I've had a few memories popping up over the last few days. Moments that didn't make sense at the time, and looking back, they still don't really make sense.
My parents, crazy they may be, tried the best they could when they got custody of me when I was 10 years old. Neither of them had any idea what to do with a kid my age. They probably would have been ok with a baby.. maybe, but that wouldn't happen for another 4 years or so.
One major memory of my childhood was that I was in trouble. All the time. If you were to ask me why, I wouldn't even know where to start. Josh and I were sitting on the couch the other night and I remembered one of my "punishments": I had to write sentences in a composition book, and once I was done with that, dad made me stand with my back against the wall, knees bent, arms out in front for 5 minutes because "that's what they made him do in the navy."
Another instance that mom and dad thought was SO funny: I got a post card in the mail from the student ambassador program (I'm 12, maybe 13 at this point) and I was ECSTATIC! Someone at the church I went to hosted a foreign exchange student and it was the coolest thing ever. I thought it was my ticket to a vacation away from my parents. I remember bringing it to them and practically begging them to check into it for me. They laughed, of course, and told me that everyone gets those and it wasn't anything to be excited over. Queue bummed out me, retreating to my room to sulk and listen to music. Which is what I did most of the time anyway. A few days later, another postcard shows up from the same address, only this time the recipient was "Kaetoovius Romjin Maxiumus." My cat. Dad went to their website and requested information to be sent to the cat to prove to me that they do, in fact, send that stuff to everyone.
Another gem of a memory was my mom, drunk at 1 or 2 AM, screaming at the TV during the World's Strongest Man competition. I hate you, Magus VonMagnussen, and it's totally not your fault.
One summer I was grounded from everything except for books and my discman. While it was boring at the time, it sparked my love of reading and I got to listen to a lot of CDs. I think that's the summer I started keeping a journal, too. Friends weren't allowed to call, I wasn't allowed to use the phone or go anywhere. I remember the insomnia of that summer and staring out my window watching people walk down my street and wishing I was out there, wishing I had someone to talk to. That was the summer I bought my first Henry Rollins book.
The kid me had no idea why my parents were so weird. The adult me finally figured out that half my parents "parenting" decisions were made to the best of their ability and the other half were result of them being condescending assholes.
I hope, for my sister's sake, that their parenting has improved. They're still really good at being condescending assholes.
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