E(motional)state Sale
It wasn’t the best of times, because my parents thought it was the worst of times. On occasion we kids would get the unshakeable
feeling that for my parents, sharing a living space with their seven children was an inconvenient obligation, a self-imposed imposition
brought on by their own sensual and impulsive actions. That’s not to say that I felt unloved as a child, and facts remain quite to the
contrary; for the most part of my childhood, home was my sanctuary. Within the walls of our home I could hide from schoolyard
bullies, shy away from girls that had no interest in me, and hope for the onset of puberty and the social salvation that I imagined it
would bring. Just as it is with most of the good things in life, this sacred asylum came at a high price, and the cost of my emotional
room and spiritual board was that of living with my parents.
Watching my parent’s attitude regarding discipline spiral from a frustrational tailspin into a desperate kamikaze nose dive was
unsettling. It typically ended in a long and arduous lecture from Dad, his chosen (but not proven) method of re-establishing dominion
over us, or in Mom’s case, a slamming of every cupboard door, followed by a passionate exit in the family van, engine redlined and
clutch popped for maximum angry-tires-squealing effect. We were not bad kids, and we almost never got into trouble outside of the
house. People thought we were great kids, and told my parents that all the time, members of our church, teachers at school, even
their own friends noticed how well-behaved we seemed to be. That is why we were dumbfounded when one night my father gathered
us together as if for a routine lecture on being better children and doing our chores with a smile, but instead made an announcement
that would forever affect our lives. We were lined up according to age (mine being twelve) in the tiled entryway to our ranch style
home in Alpine Utah, the heat of the track lights above broiling our skulls. Mom sat morosely to one side with the baby in her lap,
and Dad glared at us with hands on hips, then opened the lecture with his signature burdened sigh. His was a poor man’s imitation
of Lee Marvin, the wannabe drill sergeant addressing his not-so-dirty baker’s half dozen.
“Your mother and I have been considering the situation in this house, and we have come to a decision.” With that he paused. Since
that day I have always wondered if his reason for pause was that he was debating whether or not to say the words he had prepared.
It is the hope that he truly felt the words were for our common good that allows me to forgive him for choosing to voice them.
“Since we cannot seem to find happiness together as a family, maybe we can each find our own happiness if we go our separate
ways.” He paused again, just long enough for the ugly and unspoken word of divorce to ripple the surface of my mind’s once calm
pond.
“Your mother and I have decided to sell everything we own, including the house, and divide the money equally amongst us all, and
find new families to live with.” Having declared the end of our family, our father stood before us in silence. My head was not the only
one that bowed with regret. Shoulders hanging heavy with grief, our eyes blurred with tears that were soon dripping to the tiles
beneath our feet. To date, it marked the single most painful moment of my life, and very few moments since have brought on the
same sense of absolute despair. The crushing weight of guilt and failure was breathtaking; I could feel it pressing down on me like a
dark hooded cloak, making it hard to think or speak or even breathe, and I felt a sickness seep into my stomach.
“Do you have anything to say?” My father broke the silence with his incredulous question. He was apparently expecting a response
to his life-as-we-know-it ending revelation.
“We’re sorry, we’ll all try harder; we don’t want to go away.” David, the oldest among us, had found his voice, teaching me that there
are no sibling rivalries in foxholes.
“Yeah, we’ll do our chores.” Dani added. Her voice was meek, and I think it broke my heart. I found myself mustering what meager
strength I had left within my soul.
“We won’t fight anymore, and we’ll try harder to get along.” It was all I could come up with, and even as I said it I felt helpless. Wasn’t
this bigger than dirty dishes and bickering? I wanted to know what more could we do as kids to make our parents happy, but I was
afraid to ask, perhaps for fear of being incapable of making it happen.
“I think it’s too late for trying, we have already tried and tried to teach you but we have failed. This is the best way for all of us to be
happy.” His voice was soft, but his tone was final, and the topic was closed; Dad walked down the dark hallway to his office and
closed the door quietly.
That left us alone with Mom, who sat there crying softly with the baby now crawling happily at her feet. “You wouldn’t listen, and now
it has come to this. All those times we begged you to do your chores, to stop fighting, to just be happy; this is the reason why. Your
father and I knew it might come to this if you didn’t change and try harder.” Her voice was a high-pitched whisper, and I recognized it
as the same voice I had heard coming from her when grandpa died, only the words were not of comfort this time. “Get your pajamas
on, brush your teeth, and go to bed. There is nothing more to discuss.”
That night the kisses and hugs were more earnest than they ever had been, our little hearts eager to demonstrate our sincere
devotion to one another in hopes that once we were in bed, Mom would run the length of the house, swing open the door to Dad’s
office, and declare our family back on track. I lay in bed staring up into the darkness above me, awaiting the sweet thunder of her
footsteps in the upstairs hall. It never came, and I drifted off to sleep alone and miserable, tears trailing their way to my pillow.
By the time I wandered up to the kitchen to forage for food in the morning, Dad had already left, hopefully just for work. I ate in
humble silence, and without my usual cardboard Berlin Wall of cereal boxes, knowing that Mom didn’t like it when we divided the
breakfast table into the demilitarized zones and no-man’s-lands of sibling rivalry. I finished up and went outside to look for someone,
anyone to spend some time with. David and Dani were sitting on the trampoline, and as I approached I noticed they were as heavily
burdened as I was.
“Did Dad go to work, or is he…?” My question trailed off, not wanting to put the words out there and admit to my fears.
“Yeah, he left without saying a word to us, but we heard him tell Mom he would be back later this afternoon.” David said as I climbed
up to sit near them both.
“Do you think they mean it? Are we going to sell everything and move to other houses with other people?” I asked, holding back
tears.
Dani spoke, “I heard Mom telling Dad they could talk to Michael’s teacher to see if she would take him, and I think she meant adopt
him. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t mean it, would they?” She looked from David to me and back again, desperate for answers
that we didn’t have.
“Mom hated being adopted, why would she do that to us? I didn’t think we were being that bad. Do you think they still…” I choked
on tears before I could finish my thought about Mom and Dad not loving us.
“Let’s be real good, play with the little kids and do our chores. They will change their minds when they see we are trying.” David was
the oldest, and in my eyes the smartest (even thought I would never had told him that), so his plan made sense to me.
We spent most of that week outside, running happily and laughing loudly with the younger kids, knowing Mom would see and hear us
as we swam in the pool, jumped on the trampoline (taking turns), and loved each other with great gusto. We did our chores and ate
our meals without a fuss. We made quite a show of joyful behavior in the front yard each afternoon when Dad pulled into the
driveway, but he would head straight into the house and close the door to his office behind him.
One night, after another uncomfortably quiet dinner, Mom and Dad took the baby and drove away, leaving us to wonder as to their
destination and the purpose for their outing. As we were heading down the hall to the kitchen in search of something sweet to eat,
we passed Dad’s office and stopped at the sight of a large piece of poster board standing upright on his desk, leaning against the
wall. Across the top in two lines of text, written in bold, black, permanent marker were the words: “FAMILY SALE: EVERYTHING
MUST GO!” Underneath this was a list of our possessions; major appliances, furniture, artwork, books, and everything else of value,
including the big blue van and Dad’s Volkswagen Rabbit. I don’t remember eating a snack that night.
The next morning I woke to find that the sale sign was not out front yet, so our family was still together for the moment. I ate my
breakfast in silence, praying for the courage I would need to fix my family that morning. I was determined to confront my father, to
plead our case before his court, and to beg his forgiveness. If I could sincerely convey our collective desire to be better kids, he
would change his mind and rip that horrid sign into pieces, forgetting the whole affair.
I finished my cereal and cleaned up after myself like a good child. My feet were heavy as I trudged my way down the hallway to Dad’s
office. He was sitting at his desk doing paperwork. A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed before I mustered up the ability
to speak.
“Dad?” My throat tightened as he set down his pen and looked at me without a word of acknowledgement. “We are sorry, we will try
harder. We want to stay together, and we will be happy, we really will. Tell us what we need to do and we will do it.”
“Matthew, it’s too late, I told you that. You should have tried harder before it got to this point.” Dad sighed and picked up his pen
and went back to his paperwork as I started to cry while standing in his doorway.
After a few moments of sniffling with no reaction from Dad, I left our house to seek comfort next door at my friend Cameron’s. We
played Tombstone City on his new Texas Instruments TI99 for an hour before the sadness of my father’s cold rejection crept in again
and my eyes started to water.
“Are you crying because I won again?” Cameron smirked, but the smirk disappeared when he saw a pain more depressing than
video game defeat in my eyes. “Matt, are you okay?”
“No…” I blubbered, jumping up and running out of the room. I made it out to Cameron’s garage before falling to my knees, bawling
and shaking like the scared little boy that I was. Cameron, to his credit, knelt beside me and without a word put his arm around my
shoulders. It was the second time that year he had been with me as I cried my eyes dry, the first being the morning my grandfather
died.
I stopped crying and wiped my eyes on my shirt. Cameron ran into the house, returning shortly with two fudgsicles. We enjoyed the
cold treat sitting in Cameron’s garage on the two truck tire inner tubes that his family had taken down to Lake Powell on their yearly
summer trip. We had inflated them just the other day with plans to take them over to the pool at my house, but Cameron’s dad had
brought home Tombstone City, and instead we spent several hours playing the new game. I thought about that, about Lake Powell,
and about all the things Cameron had that I didn’t; an RV, two horses, a dirt bike, OP brand clothes, and an extra fridge in the
basement filled with Dr. Pepper. Added to these things was the fact that Cameron and his family seemed to have a lot of fun
together. I decided that if my family truly did split up, I was going to live with Cameron.
“My Dad and Mom have decided to sell the house and everything in it, then divide the money and split us all up to live with new
families. Can I come and live with you?” I said it so matter-of-factly that I don’t think Cameron even wondered why my parents would
do such a thing.
“I’ll ask my Mom and Dad, but I’m sure they will say yes, they like you a lot.” Cameron said.
“How much do you think its worth?” I pondered aloud, staring out the garage and across the yard at what I was already considering
to be my old house.
“I’d say about a hundred thousand dollars.” Cameron replied casually, as if he bought and sold property every day.
“That means I’ll probably get like ten thousand dollars, even more if you count the money from selling all the stuff in the house, like
the stereo, the books, and the art.” I mused aloud, as my mind started spending. “I am going to buy two new dirt bikes, one for me
and one for you.” I said.
“Cool, thanks! You can sleep in my room on the water bed.” I had always wanted a water bed, and every time I slept over at
Cameron’s, I called dibs on his.
We passed the rest of the morning in the garage, planning a shopping spree with the money that just a few hours before I had hoped
to never see. I ate lunch with my new family, drinking Dr. Pepper instead of Kool-Aid. Things were looking up until I wandered back
over to my old house. I found my brother and sister on the front porch with my mother. From the looks on their faces, I could tell that
they were discussing the situation that I had already come to terms with, having moved on and chosen a new family in the process.
“You guys need to do something. Your father has made up his mind and I don’t know if you can change it, but you won’t know unless
you try.” My mother was saying as I approached.
“I tried this morning, and he said it was too late. I did my part; someone else can try if they want.” I suddenly felt guilty for the happy
way in which I had spent the last few hours, and this was my attempt at emotionally scrubbing my hands clean.
Mom was enraged at my words. “So that’s it? You think you did your part and that’s all you have to do, leaving it to someone else?
Is that all our family is worth, one try? Why don’t you all try together as many times as it takes, instead of alone and just once? Isn’t
this all happening because you can’t work together to be happy?” She stood and stormed inside with a huff, leaving us bobbing in
the wake of her reproach.
It was decided that we would collectively apologize, do our best to seem penitent, and promise to try harder. It was more of the same,
but it was all we could come up with. That night we made our unified attempt by calling Mom and Dad to the same place where it had
all started at the beginning of the week. We voiced our apologies, tried to look remorseful, and made our promises to try harder. I
was still not convinced this was the best course of action, because I was still torn between making a go of it with my real family and
riding my new dirt bike around Lake Powell every summer with my new family next door.
Dad was non-committal, making no promises to stay together, while saying that he would keep the “FAMILY SALE” sign on his desk
for the time being. The future of the family seemed to be in our own hands for the moment, but I was not sure that the pressure was
worth missing out on the chance to fill my pockets with cash and move next door to live with Cameron and his pressure-free family.
The next week passed without further mention of splitting up and going our separate ways. We did our chores, played together
happily, and the summer passed into fall. Eventually we slipped back into the old familiar family pattern of bickering, avoiding chores,
and being lectured on a regular basis, surrounded by moments of typical family happiness and memory making. I did not notice
when the sign was taken down from Dad’s desk, and although it was no longer in sight, I was not sure he had actually thrown it away.
I lived in constant fear of its reappearance. Dad and Mom never again mentioned their plan to disband the family, and on the
surface it was as if they had never threatened us with such an emotionally charged and tragic punishment. We siblings have spoken
very little of it, and it easily ranks among the lowest of moments in my life.
Like most people do, as I grew older, I subconsciously based the majority of my self-worth on my childhood experience. While I don’t
blame my parents outright for my long battle with low self-esteem, I cannot entirely dismiss them from indictment. As a father now
myself, I find it impossible to threaten my children with abandonment simply because they bicker and hate their chores. I do not hold
myself above reproach, however, because over the years I have wondered whose behavior during that week was more appalling,
that of my parents for devaluing their young children with the threat of a family divorce, or mine for being so easily swayed into
abandoning my family’s sinking ship for what appeared to be a finer and more smooth sailing vessel next door.
It wasn’t the best of times, because my parents thought it was the worst of times. On occasion we kids would get the unshakeable
feeling that for my parents, sharing a living space with their seven children was an inconvenient obligation, a self-imposed imposition
brought on by their own sensual and impulsive actions. That’s not to say that I felt unloved as a child, and facts remain quite to the
contrary; for the most part of my childhood, home was my sanctuary. Within the walls of our home I could hide from schoolyard
bullies, shy away from girls that had no interest in me, and hope for the onset of puberty and the social salvation that I imagined it
would bring. Just as it is with most of the good things in life, this sacred asylum came at a high price, and the cost of my emotional
room and spiritual board was that of living with my parents.
Watching my parent’s attitude regarding discipline spiral from a frustrational tailspin into a desperate kamikaze nose dive was
unsettling. It typically ended in a long and arduous lecture from Dad, his chosen (but not proven) method of re-establishing dominion
over us, or in Mom’s case, a slamming of every cupboard door, followed by a passionate exit in the family van, engine redlined and
clutch popped for maximum angry-tires-squealing effect. We were not bad kids, and we almost never got into trouble outside of the
house. People thought we were great kids, and told my parents that all the time, members of our church, teachers at school, even
their own friends noticed how well-behaved we seemed to be. That is why we were dumbfounded when one night my father gathered
us together as if for a routine lecture on being better children and doing our chores with a smile, but instead made an announcement
that would forever affect our lives. We were lined up according to age (mine being twelve) in the tiled entryway to our ranch style
home in Alpine Utah, the heat of the track lights above broiling our skulls. Mom sat morosely to one side with the baby in her lap,
and Dad glared at us with hands on hips, then opened the lecture with his signature burdened sigh. His was a poor man’s imitation
of Lee Marvin, the wannabe drill sergeant addressing his not-so-dirty baker’s half dozen.
“Your mother and I have been considering the situation in this house, and we have come to a decision.” With that he paused. Since
that day I have always wondered if his reason for pause was that he was debating whether or not to say the words he had prepared.
It is the hope that he truly felt the words were for our common good that allows me to forgive him for choosing to voice them.
“Since we cannot seem to find happiness together as a family, maybe we can each find our own happiness if we go our separate
ways.” He paused again, just long enough for the ugly and unspoken word of divorce to ripple the surface of my mind’s once calm
pond.
“Your mother and I have decided to sell everything we own, including the house, and divide the money equally amongst us all, and
find new families to live with.” Having declared the end of our family, our father stood before us in silence. My head was not the only
one that bowed with regret. Shoulders hanging heavy with grief, our eyes blurred with tears that were soon dripping to the tiles
beneath our feet. To date, it marked the single most painful moment of my life, and very few moments since have brought on the
same sense of absolute despair. The crushing weight of guilt and failure was breathtaking; I could feel it pressing down on me like a
dark hooded cloak, making it hard to think or speak or even breathe, and I felt a sickness seep into my stomach.
“Do you have anything to say?” My father broke the silence with his incredulous question. He was apparently expecting a response
to his life-as-we-know-it ending revelation.
“We’re sorry, we’ll all try harder; we don’t want to go away.” David, the oldest among us, had found his voice, teaching me that there
are no sibling rivalries in foxholes.
“Yeah, we’ll do our chores.” Dani added. Her voice was meek, and I think it broke my heart. I found myself mustering what meager
strength I had left within my soul.
“We won’t fight anymore, and we’ll try harder to get along.” It was all I could come up with, and even as I said it I felt helpless. Wasn’t
this bigger than dirty dishes and bickering? I wanted to know what more could we do as kids to make our parents happy, but I was
afraid to ask, perhaps for fear of being incapable of making it happen.
“I think it’s too late for trying, we have already tried and tried to teach you but we have failed. This is the best way for all of us to be
happy.” His voice was soft, but his tone was final, and the topic was closed; Dad walked down the dark hallway to his office and
closed the door quietly.
That left us alone with Mom, who sat there crying softly with the baby now crawling happily at her feet. “You wouldn’t listen, and now
it has come to this. All those times we begged you to do your chores, to stop fighting, to just be happy; this is the reason why. Your
father and I knew it might come to this if you didn’t change and try harder.” Her voice was a high-pitched whisper, and I recognized it
as the same voice I had heard coming from her when grandpa died, only the words were not of comfort this time. “Get your pajamas
on, brush your teeth, and go to bed. There is nothing more to discuss.”
That night the kisses and hugs were more earnest than they ever had been, our little hearts eager to demonstrate our sincere
devotion to one another in hopes that once we were in bed, Mom would run the length of the house, swing open the door to Dad’s
office, and declare our family back on track. I lay in bed staring up into the darkness above me, awaiting the sweet thunder of her
footsteps in the upstairs hall. It never came, and I drifted off to sleep alone and miserable, tears trailing their way to my pillow.
By the time I wandered up to the kitchen to forage for food in the morning, Dad had already left, hopefully just for work. I ate in
humble silence, and without my usual cardboard Berlin Wall of cereal boxes, knowing that Mom didn’t like it when we divided the
breakfast table into the demilitarized zones and no-man’s-lands of sibling rivalry. I finished up and went outside to look for someone,
anyone to spend some time with. David and Dani were sitting on the trampoline, and as I approached I noticed they were as heavily
burdened as I was.
“Did Dad go to work, or is he…?” My question trailed off, not wanting to put the words out there and admit to my fears.
“Yeah, he left without saying a word to us, but we heard him tell Mom he would be back later this afternoon.” David said as I climbed
up to sit near them both.
“Do you think they mean it? Are we going to sell everything and move to other houses with other people?” I asked, holding back
tears.
Dani spoke, “I heard Mom telling Dad they could talk to Michael’s teacher to see if she would take him, and I think she meant adopt
him. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t mean it, would they?” She looked from David to me and back again, desperate for answers
that we didn’t have.
“Mom hated being adopted, why would she do that to us? I didn’t think we were being that bad. Do you think they still…” I choked
on tears before I could finish my thought about Mom and Dad not loving us.
“Let’s be real good, play with the little kids and do our chores. They will change their minds when they see we are trying.” David was
the oldest, and in my eyes the smartest (even thought I would never had told him that), so his plan made sense to me.
We spent most of that week outside, running happily and laughing loudly with the younger kids, knowing Mom would see and hear us
as we swam in the pool, jumped on the trampoline (taking turns), and loved each other with great gusto. We did our chores and ate
our meals without a fuss. We made quite a show of joyful behavior in the front yard each afternoon when Dad pulled into the
driveway, but he would head straight into the house and close the door to his office behind him.
One night, after another uncomfortably quiet dinner, Mom and Dad took the baby and drove away, leaving us to wonder as to their
destination and the purpose for their outing. As we were heading down the hall to the kitchen in search of something sweet to eat,
we passed Dad’s office and stopped at the sight of a large piece of poster board standing upright on his desk, leaning against the
wall. Across the top in two lines of text, written in bold, black, permanent marker were the words: “FAMILY SALE: EVERYTHING
MUST GO!” Underneath this was a list of our possessions; major appliances, furniture, artwork, books, and everything else of value,
including the big blue van and Dad’s Volkswagen Rabbit. I don’t remember eating a snack that night.
The next morning I woke to find that the sale sign was not out front yet, so our family was still together for the moment. I ate my
breakfast in silence, praying for the courage I would need to fix my family that morning. I was determined to confront my father, to
plead our case before his court, and to beg his forgiveness. If I could sincerely convey our collective desire to be better kids, he
would change his mind and rip that horrid sign into pieces, forgetting the whole affair.
I finished my cereal and cleaned up after myself like a good child. My feet were heavy as I trudged my way down the hallway to Dad’s
office. He was sitting at his desk doing paperwork. A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed before I mustered up the ability
to speak.
“Dad?” My throat tightened as he set down his pen and looked at me without a word of acknowledgement. “We are sorry, we will try
harder. We want to stay together, and we will be happy, we really will. Tell us what we need to do and we will do it.”
“Matthew, it’s too late, I told you that. You should have tried harder before it got to this point.” Dad sighed and picked up his pen
and went back to his paperwork as I started to cry while standing in his doorway.
After a few moments of sniffling with no reaction from Dad, I left our house to seek comfort next door at my friend Cameron’s. We
played Tombstone City on his new Texas Instruments TI99 for an hour before the sadness of my father’s cold rejection crept in again
and my eyes started to water.
“Are you crying because I won again?” Cameron smirked, but the smirk disappeared when he saw a pain more depressing than
video game defeat in my eyes. “Matt, are you okay?”
“No…” I blubbered, jumping up and running out of the room. I made it out to Cameron’s garage before falling to my knees, bawling
and shaking like the scared little boy that I was. Cameron, to his credit, knelt beside me and without a word put his arm around my
shoulders. It was the second time that year he had been with me as I cried my eyes dry, the first being the morning my grandfather
died.
I stopped crying and wiped my eyes on my shirt. Cameron ran into the house, returning shortly with two fudgsicles. We enjoyed the
cold treat sitting in Cameron’s garage on the two truck tire inner tubes that his family had taken down to Lake Powell on their yearly
summer trip. We had inflated them just the other day with plans to take them over to the pool at my house, but Cameron’s dad had
brought home Tombstone City, and instead we spent several hours playing the new game. I thought about that, about Lake Powell,
and about all the things Cameron had that I didn’t; an RV, two horses, a dirt bike, OP brand clothes, and an extra fridge in the
basement filled with Dr. Pepper. Added to these things was the fact that Cameron and his family seemed to have a lot of fun
together. I decided that if my family truly did split up, I was going to live with Cameron.
“My Dad and Mom have decided to sell the house and everything in it, then divide the money and split us all up to live with new
families. Can I come and live with you?” I said it so matter-of-factly that I don’t think Cameron even wondered why my parents would
do such a thing.
“I’ll ask my Mom and Dad, but I’m sure they will say yes, they like you a lot.” Cameron said.
“How much do you think its worth?” I pondered aloud, staring out the garage and across the yard at what I was already considering
to be my old house.
“I’d say about a hundred thousand dollars.” Cameron replied casually, as if he bought and sold property every day.
“That means I’ll probably get like ten thousand dollars, even more if you count the money from selling all the stuff in the house, like
the stereo, the books, and the art.” I mused aloud, as my mind started spending. “I am going to buy two new dirt bikes, one for me
and one for you.” I said.
“Cool, thanks! You can sleep in my room on the water bed.” I had always wanted a water bed, and every time I slept over at
Cameron’s, I called dibs on his.
We passed the rest of the morning in the garage, planning a shopping spree with the money that just a few hours before I had hoped
to never see. I ate lunch with my new family, drinking Dr. Pepper instead of Kool-Aid. Things were looking up until I wandered back
over to my old house. I found my brother and sister on the front porch with my mother. From the looks on their faces, I could tell that
they were discussing the situation that I had already come to terms with, having moved on and chosen a new family in the process.
“You guys need to do something. Your father has made up his mind and I don’t know if you can change it, but you won’t know unless
you try.” My mother was saying as I approached.
“I tried this morning, and he said it was too late. I did my part; someone else can try if they want.” I suddenly felt guilty for the happy
way in which I had spent the last few hours, and this was my attempt at emotionally scrubbing my hands clean.
Mom was enraged at my words. “So that’s it? You think you did your part and that’s all you have to do, leaving it to someone else?
Is that all our family is worth, one try? Why don’t you all try together as many times as it takes, instead of alone and just once? Isn’t
this all happening because you can’t work together to be happy?” She stood and stormed inside with a huff, leaving us bobbing in
the wake of her reproach.
It was decided that we would collectively apologize, do our best to seem penitent, and promise to try harder. It was more of the same,
but it was all we could come up with. That night we made our unified attempt by calling Mom and Dad to the same place where it had
all started at the beginning of the week. We voiced our apologies, tried to look remorseful, and made our promises to try harder. I
was still not convinced this was the best course of action, because I was still torn between making a go of it with my real family and
riding my new dirt bike around Lake Powell every summer with my new family next door.
Dad was non-committal, making no promises to stay together, while saying that he would keep the “FAMILY SALE” sign on his desk
for the time being. The future of the family seemed to be in our own hands for the moment, but I was not sure that the pressure was
worth missing out on the chance to fill my pockets with cash and move next door to live with Cameron and his pressure-free family.
The next week passed without further mention of splitting up and going our separate ways. We did our chores, played together
happily, and the summer passed into fall. Eventually we slipped back into the old familiar family pattern of bickering, avoiding chores,
and being lectured on a regular basis, surrounded by moments of typical family happiness and memory making. I did not notice
when the sign was taken down from Dad’s desk, and although it was no longer in sight, I was not sure he had actually thrown it away.
I lived in constant fear of its reappearance. Dad and Mom never again mentioned their plan to disband the family, and on the
surface it was as if they had never threatened us with such an emotionally charged and tragic punishment. We siblings have spoken
very little of it, and it easily ranks among the lowest of moments in my life.
Like most people do, as I grew older, I subconsciously based the majority of my self-worth on my childhood experience. While I don’t
blame my parents outright for my long battle with low self-esteem, I cannot entirely dismiss them from indictment. As a father now
myself, I find it impossible to threaten my children with abandonment simply because they bicker and hate their chores. I do not hold
myself above reproach, however, because over the years I have wondered whose behavior during that week was more appalling,
that of my parents for devaluing their young children with the threat of a family divorce, or mine for being so easily swayed into
abandoning my family’s sinking ship for what appeared to be a finer and more smooth sailing vessel next door.
Matthew Tod
Matthew Tod lives in New Hampshire, somewhere between the sea and the mountains. After many years of woolgathering about the passionate
life of a writer, and with an encouraging push from his wife, Matthew joined a local writer’s group in 2007. He has been happily scribbling away
ever since. His creative non-fiction stories have been dredged from the depths of his own memory, and his writing casts a humorous light on the
physical, mental, and emotional rigors of growing up. Some of his work can be found at http://frogsdontweartights.blogspot.com
life of a writer, and with an encouraging push from his wife, Matthew joined a local writer’s group in 2007. He has been happily scribbling away
ever since. His creative non-fiction stories have been dredged from the depths of his own memory, and his writing casts a humorous light on the
physical, mental, and emotional rigors of growing up. Some of his work can be found at http://frogsdontweartights.blogspot.com
