LJ Idol Season 10, Week 16: Thunderclap
When you grow up in the middle of a storm, you eventually stop noticing that it's storming.
It's funny how children living in the same house can process events so differently. One child interprets situations negatively while another child interprets those same exact events as a positive experience.
My parents fought all the time. No, I guess I should take that back. There were moments of quiet. It wasn't a comfortable quiet though. There was tension in those quiet moments. You could feel it coursing through your veins, as if any unwarranted sound or movement would result in a sudden explosion.
Sometimes, that's exactly what happened.
Being the oldest of three siblings, I was usually tasked with taking care of the younger ones. Little arguments could be ignored, but once the voices were raised, I shuttled my brother and sister into one of our bedrooms, turned on some music, and had a dance party. They loved it. Sometimes there were cookies involved, which made them love it more.
For the record, I hate dance parties. Cookies, however, are still awesome.
The older we got, the less I could distract them with music and cookies. One group had to venture outside, weather permitting. Usually it was the kids. The adults could scream at each other inside without raising much alarm, but neighbors were more likely to hear if the screaming matches were held in public view.
I look back at my parents' marriage and saw the end result coming from a mile away. I didn't see the clouds gathering. They got married under stormy skies. There was never any sun. My brother, being the middle child, saw some sun in between the clouds. My sister, the baby, saw only sun.
The one thing that I didn't see coming, the one thing that exploded like a thunderclap in our lives, was when they made their decision to tell us about the impeding divorce.
Two weeks before Christmas.
My sister was eight years old. She still believed in Santa Claus.
We were called into the living room, asked to sit down, and told mom and dad had "something very important" to tell us. I distinctly remember glaring at my mother and saying, "No. Not this. Not now. Wait two weeks."
She didn't. They didn't. My father moved into his apartment the next day. That was one massive explosion I never saw coming.
It's funny how children living in the same house can process events so differently. One child interprets situations negatively while another child interprets those same exact events as a positive experience.
My parents fought all the time. No, I guess I should take that back. There were moments of quiet. It wasn't a comfortable quiet though. There was tension in those quiet moments. You could feel it coursing through your veins, as if any unwarranted sound or movement would result in a sudden explosion.
Sometimes, that's exactly what happened.
Being the oldest of three siblings, I was usually tasked with taking care of the younger ones. Little arguments could be ignored, but once the voices were raised, I shuttled my brother and sister into one of our bedrooms, turned on some music, and had a dance party. They loved it. Sometimes there were cookies involved, which made them love it more.
For the record, I hate dance parties. Cookies, however, are still awesome.
The older we got, the less I could distract them with music and cookies. One group had to venture outside, weather permitting. Usually it was the kids. The adults could scream at each other inside without raising much alarm, but neighbors were more likely to hear if the screaming matches were held in public view.
I look back at my parents' marriage and saw the end result coming from a mile away. I didn't see the clouds gathering. They got married under stormy skies. There was never any sun. My brother, being the middle child, saw some sun in between the clouds. My sister, the baby, saw only sun.
The one thing that I didn't see coming, the one thing that exploded like a thunderclap in our lives, was when they made their decision to tell us about the impeding divorce.
Two weeks before Christmas.
My sister was eight years old. She still believed in Santa Claus.
We were called into the living room, asked to sit down, and told mom and dad had "something very important" to tell us. I distinctly remember glaring at my mother and saying, "No. Not this. Not now. Wait two weeks."
She didn't. They didn't. My father moved into his apartment the next day. That was one massive explosion I never saw coming.