(no subject)
Julia Solomon September 27, 2005
English 9H Mr. Thielman
Family Meetings
I hated Solomon family meetings. I never really got the point of them. Looking back, I guess there really wasn’t much of a point. But, this one was different. No one was laughing this time. This family meeting would be the one to change my life.
My initial response when my parents told me they were getting a divorce was “You’re joking, right?” I even laughed, expecting a comical response like “Darn, there’s no fooling you!” or “Of course we’re joking.” But, instead I got a “No, I’m not joking.” Suddenly my giggles turned into gasps for air because I was crying so hard. Although I was young, I knew what a divorce was. Vaguely I knew what a divorce was. I knew they were bad, so how could it be happening to me? I just wanted to be normal. And to me, having a divorced family was not in that category.
I was so young and naive, although I was crying; I didn’t understand the signifigence of it. A divorce. My friend Kate’s parents were divorced. But I thought it was different. I thought it was something like having an uncle who could speak fluent German, or a sister who could braid the coolest hairstyles. I thought it was something to brag about, after all, Kate bragged about it.
I called as many people as I could wanting to tell them my “news”, like it was something unimportant. I had the urge to tell people like a little girl would want to tell her friends if she had just gotten a brand new puppy. Except my parents marriage and a puppy were two completely different things, but I had yet to understand that.
Everything from then on is sort of a blur. I don’t remember my father packing his stuff and leaving. I don’t remember our last goodbye, or if I even did say goodbye to him. Knowing me, I probably didn’t. The next few months were trips to the therapist’s office and weekends spent at my cousin’s house.
Then, about three weeks before school would be starting (I would be starting third grade) my mom told me that herself, my sister and I would have to move. I was in shock. We had only moved to that house a year go, and I had already fallen in love with it. My sister practically expected it, and it made me mad that I didn’t see it coming.
Eventually, I got over the fact that we would have to move. I knew it was unavoidable. So, we began looking at houses. I don’t really remember how long this took, but it seemed like forever. Finally, we found this house that looked like a nice catch. White bricks, black shutters, two-car garage (although now, there would only be one car) and even a pool in the backyard. It seemed perfect. But there was one problem; it was in a different school district, even though it was exactly one street away from my old house… a five-minute walk. But, we decided to buy it anyways. So on my first days of third grade, I would know I wouldn’t be there for very long. In just a few months I would be living in a new house, switching schools, and moving into a new life.
On my first day of school, we went around the room saying our name and things that had happened to us over the summer. So, of course, me being young and stupid, when it was my turn I proudly projected “My name is Julia, and my parents got divorced.” Thank god I don’t remember what the look on my teachers face was. But, it’s not like I knew any better. After about a week, I started liking my class a lot, and especially my teacher, Mrs. Eisen. After a little while, I decided to tell her about my situation. She was shocked that from moving a street over I would have to switch schools. She came up with an idea for me to write letters to the school board, explaining my situation, hoping that maybe they would “let it slide.” So, I wrote letters, and letters, and letters. But I got no personal response. Of course I didn’t, who wants to listen to a third grader complain?
I remember my last day there. Everyone in the class made cards for me, and we said our goodbyes as we devoured homemade cup cakes from Mrs. Eisens kitchen. We all exchanged phone numbers, and when the bell rain, I took one long last look at Windermere and stepped onto the bus.
My family and I slowly started moving into our new house. Boxes and boxes filled with valuable and newspaper were brought in one by one. Mounds of furniture and electronics were put in place carefully.
By the time we were all moved in it was November. When I started my first day of school at my new school, it was November 4th, my birthday. I walk in and was introduced as a “new student” but to everyone else, the new girl. A girl named Emily helped me organize all of my folders. Everything seemed foreign and strange to me. I went back in the hall to say goodbye to my mother, but as I got out the door the image of her blurred from the tears falling out. I wanted to go home, but I didn’t even know where home was anymore.
When it was lunch, a girl named Abbie offered me the crust of her pizza only because I was “the new girl”. The whole day dragged by pretty slowly. Little by little the faces of everyone in that building became recognizable, and nothing seemed strange or foreign about it. I started to look forward to school so I could see my new friends. Phone calls from friends at my old school slowed down ‘til there were no more at all, and surprisingly, I didn’t mind. I don’t remember much else of the transition, but I know that things started to look up as time went on. I felt like one of the regulars in my class, I’d gotten used to my house, and I’d forgotten that a man had ever lived there in the first place.
English 9H Mr. Thielman
Family Meetings
I hated Solomon family meetings. I never really got the point of them. Looking back, I guess there really wasn’t much of a point. But, this one was different. No one was laughing this time. This family meeting would be the one to change my life.
My initial response when my parents told me they were getting a divorce was “You’re joking, right?” I even laughed, expecting a comical response like “Darn, there’s no fooling you!” or “Of course we’re joking.” But, instead I got a “No, I’m not joking.” Suddenly my giggles turned into gasps for air because I was crying so hard. Although I was young, I knew what a divorce was. Vaguely I knew what a divorce was. I knew they were bad, so how could it be happening to me? I just wanted to be normal. And to me, having a divorced family was not in that category.
I was so young and naive, although I was crying; I didn’t understand the signifigence of it. A divorce. My friend Kate’s parents were divorced. But I thought it was different. I thought it was something like having an uncle who could speak fluent German, or a sister who could braid the coolest hairstyles. I thought it was something to brag about, after all, Kate bragged about it.
I called as many people as I could wanting to tell them my “news”, like it was something unimportant. I had the urge to tell people like a little girl would want to tell her friends if she had just gotten a brand new puppy. Except my parents marriage and a puppy were two completely different things, but I had yet to understand that.
Everything from then on is sort of a blur. I don’t remember my father packing his stuff and leaving. I don’t remember our last goodbye, or if I even did say goodbye to him. Knowing me, I probably didn’t. The next few months were trips to the therapist’s office and weekends spent at my cousin’s house.
Then, about three weeks before school would be starting (I would be starting third grade) my mom told me that herself, my sister and I would have to move. I was in shock. We had only moved to that house a year go, and I had already fallen in love with it. My sister practically expected it, and it made me mad that I didn’t see it coming.
Eventually, I got over the fact that we would have to move. I knew it was unavoidable. So, we began looking at houses. I don’t really remember how long this took, but it seemed like forever. Finally, we found this house that looked like a nice catch. White bricks, black shutters, two-car garage (although now, there would only be one car) and even a pool in the backyard. It seemed perfect. But there was one problem; it was in a different school district, even though it was exactly one street away from my old house… a five-minute walk. But, we decided to buy it anyways. So on my first days of third grade, I would know I wouldn’t be there for very long. In just a few months I would be living in a new house, switching schools, and moving into a new life.
On my first day of school, we went around the room saying our name and things that had happened to us over the summer. So, of course, me being young and stupid, when it was my turn I proudly projected “My name is Julia, and my parents got divorced.” Thank god I don’t remember what the look on my teachers face was. But, it’s not like I knew any better. After about a week, I started liking my class a lot, and especially my teacher, Mrs. Eisen. After a little while, I decided to tell her about my situation. She was shocked that from moving a street over I would have to switch schools. She came up with an idea for me to write letters to the school board, explaining my situation, hoping that maybe they would “let it slide.” So, I wrote letters, and letters, and letters. But I got no personal response. Of course I didn’t, who wants to listen to a third grader complain?
I remember my last day there. Everyone in the class made cards for me, and we said our goodbyes as we devoured homemade cup cakes from Mrs. Eisens kitchen. We all exchanged phone numbers, and when the bell rain, I took one long last look at Windermere and stepped onto the bus.
My family and I slowly started moving into our new house. Boxes and boxes filled with valuable and newspaper were brought in one by one. Mounds of furniture and electronics were put in place carefully.
By the time we were all moved in it was November. When I started my first day of school at my new school, it was November 4th, my birthday. I walk in and was introduced as a “new student” but to everyone else, the new girl. A girl named Emily helped me organize all of my folders. Everything seemed foreign and strange to me. I went back in the hall to say goodbye to my mother, but as I got out the door the image of her blurred from the tears falling out. I wanted to go home, but I didn’t even know where home was anymore.
When it was lunch, a girl named Abbie offered me the crust of her pizza only because I was “the new girl”. The whole day dragged by pretty slowly. Little by little the faces of everyone in that building became recognizable, and nothing seemed strange or foreign about it. I started to look forward to school so I could see my new friends. Phone calls from friends at my old school slowed down ‘til there were no more at all, and surprisingly, I didn’t mind. I don’t remember much else of the transition, but I know that things started to look up as time went on. I felt like one of the regulars in my class, I’d gotten used to my house, and I’d forgotten that a man had ever lived there in the first place.