On the way to dinner tonight Michael asked if I wanted to go back to Rolla for Christmas to see my folks and his folks and then come home. I looked at him to see if he was kidding (Michael is totally full of shit and loves to string me along) and I even asked, “You’re kidding, right?” He said, “No, I’m serious, you know our parents are getting older and I just don’t want you to look back and be sorry that we didn’t go.” After much back and forth I had to explain that I know I should feel bad-but I don’t and that people are always posting on facebook how much they miss their parents and that I am supposed to cherish every moment with them. That would all be fine and well if I had warm fuzzy memories of my childhood. I don’t. I don’t hate my parents and I do appreciate the things they have done for me mostly in my adulthood trying to make up for the sucky childhood I had. I used to make a lot of excuses for them. They were young, we all grew up together, they didn’t have any example of what being a parent was. My Dad was shuffled from relative to relative was a child, and My Mom’s Mom left when my Mom was in 8th grade leaving my Mom to quit school and raise her siblings. Her Dad was career military and not the kind of Grandpa you could climb up on his lap. But the bottom line was my Dad was abusive and an alcoholic and my Mom was a Co-Dependant who stayed with him because she was afraid to try to have a life on her own. If you were a boy in my family you at least were on of the chosen ones-but the girls were basically useless. I spent my young adult life trying to put my childhood behind me and now that I have it is coming back to smack me in the face because my parents are getting old and are going to die eventually and I am going to have to resurrect all the old demons-AGAIN!
Leisa on The Things We Do For Love