THE NIGHTMARE MARRIAGE
My parents met back in 1984 and dated for only a few months before they split up. I was 12 when I realized that I was born in March, and their anniversary was in November. Things made a lot more sense at that point. They didn’t get married because of love; they got married because of me. I was an accident, and I blamed myself for their volatile marriage for years. It’s strange because I am not sure how I was so oblivious to it before this point, but they never even got along, much less loved each other. I do not remember them showing each other affection, ever. I remember my dad being gone for work all of the time, and I remember that we didn’t have a lot of money, and he was always mad at mom for spending any.
Our house was small, but it was home. We lived in Browns Summit, NC, when I was a child, and we lived there until I was in the 3rd grade. My teachers always told me how smart I was, and school was relatively easy for me. Sadly, all of that changed in 3rd grade.
I was a Girl Scout and enjoyed taking trips with my troop. The weekend my life was flipped completely upside down, I was at camp. I remember the canvas tent with two twin beds and bookshelves for us to put our things on. I remember putting my Teen Spirit deodorant on that shelf and being proud of myself for packing deodorant! I remember the smell of the tent, and I hated that smell, but I loved the freedom of being away “on my own” and away from my family.
That weekend was cut short when my mom arrived to pick me up a day early. I was confused, and I packed my stuff up, completely unaware of what was happening. I never went back home, and my parents were officially separated. I was far too young to understand what that meant, and I don't remember knowing anyone whose parents had split up, so this was brand new territory for me. I don’t remember being sad, just very confused.
Years later, I learned that my mom had come home to find our house ransacked. Furniture was flipped over, holes had been punched into the walls, and it looked as if we had been robbed. She went into the master bedroom, where she found my dad sitting on the bed, reading the bible, and holding a shotgun. Rightfully so, she was terrified. My sister was with her, and she grabbed what she could and left, stopping to pick me up on the way to stay with her family.
We moved into the bonus room over the garage at one of my mom’s best friends' houses, and we lived there for several months. I don’t remember sleeping in that house, which I know I did! I remember doing dances in our free time to Bruce Springsteen's “Streets of Philadelphia”, which was the saddest song! Mom, my sister, and I would go to dinner every night to let their family have time alone, and we took advantage of the five sandwiches for $5 at Arby’s A LOT!
Knowing what I do now, I am so grateful that my mom tried hard to keep life as “normal” as possible. I really didn’t know much about what was going on, or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t see my dad much, and that wasn’t weird. Dad was gone a lot anyway, and this kind of felt like a really long, fun sleepover! I think we stayed there until the end of my 3rd grade year in school, but I can’t remember if that is what happened or not. Once the school year ended (I think), we moved in with my great-grandma in a little town called Elkin. I realize that not everyone has the luxury of growing up knowing their great grandparents the way that I did, but I did. I called her Grandma Grandma and man, did she love us big!
Being at her house meant several things, one of which was Little Debbie Pecan Spinwheels. I don't remember her eating any of them, but she always had them. She knew how much I loved them, but I hated the little pecan pieces inside. She would unroll my pinwheels, pick all of the pecan pieces out, and roll it back up for me to eat. That is love! We also played outside a lot at her house. Catching fireflies in the yard is a vivid memory. There were always so many fireflies there.
We also built a lot of “cities” in her driveway. My mom had read us a book called Roxaboxen. The story is about kids that build a city that they name Roxaboxen. We used sticks and rocks to outline our homes and streets. We used recycles and what we could find in her carport for furniture and various home goods, and we would play for hours in her shady driveway. My sister and I didn’t get along much, ever, but we did when we played Roxaboxen.
I have other memories from her house too, but we didn’t live there long. Mom found a one-bedroom apartment in Elkin, and we moved in before school started. We had nice neighbors, and we loved to roller skate and ride bikes in the flat parking lot. I had no idea at the time that we were living in low-income housing. Mom gave us the bedroom, and she turned the living room into her bedroom. That still didn’t seem weird; I actually remember thinking my mom was cool for doing that! Who has a big bed in their living room? We did, and that seemed so fun. I don’t remember the one bathroom being a problem, and I don't remember eating many meals there.
I do remember turning the closet into my own little fort. My sister kicked a LOT, and I couldn’t stand it. So I put blankets and pillows on the floor of the closet and slept with the door closed. While I thought that was cool and loved having a space that was “mine”, my dad didn’t agree with me. When he saw that I was sleeping in the closet, he “took my mom back”. Or at least that was the version of the story I heard at the time. After less than 6 months in Elkin, we moved back into a new townhouse with my dad in Greensboro.
With another new house and another new school, I was getting used to moving around. I liked this house. Dad and I watched thunderstorms out the back sliding glass door of the living room on many occasions. We loved riding our bikes on the sidewalks that were running throughout the neighborhood, and there was a place next door that had so many fruit trees.
It was at this house that the irritation of having a little sister really sank in. She copied every single thing that I did, and it drove me crazy. I took every chance I had to torture her. I slept on the top bunk, and I would pick the popcorn off the ceiling. When I had a handful of ceiling plaster, I would lean over & whisper her name. She would look up at me, and I would drop it in her face. I told her once that I knew there was no way that she could climb this big tree outside, and she did it to prove me wrong. I convinced her to climb to the very top, and she got stuck. My dad had to climb up and get her, and he was not happy with me! Life was oddly normal again. My mom and dad were no longer separated, dad was around a lot more, and things were going well at school. I was a straight A student, had one of the best Science projects at the science fair, and got 2nd place in the DARE essay contest!
Mom & Dad renewed their vows at a little church and bought a house for us to move into in Summerfield. I was so excited about the new house. It meant that I finally didn’t have to share a room with my sister anymore! I don't remember how old I was when we moved into that house, but I think I was in the 6th grade. Looking back on things now, that vow renewal is the only time I remember seeing my parents kiss or hug. As a child, that was just how marriage looked. I do remember seeing the parents of my friends being affectionate and thinking, “What is wrong with them?” It felt fake and forced, and I was never very comfortable with public displays of affection.
We loved our neighbors and had friends up and down the street. It wasn’t a neighborhood, but since we lived so rural, everyone knew everyone. We started going to a church close by, and I was active in GAs (Girls in Action) and the Youth Group. I took several mission trips with that youth group and made a lot of friends. While I “6th grade dated” a lot of the guys in my youth group, I was just one of the guys. I broke my ankle playing basketball with the guys on a mission trip in Maine. I loved church, and that was a good thing because we were there a lot. Being there meant having fun with my friends, and being at home meant feeling uncomfortable because of the constant tension.
Mom and Dad were together for 13 years before the marriage came to an end. The end was very ugly, and I remember thinking, “How can two people hate each other this much?” My mom moved me into the master bedroom with her, and my dad took over my room. I would lay awake at night and listen to my dad unpack boxes that my mom spent all day packing. They argued nonstop, and I couldn’t wait for it to just be over with.
I was so glad that I had so many friends on our street because I could go play outside at someone's house and get away from the yelling. I wish that my parents' divorce was the worst memory of that time frame, but I lost three grandmas as well. My Memaw had been sick for years. Wheelchair bound and unable to speak, I didn’t know her well. But I remember my mom being so sad when she passed. I don’t remember the order in which they passed, but I also lost my Grandma Grandma and my Nana. Grandma Grandma was Memaw's mom. Memaw was my mom’s mom. My mom’s dad was my Papaw, and his mom was my Nana.
I have just as many happy childhood memories at my Nana’s house that I had at my Grandma Grandmas. Nana has lots of land and a huge garden. Spending a day at Nana’s almost always meant biscuits made from scratch and fresh jelly from her cabinet full of goodies she made and canned. I spent a lot of time with my cousins at Nana’s house. We would disappear into the pastures for hours! Sometimes, we would be in the barn, jumping onto hay bales. Sometimes, we would walk down to the creek that ran under her driveway and splash around. Sometimes, we would see who could hold onto her electric fence the longest! Whatever we were doing out there wasn’t safe, but it was fun, raised in the country fun! Losing Nana and Grandma Grandma so close together felt like I lost my childhood. Those 2 women saw no fault in me. They loved me always with zero conditions. They were always excited to see me, and even when I was doing things I shouldn't be, they were kind and calm. Both of their husbands died before I was born, so I didn’t know my great-grandfathers. I heard lots of cool stories about them both, but all I ever knew either of them to be were single women who had the strongest faith in God and were capable of anything.
Both of their deaths rocked me. It was the first time I had experienced death, and I was devastated. It was confusing to see my mom so sad and know that all of the happy times spent with them were now just memories. Before I had time to process all of it, my parents were getting divorced. My life was crumbling around me, and it would get so much worse before it got better.
The divorce was horrible. My sister and I moved into an apartment with my mom after what felt like years of living in the master bedroom with my mom. My sister and I were back to sharing a room again, and we had visitation with my dad every other weekend. I went to my dad’s to visit and saw the house I had loved... empty. No furniture, no food, no kids; he had nothing left. When I think about all of this now, I feel manipulated. I feel like I was forced to make a decision that no child should ever have to make, and I moved back in with my dad so that he wouldn’t be alone. I knew how much it hurt my mom, and I hated that I disappointed her. I didn’t want to hurt her; I just wanted it to be “fair”.
Moving back in with Dad also meant that I got my room back; I was away from my annoying little sister more than I was with her, and I had freedom from my mom, who I believed was pretty strict. However, that freedom came with a price. My dad was never at home, and I spent a lot of time in that house that I loved, alone in the middle of nowhere. I had to grow up lightning fast and learn to care for myself when he wasn’t around. This was happening in the year 2000, and computers were not something we even knew about in small town NC! We didn’t have the internet to keep us occupied, and I was still making mixed tapes from the radio to listen to my favorite songs! Being alone was hard. I ate a lot of Chef Boy R Dee straight out of the can and watched a lot of TV. VH1 Pop-Up Video and TRL were some of my favorite shows, but I also watched Unsolved Mysteries and Rescue 911. I am pretty sure that watching those shows night after night while being home alone is a huge reason why I have insane anxiety issues. Thanks a lot, William Shatner!
I was 14, and suddenly, I had to be an adult. It wasn’t just about taking care of myself. I became the ear for my dad when he was at home. He would go on dates with new ladies and go out with his friends; then, he would come home and tell me all about his adventures. He told me a lot of things about my mom, my grandparents, and my family as well. Things that a kid shouldn’t know, and things that I spent decades believing were true, all of which painted my mom out to be a monster. While I hadn’t known much about my parents’ separation before, I was being caught up on the daily. I believed that my mom was to blame for everything, and that is exactly how he wanted it. The more he told me, the further I grew from my mom, and the closer I felt to my dad. I didn’t realize until a few years ago that a lot of the stuff he told me wasn’t true.
Some of the “adult information” that was shared with me…
He told me that my mom had him “committed”, and I wasn’t even sure what that meant. He told me that my mom had him arrested and put into a mental hospital when she left years ago and that she did it to keep him from seeing me and my sister.
When I asked my mom about this, she painted a very different picture. Her story, however, was harder for me to believe. My dad may not have been around much when I was little, but there was no way what she said was true; my daddy wasn’t capable of it. She picked me up from Girl Scout camp and wouldn't take me home because she was scared. My dad ransacked the house, flipping furniture and punching holes in the walls. She found him in their room, reading his bible, with his shotgun in his lap. Unsure of what would happen next, she called the police and picked me up from camp, fearing what would happen to me if he got to me first.
I refused to believe that was true. There had to be some logical explanation for his irrational behavior. Certainly, my mom is just being dramatic, and this can’t be the real story. I guess that means Dad’s version is the truth, and my mom is a liar.
He told me that my mom’s dad cheated on my Memaw at our house. We went out of town for the weekend, and Mom gave her dad the keys to our house so he could sleep with his “girlfriend”. My Memaw was wheelchair bound and bedridden from multiple strokes and severe diabetes. Her best friend was his new “girlfriend”, and according to my dad, they were sleeping together in earshot of my Memaw at the very end of her life. He told me that Memaw told him that she could hear them and that Mom gave them the keys to our house to have a weekend away together while we were out of town.
Several years later, my Papaw married my Memaw's best friend. I loved her dearly and knew her better than I ever knew my Memaw. She seemed to make my Papaw happy, but clearly, that cheating rumors had to be true, right?
He told me that the divorce was because my mom had multiple affairs, one of which was with a married deacon in our church. According to him, this affair had become so public that our family was asked to leave the church that I had grown up in. He told me that he followed her one day and caught her red-handed with one of her best friends’ husbands.
Man, I remember thinking, “How awful is my mom?”
As an adult, I have learned that isn’t the actual story, and most of the “details” have been manipulated to make her look as bad as humanly possible and for my dad to look like the ultimate victim.
These conversations are not conversations that I should have had as a 14-year-old girl.
At 14, I got my period, started cheerleading, and had my first real relationship. My dad should have been encouraging me to build and strengthen my relationship with my mom. This was a time in my life when I needed my mom more than ever, and he was taking every single opportunity to badmouth her and drive a wedge further and further between her and me.
The nightmare that was my parents’ marriage may have been over, but it was just the beginning of the nightmare that would be my youth. Mom was my dad’s second wife, and it wouldn’t be long before he had a third.
