript.  Maybe the closest I’ll get to writing for a living is having a daughter who does it (with a degree and everything!)

I couldn’t be more proud of her.  I think it’s amazing that this person - this fully formed, grown, thinking, self-sufficient adult came from ME, from my body - from my parenting.  I feel like there was a clerical error somewhere and before long someone will come along and say “Um, no… these wonderful, smart, beautiful daughters aren’t YOURS - yours are the screwed up ones who will be living with you for LIFE as a punishment for your bad parenting.  Give these other ones back… they belong to a much more qualified parent than you.”  But no, I get to keep them both and they are still mine even though they are so separate, so adult, so mature.

With no further ado, here’s the essay:

Christmas is Coming Two Times This Year

I knew right away that he was a newly single parent. As he and his small daughter sat in my section, he looked awkward, like he wasn’t used to doing this alone. When I approached the table he gave me a half smile. He was an average looking man, with mousy hair and sad brown eyes. His daughter, who looked to be about four or five, was jumping in, out, under, and in between all of the booths. She had the same brown eyes as her father, but hers were the comedy side of the theater masks. The father seemed exhausted. It was as if the weight of the world was on his back and he was doing all he could just to stay standing. His shoulders were literally sagging.

Whereas my usual waitressing routine consists of serving the guests (not customers!) their food, while throwing in a few corny jokes and lots of smiles, this day was different. As soon as he looked at me with his cellophane eyes, I felt connected to this man.

It was slow in the restaurant that day so I spent a lot of time at their table. The little girl and I became fast friends after I made numerous trips to meet her every Crayola need. She even invited me to accompany her and her father to the merry-go-round in the mall. Like a WWF wrestler, the girl jumped and hung on me. The father continually tried to get her to stop, to no avail. I explained to him that I didn’t mind and was in fact quite used to the treatment. Coming from a divorced family, I told him, I was a half-sister to six children, ranging from the ages of one to twelve. Hearing this, he paused, perhaps considering whether what he wanted to ask was appropriate. He then told me how he and the girl’s mother had recently divorced and how worried he was about his daughter.

“So I guess I just want to know,” he said. “Did you turn out all right?”

After priding myself on being such an astute judge of character (not only had I been right that he was a single parent but had even caught on to his anguish), I began to think seriously about this question. Had I turned out all right?

I remember sitting in the bathtub when my mom first told my sister and me that she and my father were no longer going to be married. I remember her reassuring us that we would still see daddy. Although I don’t remember exactly what I said, there is no way I will forget it. It is one of those stories that your family will never let you live down, similar to the time I asked what language people spoke in West Virginia. When my mom first told my sister and me about the divorce, Katie asked all of the typical questions: Why don’t you love each other anymore? When will we see daddy? Is it my fault? Me, on the other hand, asked the ever important, “So does that mean we get two sets of Christmas presents?” Now you may call it materialistic, but I call it pretty damn perceptive for a six-year-old. But hey, potato, potato, right?

Beyond just being a really disturbing representation of my character, this comment says a lot about divorce. So many parents stress out and hate themselves for getting a divorce, imagining the terrible effect it will have on their children. Although I am in no way advocating divorce and realize that it is a serious choice with serious consequences, personally I can say that there are worse situations. When I asked if I would receive two sets of Christmas presents, it wasn’t my six-year-old self not understanding the concept of divorce, because I did. Just as I understood that my parents screaming at each other every day wasn’t healthy, just as I understood that my dad sleeping on the couch every night wasn’t normal, and just as I understood that they were happier apart.

This isn’t to say that there aren’t negative effects to divorce. For example, I had to juggle two households while trying to lead an active social life. Without those two households, though, where would my overly dramatic sister run away to? An overbearing step parent also caused many fights and one trip to a family counselor (following through isn’t one of my parents’ strong suits), but without that step parent I wouldn’t have three little sisters who I adore more than anyone else in the world. And really, what family doesn’t have their problems?

Maybe I felt so connected to that father in the restaurant because I saw my own parents in him, the sadness with which they looked at me when they “broke the news”. And maybe I saw myself in that little girl. She wasn’t thinking about the absence of her mom; she was excited about the day she got to spend with her dad. So in response to that father’s question, who just happened to sit in my section that day, I think I did turn out all right, and maybe even stronger because of it. And for all of you curious readers, I do get two sets of Christmas presents. And two sets of birthday presents at that.

The article she wrote is posted here exactly as she wrote it, but there is one inaccuracy… Amber mentions how we went to family counseling once.  She only recalls one appointment but there were, in fact, more than that.  A couple of them were without the children, but the kids each went twice - once without their step-dad and once with him (and me - we had one full group session).  Anyway, it seemed important to offer up that little correction, especially since my follow-through skills were being called into question.  The rest of it is accurate (the screaming and fighting, the separate sleeping arrangements, and mostly the happier-afterwards parts.).  It’s also true that I broke the news to them alone - their dad refused to have any part in it since I was the one pursuing the divorce. Oh, and yes, her sister, Katie, is quite dramatic.  haha

I’m in New York next week, leaving around 4AM tomorrow morning.  No clue how much I’ll be around, maybe more, maybe not at all.  Time will tell.  Don’t miss me too much.  Oh, hell - miss me too much, will ya?  You know how I hate this traveling business….