I remember walking into my high school one day before school — something felt different.
The atmosphere inside the entrance of the building, however, felt off.
I don’t know what it was, I couldn’t place the feeling… just that something didn’t feel right.
Does anyone else get like that?
Everything seemed perfectly in place… normal, so to speak.
You’re probably thinking something along the lines of, “Haven’t we already been through this?”
YES!
YES, WE HAVE!
I had some variant of that specific dream — again, and again — for years to come.
It wasn’t until I found out what it meant years later that I was able to control it.
I’ll explain later.
Since that was a false intro to this chapter, let’s get to the real meat and potatoes of this point of time in my life… finishing high school.
Even though I ran numerous times for Class Queen and all that jazz in high school, it’s like, those are literal popularity contests. And, quite honestly, I couldn’t tell you who won which queen which year… I couldn’t tell you who was voted as having the most school spirit or things like that. I can narrow it down to a select few of the girls that always won… it did not matter, it was always the same winners. And now, I embrace my unique personality. We were not meant to fit in or be normal — why are we? That’s the true definition of being you, in my opinion. Not follow the trends. If you think something is cute, wear it. Who cares what people think — you only live once. Make it count, ya know? For years, I obsessed over popularity while in school.
Sorry for the miniature vent session straight from Pandora’s Box there.
Moving on.
I graduated with dual honors in vocational society and something else I can’t quite remember… I was in the paper for it, but I’m pretty sure that was something my mom and aunt had printed because they were impressed I even achieved it.
Nah. Like I said, I was a good kid. I worked hard.
I was also terrified of what would happen if I didn’t… but that’s beside the point.
If it tells you anything, every single day after school, I would bawl my eyes out to my momma begging her to leave my dad and that I would request her to have full custody. She wanted to leave, but couldn’t. Even though I could request for my momma to have custody, my brother was very young and unaware of everything going on behind the scenes with me, my mom, and my dad.
Now, I did end up having a brief stint where I had a bit of a rebellious phase.
I may have had a legitimate conveyor belt of boyfriends while I worked at the grocery store. But do you remember when I said I had a childhood friend who lived next door to my grandparents that would end up playing a major role later? The boyfriend that plays the biggest role in this part of the story — is Toby.
Okay, so there is a lot that happened during this time. To understand what was going through my mind, what I did, and why I did them, I need to give some backstory.
So, let’s get started on that, I guess.
As I go on to explain my rebellious phase and everything that goes along with it, you’ll see that it isn’t that far out of the norm of what typical teenagers do on a regular basis. That’s because my dad was extremely controlling and I was very sheltered, but not because he was being protective and had my best interest at heart — no. My dad was far more concerned with nitpicking and finding reasons to reprimand and discipline me, even if unwarranted, a nonexistent issue, or making me dance around on eggshells just for the pure enjoyment of it.
When I wasn’t transporting myself to my happy place with my headphones on in the car therapeutically listening to my favorite tunes, I was always in my room or finding reasons to not be home. If I was home, I was up in my room, door closed, making myself as invisible as possible, so not to stir up attention and any accompanying drama. He would sometimes want us to have family game nights, or eat dinner together in the living room, eating from vintage Coca-Cola TV trays in front of us as we watched television together. Sounds innocent enough, I know. But when your dad is constantly berating you for the littlest things while your sibling is getting away with murder… it’s not exactly time well spent coming from your viewpoint.
Please keep in mind that my brother was so young or naïve about the whole predicament going on as far as that goes, so he had nothing to do with all that drama. Even if he was aware of it, he would not be condoning it in the least… so I just want to clarify that was all on my dad, not on my brother at all. My brother is one of my best friends and he is one of the most amazing ones a sibling could ever ask for.
In fact, I used to be daddy’s little girl when I was little — but things were still going on behind the scenes with him and my mom that I didn’t know about. So, things had always been brewing, so to speak — I just wasn’t always aware of it. Because, if I thought things were bad at home up to this point — I was sadly mistaken.
It got so much worse.
I mentioned the fact that I was a good kid a couple of different times — understand, that was to make myself feel better, not to convince anyone. I know how much I stressed how much of a heathen child I was as a child… but, the same can’t be said for when I got older. I was constantly doing the most I could possibly think of to appease my parents and not do anything that would upset my dad in any kind of way.
This included being on my best behavior around him, doing all the chores him and my mom asked me to do, keeping my grades where they should be in school, not getting in trouble at school, going to school and work on time, abiding by curfew, keeping tabs with my location when out and about, basic stuff.
Meanwhile, my brother did normal little boy stuff and had that typical little boy behavior. Allow me to give you a day in the life of teenage me versus that of my younger preteen brother and how the same things differed between us.
I could do something… and get in trouble as a result.
He would do the same thing with the same kind of consequences… and get zilch.
Isn’t there a name for that?
Is it… a double standard…? I don’t know what that would be considered — that’s the jist of the type of concept I’m trying to verbally express.
I know words… they learnt them to us in public school.
Okay, back to it.
But yeah, my brother could do the same exact thing… and nothing happen as a result.
Let’s start with something basic — cleaning your living spaces and keeping them clean.
I always kept my room clean and meticulously organized. I would take one weekend day every month to completely clean and organize my bedroom. I would clean, dust, wipe down all surfaces, rearrange furniture, organize my hanging clothes accordingly, organize my folded clothes in dresser drawers accordingly, thoroughly clean my fish tank, sprinkle that carpet deodorizer stuff before vacuuming well, laundry put away, bed made, organize everything, ensuring a place for everything, and everything in its place. I’d then top it all off with either a candle, room spray or diffuser of some kind — just to put that added feeling of “clean” cherry on top.
My brother, on the other hand, would roleplay a miniature Bill Nye the Science Guy with his room. Random and curious finds of unknown origin were always strewn across the floor, in his closet, atop dressers, along with other objects that I had no idea could be doubled as makeshift tables quite nicely. Items such as toys, questionable experiments, and moldy food remnants littered much of the underside of his bed. Clothes that were once on hangers were now crumpled, buried, and ultimately tromped and trampled at the bottom of his closet floor — atop the mountain of other various items that were one snowflake from avalanching there before the clothes fell on top of them.
My brother and I shared a bathroom, and I liked having it extremely clean, sanitized, and some form of organization in process at all times. Therefore, I would typically clean our shared bathroom usually the same day I would spend cleaning my bedroom.
Though I tended to stay busy for the most part, I know I wasn’t near as busy as a lot of my peers. So, when I became upset at the part I’m about to tell you about, it wasn’t because I felt my time had been wasted while trying to appease my dad.
No. I was far more impressed that my brother could pull some things off that I never could have done growing up.
I’m not bitter — okay?!
Okay, maybe a little bit… and only for a little bit.
I’m sure if I haven’t mentioned it already, then I’m sure you’ve picked up on the inner chaos that is the attention deficit hyperactivity disorder I’m donning. Well, my big little brother has it, as well. However, I assume there are different levels of intensity of it as to say my brother’s significantly outshined mine would be an understatement of drastic, underwhelming proportions.
I would proudly clean the bathroom thoroughly, turning the light off as I told myself I did well on it, even if I knew deep down that in just a matter of hours, it wouldn’t be spotless for much longer. If I ever needed any proof that I not only lived with- but also shared a bathroom with, a growing adolescent boy jointly utilizing the same bathroom space as me… it wouldn’t take me long.
I am telling ya, in a short time frame, he could do a lot…
…of damage.
Just… talent. Yeah, just sheer talent is what it was.
I’ll give credit where credit is due — and it was sheer talent just how destructive he was.
It reminds me of a time when my brother got quiet for longer than momma was comfortable with. As she went to check on him, she was greeted by him, hand outstretched proudly possessing an arsenal of flathead screws and batteries varying in size. Somehow, he had gotten ahold of a screwdriver and went through all of his toys, one-by-one, removing all the screws and batteries from all his toys that contained them.
There was one time he somehow got ahold of a lighter, lit a coloring sheet secured by a magnet on our refrigerator… on fire. The house did not actually burn down until the instance mentioned earlier. I think it’s safe to assume my mom caught it in time after my brother ran to her telling her all about the “Fah! Fah, Mom! Fah,” how he pronounced “fire,” at the time, in the kitchen.
I’m telling you, there’s never a dull moment with that kid.
He has since channeled that energy into other outlets. He went semi-professional in bowling and got far into it before quitting and just doing it recreationally. He’s married with three children that keep him and his wife busy — so that’s a good thing!
I’m inserting a small, lighthearted chuckle here.
Heh.
Nah, for serious, though… I love my big/little Bubba so much.
We have had our fair share of mental and physical fights growing up… but he and I are now best friends and I adore the cute little family they’ve created so friggin’ much.
Alright, now that we’ve established the backstory –moving on to… the backdraft.
