I was born in the summer of 1977, yes, that makes me 41 years old. This is probably going to be the hardest part of this blog to write, do to who I am, what I do, and what I’ve been through. As I have sat in silence at times, trying remember my childhood and remember things I did when I was younger, it has always been difficult to remember. I have never known why until recently.
Within the past year, I have started to become more honest with myself. I know my childhood wasn’t great, my parents were separated and divorced when I was younger. It was always a struggle to live and have “things”. At the time I never understood what my part was in all this, but I knew that I had to hide my feelings and I did just that. Unfortunately it has carried into my adult life and has caused all kinds of issues.
I don’t have a lot of memories of my childhood. I remember some things being younger, around the age of 5 or 6, especially the times at my grandparents. I remember hiding in places, playing games with both my Grandma and my Grandpa. I remember being happy and just enjoying life. I remember wanting to just live with them. It was quiet, not hectic. My Grandma was always doing something inside the house and making tea for my Grandpa and I. I remember sitting in the garage for hours upon hours with my Grandpa, just working on stuff. His boat, fishing gear, cars, trucks, and just about anything that needed fixed or repaired, he could do it. He was a welder by trade, and could just fix anything!
I remember being there for hours and days on end, just watching him do things. I was there daily, and there were times where I was able to skip school and go fish with him. I don’t know how I convinced them to call me in sick to school to go fish, but it was the best times of my life.
There were also other fun times around the neighborhood. There were a group of about 20-30 kids in our neighborhood. We always were doing something. We all hung around together after school and during the summer. We played games until dark, outside. We went through several bikes each, because we were always outside riding our bikes and having fun. We didn’t get into video games like today. We were always playing street football, baseball out in our field, or we were down in the woods building forts and exploring, those are the things we did.
Don’t get me wrong, I can remember some of the things we did as kids, but at 41 years old, its’ kind of a blur at times. There is also some time that I just don’t remember. I have since learned why.
The next few things I am going to talk about is my life around the age of 8 years old is going to be very difficult for me. I am going to be transparent, and will do my best to get through it all. So, if you are actually reading this, just know it will be difficult, and there will be times that I just have to walk away from the keyboard in order to pray, calm and regain my composure. As I am working on typing this, the memories of that time frame are returning and I am full of emotions, anger, rage, sadness, bitterness, they all are creeping in. I want you to know that God is helping me through this, without Him, I am nothing.
When I was 8 years old, my parents divorced. I remember hugging my dad in the bedroom, with my younger brother. Him telling us that he loved us and that would never change. I remember he was dressed in his military BDU’s, and I think he had just gotten home from drill weekend. I faintly remember him getting a few items and then leaving out the door. I don’t recall much after that. I think I ran to my room and just cried. I don’t remember talking to my mom about it at all. As I sit here, I never remember her even talking to me about it again.
I had rage, I was angry that mom would kick dad out of the house like that and divorce him. I remember thinking many times, if I had just done better in school, or had been a better kid, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I didn’t feel loved by my mom nor my dad, at all. I felt completely abandoned. I remember leaving one day on my bike and riding out on the back Farmdale roads in the middle of nowhere. Just riding at age 8 or 9 thinking I just want to leave everyone. Of course, I didn’t, and I ended up coming home, but I was heartbroken and bitter.
My brother was two years younger than me. I never understood why, but from that point on, my brother was favored. He got all the clothes and shoes and games and whatever else he wanted. He was “babied” and instantly became the favorite child. I never understood why. He never got in trouble for anything. We both would do the same things, and I would be the recipient of harsh discipline and he would be free, no punishment. It always baffled me.
I loved playing football, and I was really good. I remember my brother no longer wanted to play football, so my mother would not allow me to play if my brother wasn’t going to play as well.
Many times over my childhood years, there were baseball games in which both I was playing on a diamond and my brother was playing on a diamond, I don’t ever recall seeing my mom at one of my games. I am sitting her now remembering how much that hurt in my childhood. I remember finishing games and then walking over to where my brother was playing to see my mom sitting there, watching his game. That was pretty hurtful as a kid. My dad just worked so much he wasn’t able to come to most games. He did show up a lot when he could. My grandpa also came to as many games as he could. I would see him walking from one ball field to the next, just to watch both me and my brother play. He always did that when he could. Saturday mornings, he would have his coffee and his chair and would go back and forth.
I remember my first year of kid pitch baseball. I was a pretty good hitter and on two different occasions during that season, I hit a ball over the fence for a home run. I remember being there and my coaches and team mates hugging me and giving me high-five’s. I was excited and happy. I also remember looking around for my mom, dad, grandpa or anyone. No one was there. It was heartbreaking. I was a hero for a moment, and no one was around to see it. Devastated is the only word that comes to mind. Even all these years later, I remember how I felt that day. I sit here almost to tears at remembering the feeling.
Michael's Story 