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Dear Little Evan, #3
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Dear Little Evan, As you've suspected for some time now, your parents marriage isn't normal. It isn't normal to have no living memory of your parents sleeping in the same room. It isn't normal for mom to sleep on a mattress on the living room floor while dad sleeps in his bedroom on the extreme opposite end of the house. It certainly isn't normal, or healthy for that matter, the way your mother will oftentimes ignore a simple, "How was your day, Terri?" when your father gets home, as though she didn't even know he was there at all. And it isn't normal the way your father mutters under his breath about her as he storms off through the kitchen, wounded in his pride at being rejected once again.
You're just now realizing how so, terribly abnormal your family's parental dynamic is. You realized this over the weekend, spending the night at Dustin's house when you saw his parents kiss. It wasn't strange, though I understand why you thought it so, that a husband and a wife would show romantic affection toward one another. It's not your fault that you felt uncomfortable seeing them kiss, you only remember seeing your own parents kiss once, after all. It was their wedding annivesary, and your parents had had their first good date in years. Your mother was wearing a red dress and your father, a brown jacket; and they were smiling when they got home; and they embraced, kissing at the front door.
I remember how happy you were that day, because things would be different now, you thought. Oh, Little Evan, how I wish so dearly for you that things had been different then. I wish as you wish, that mom and dad had kept feeding kindling into that flickering spark of love, burning it alight, fanning its flames anew; but you know as I know, the ashes of that spark quickly grew dim and never for a moment after were they ever kindled again.
I have so much more to tell you of the unfair abnormality of your parents union, but I can only bear to speak on it for so long. I am so sorry to tell you that the palpable fog of resentment between your mother and father will effect you and your romantic relationships for the rest of your life; and healing from those wounds will only ever happen in the teensiest of teensy baby steps, never in long, magnificent strides. Nevertheless, I can share with you the smallest of consolations. You aren't angry with your parents anymore. You have, by the grace of God, learned to forgive them; and while they do end up divorcing, several years from when you are now, they don't hate each other anymore. They have forgiven each other, too, and have even managed to become friends, in spite of the decades they spent together in pain.
From me to you,
Big Evan
Although written well, this
Although written well, this was---from the standpoint of content---very difficult for me to read. My own parental problem was not exactly like yours: my parents often "set me up" to fail, or sabatoged my efforts to succeed---mostly socially. Just after I turned thirteen, my paternal grandmother took me aside, apologized to me for my parents' attitude towards me, and insisted that none of it was my fault. So reading this spoke to those old scars that I still carry around, and reminded me of how alone I felt, especially during my adolescence.
I think this series can do a lot of good to and for those who find themselves in similar situations. Knowing that you have shared these experiences from your past will help those who are experiencing their own difficulties, and will help those who, like me, simply cannot forget those circumstances no matter how much they wish to do so.
I thank you for the courageous act of posting this, and I thank you for privileging all of us at postpoems to be permitted to read about these aspects of your past.
Starward