(no subject)
I have this philosophy that summer is the only time of year that really matters, and everything else is in-between time.
During the school year, there's always the threat of rules and punishment to keep you in line. You're always busy with homework, or friend drama, and your decisions are always forced into those confines. The most vivid memories that I have of my school career amount to me, stuck in a classroom, with the world passing me. It's not that I don't like learning, I just hate the lack of freedom.
Summer, however, is the season where anything goes. You come back from every summer a little more grown up. You have experiences during summer that you can't have otherwise. It's such a wonderful season.
Summer, for me, has always been very important. My parents are divorced, which, in this world, isn't much of a shock. When they told me, after my initial panic attack (yeah, those again) I came to realize that it was a good choice for everyone involved. My parents not being together isn't a problem for me. My problem is that my dad, quite literally, lives half an ocean away. I get to see him, at most, three times a year.
For some people, that would be a-okay. I know people who don't have good relationships with their fathers, and people do have good relationships but wouldn't mind the space. For me, it's different. I've always been so close to my dad. So when he moved away, it absolutely crushed me. In reality, he moved to Hawaii because there was a better job market there at the time. But to me, it felt like abandonment. This was a time for me: I was just learning how to forgive my mom for the drug problems that she had when I was little, and I wasn't entirely sure how to not be angry with her without my dad's advice. Needless to say, I was very mad at everyone for a very long time. I didn't answer my dad's calls, which I realize now was a horrible thing to do. When I wasn't fighting with my mom, I was cooped up in my room.
In retrospect, I'd chalk most of the drama up to adolescents and hurt. But everything started changing the summer after 8th grade. I had my surgery, and then I flew to Hawaii to visit my dad for the first time since the divorce. I'm not sure what I expected, but what I found was a piece of my fragmented family. That was the first time I ever went to Molokai, and it was quite possibly the best summer of my life. I came back a little older, a little wiser, and without all of the angst that I'd had before.
During that trip, too, i realized exactly how hard it is to say goodbye to a parent that you know you're not going to see for another six months. It's a horrible feeling. Magnified even more by how close I am to my dad and how much I dearly love the islands. It's always been more of my home than California, and if it weren't for my mom or my friends, I'd stay here.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that having to pack up your stuff and leave your dad sucks. A lot. I usually spend the first half of the flight locked in the bathroom sniffling and feeling bad for myself. I only really have two principals that I live by: don't cry and don't freak out. Unfortunately, leaving Hawaii always makes me break those two rules.
So, this is a convoluted, stupid post with no real organization. But I'm upset, and I'm trying this new honesty thing, so here it is.
During the school year, there's always the threat of rules and punishment to keep you in line. You're always busy with homework, or friend drama, and your decisions are always forced into those confines. The most vivid memories that I have of my school career amount to me, stuck in a classroom, with the world passing me. It's not that I don't like learning, I just hate the lack of freedom.
Summer, however, is the season where anything goes. You come back from every summer a little more grown up. You have experiences during summer that you can't have otherwise. It's such a wonderful season.
Summer, for me, has always been very important. My parents are divorced, which, in this world, isn't much of a shock. When they told me, after my initial panic attack (yeah, those again) I came to realize that it was a good choice for everyone involved. My parents not being together isn't a problem for me. My problem is that my dad, quite literally, lives half an ocean away. I get to see him, at most, three times a year.
For some people, that would be a-okay. I know people who don't have good relationships with their fathers, and people do have good relationships but wouldn't mind the space. For me, it's different. I've always been so close to my dad. So when he moved away, it absolutely crushed me. In reality, he moved to Hawaii because there was a better job market there at the time. But to me, it felt like abandonment. This was a time for me: I was just learning how to forgive my mom for the drug problems that she had when I was little, and I wasn't entirely sure how to not be angry with her without my dad's advice. Needless to say, I was very mad at everyone for a very long time. I didn't answer my dad's calls, which I realize now was a horrible thing to do. When I wasn't fighting with my mom, I was cooped up in my room.
In retrospect, I'd chalk most of the drama up to adolescents and hurt. But everything started changing the summer after 8th grade. I had my surgery, and then I flew to Hawaii to visit my dad for the first time since the divorce. I'm not sure what I expected, but what I found was a piece of my fragmented family. That was the first time I ever went to Molokai, and it was quite possibly the best summer of my life. I came back a little older, a little wiser, and without all of the angst that I'd had before.
During that trip, too, i realized exactly how hard it is to say goodbye to a parent that you know you're not going to see for another six months. It's a horrible feeling. Magnified even more by how close I am to my dad and how much I dearly love the islands. It's always been more of my home than California, and if it weren't for my mom or my friends, I'd stay here.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that having to pack up your stuff and leave your dad sucks. A lot. I usually spend the first half of the flight locked in the bathroom sniffling and feeling bad for myself. I only really have two principals that I live by: don't cry and don't freak out. Unfortunately, leaving Hawaii always makes me break those two rules.
So, this is a convoluted, stupid post with no real organization. But I'm upset, and I'm trying this new honesty thing, so here it is.