Sorry about my update lateness!!! (Exams and Busyness have left me at a brutal loss of time.)
So enough of my complaining, and here is my new post:
Marybeth and Shaiyla had developed through the havoc of our family, seeing and understanding every detail of their marriage woes. Marybeth transformed into the sixteen-year-old skank of high school. She couldn’t keep her pants on if her life depended on it! The dinner table always had a new guy that was her latest squeeze. One day, Kaiyla asked why she couldn’t hold onto one guy. Marybeth, like always, ignored the question and moved on with life.
Shaiyla wasn’t as bad, but progressively falling into a party-scene at the early age of thirteen. The kids would go over to each other’s houses and break into their parent’s wine cabinet while they were out. Mom became stressed and showed it with the thick mane tingeing with silver in selected areas. Dad had been promoted as a CEO in his building company and now traveled for the job. We had money, but no one was seeing it, except Dad. The “Build-It-Up!” company merged with Glomerol Company (A furniture company) to bring customers the combination of a new edition along with up to 50% savings on new furniture. (Believe me, I’ve seen and heard ENOUGH ads on the merging operation.) Dad would travel to California for weeks on end (Which was both of the corporations new headquarters), with only one or two stories to tell us about the paradise state.
Change came after my fourth grade play. During intermission, I looked through the edge of the curtains to find my mom and sisters. Mom was just walking in. She briskly sat down in her seat in the back row with Shaiyla and Kaiyla clearly upset. “Uh-Oh” was my first thought, not seeing Marybeth, who had recently attended Kaiyla’s second grade play about garden bugs. (Kaiyla was the customary lady-bug.) I made it to the finale singing clearly some ridiculous song about morphing animals (Who knows why they picked a play for the curriculum.) While other families greeted their children with loving hugs and proud puffed chests, my mother put her hand gently on my shoulder, squeezing twice. “Double Uh-oh.” This was the mother-daughter language that dated back to the terrible twos. It meant that we had some talking to do else where, and by the expressions on Shaiyla and Kaiyla’s face, it wasn’t pretty. We got out to the car in a rushed fashion, with my little heels clicking against the cement. The unusually warm March breeze blew my beautiful pink dress back, exhibiting the new flower tights that Mom had bought. Mom began to sniffle. All emotions burst forth as the van doors slid close for the long, miserable ride ahead. “Dad is such a prick! I hate him!” Shaiyla announced. Emotions flowed in retaliation. “Where is he? Is he in California?” I squeaked frantically. I looked from Mom to Shaiyla, and even to Kaiyla for some sort of an answer. It was Mom that delivered the harsh news. “ Dad went away for awhile. We…separated.” The word hurt. ‘Separated’ seemed to split me down the middle. It wasn’t until a few months later that I realized what being truly separated meant. In May of 2000, after living only two months apart, Mom and Dad decided on terms of divorce. It made me angry when I found out. Mom, Shaiyla, Kaiyla, and me had lived respectively for the past two months with no real trouble. In fact, Marybeth was also out of the picture, and the wonderful voice messages no longer littered our answer machine or conversations. Heidi was now in custody of her, after actually holding down a respectively good job, and grew up more so. It would have been kinda ridiculous making her live with a family she wasn’t even blood-related to.
I had become like everybody, another broken kid in just another broken family. Another statistic. The resourceful and beautiful fourteen year old Shaiyla, The precious and spicy ten year old Kaiyla, and me, the peacekeeper and traditional eleven year old started court dates. This is when my life began to turn sour. Dad wanted to get a divorce because in this new land in which he traveled, he had accidentally procreated a child out of wedlock about a year ago. After the truth finally came out, I contemplated the whole summer saying just the right words that would affect him. Mom was never the enemy. Mom was always a good to us kids, she just got frazzled with competition of Heidi verses Marybeth. I never did get to say those cunning and sly words though. My world was shaken even more so.
Child support was brought to table. At one of the many meeting breaks, Mom threw up her hands. “I can’t pay child support for all of you, but I can’t support you either.” “What does that mean?” Shaiyla asked suspiciously. “I can only keep one of you.” She said with no emotion in her eyes. It wasn’t until three months later, after the bloodiest battle alive, that the court came to a decision. Dad wanted to tie up child placement soon because school was starting in three weeks. I was confident between the split because Mom knew how inseparable Kaiyla and me were. She knew that we were like two peas in a pod, macaroni and cheese, peanut butter and jelly. Mom also knew that I was having a rough time living in the area and had virtually no friends except Kaiyla at school . Shaiyla gave her too much trouble and couldn’t control her with the partying. Kaiyla was the youngest and most impressionable. Mom wanted Kaiyla.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Part 2
I guess you can say that when I cut off those curls, I cut off the chance of Marybeth ever becoming a part of our lifelong sisterhood. With Marybeth came lingering problems to our extended family. There were always many fights during December, around the same time of Marybeth’s birthday. Heidi (Marybeth’s mother) would break down our cheap front door, and order another visit with her daughter. Heidi had harbored anger to everyone in our immediate family, reviewing each detail on the short, but eventful marriage bonanza between Dad and her.
Their divorce occurred after my dad was caught with “the promiscuous” woman (my mom) and had visibly knocked her up. Dad still goes back to those days with Heidi, shaking his head. “ Too young for those kinds of decisions, definitely too young for a kid.” I find it to be kinda funny that Heidi could call mom a promiscuous woman, when she too had become pregnant at the end of high school. Back then, I think that Dad DID love her, but only as much as you could love an eighteen-year-old that lost her successful future (scholarships to the University of Michigan and title as a solitarian.) to make the decision of carrying the unwanted Marybeth. At six, I did wonder if Heidi was ruining Mom and Dad‘s marriage. Heidi’s personality and determination to win the court’s approval for custody often wore thin on Mom’s patience. The reason Dad didn’t give into Heidi’s plea’s was because of two reasons. One: Our family didn’t have enough to pay for joint custody child support let alone full child-support. Two: The question of how good Heidi would constitute as the mother-figure. Heidi was a young-minded twenty year old and dealt with her own demons alone. Heidi couldn’t get custody with the evidence of her growing alcohol-problem, living in an even shabbier house than us, and her genuine lack of responsibility. Yup, Heidi had all odds against her, yet never let up on the determination. She would take us to court for Marybeth’s lack of maternal visits and how it would affect her later on in life. Ironically, Marybeth treated my mom like her own, but could never treat Kaiyla and me like her sisters.
It wasn’t until I turned nine that realization hit like a boulder. The February weather had made the three block trek from school a battle of snow, ice, and wind. When I got my humble abode, I believe the February weather had nothing on the cold and bitterness in our home. A glass darted across the living room towards Mom. Mom was either screaming that Heidi needed to either take Marybeth and go away or Dad had to find someone who could handle all this marriage trauma. Dad took the alternate choice of flipping the loveseat over and pushed me out of the way to leave. Kaiyla appeared in the doorway behind me. We both looked at each other, and both knew with the same gut-feeling. It was the end before the words were even uttered.
Their divorce occurred after my dad was caught with “the promiscuous” woman (my mom) and had visibly knocked her up. Dad still goes back to those days with Heidi, shaking his head. “ Too young for those kinds of decisions, definitely too young for a kid.” I find it to be kinda funny that Heidi could call mom a promiscuous woman, when she too had become pregnant at the end of high school. Back then, I think that Dad DID love her, but only as much as you could love an eighteen-year-old that lost her successful future (scholarships to the University of Michigan and title as a solitarian.) to make the decision of carrying the unwanted Marybeth. At six, I did wonder if Heidi was ruining Mom and Dad‘s marriage. Heidi’s personality and determination to win the court’s approval for custody often wore thin on Mom’s patience. The reason Dad didn’t give into Heidi’s plea’s was because of two reasons. One: Our family didn’t have enough to pay for joint custody child support let alone full child-support. Two: The question of how good Heidi would constitute as the mother-figure. Heidi was a young-minded twenty year old and dealt with her own demons alone. Heidi couldn’t get custody with the evidence of her growing alcohol-problem, living in an even shabbier house than us, and her genuine lack of responsibility. Yup, Heidi had all odds against her, yet never let up on the determination. She would take us to court for Marybeth’s lack of maternal visits and how it would affect her later on in life. Ironically, Marybeth treated my mom like her own, but could never treat Kaiyla and me like her sisters.
It wasn’t until I turned nine that realization hit like a boulder. The February weather had made the three block trek from school a battle of snow, ice, and wind. When I got my humble abode, I believe the February weather had nothing on the cold and bitterness in our home. A glass darted across the living room towards Mom. Mom was either screaming that Heidi needed to either take Marybeth and go away or Dad had to find someone who could handle all this marriage trauma. Dad took the alternate choice of flipping the loveseat over and pushed me out of the way to leave. Kaiyla appeared in the doorway behind me. We both looked at each other, and both knew with the same gut-feeling. It was the end before the words were even uttered.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Aww...The beauty of broken families/ Part 1
Looking at me in a crowd, you’d probably read quite a bit of what’s underneath. Yes, my frustration and stress are taken out with music in-general. Without music, I’d probably have more metal in my head, more tattoos, and drugs in my system. I have shoulder-length brownish/ blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and short stature. To explain me in greater detail, I will have to go into the description of my family. They are truly part of what has made me who I am today. ….
My family could be characterized like the hemispheres in the brain. The two halves are connected (relatively speaking) but it’s pretty evident there is a dividing line, or a difference between the two. The hemispheres have different functions in my life. The one side supplies me with the minimum of my essential needs (food, shelter, and occasionally: comfort.) The other provides communication, embrace, and that feeling of acceptance. To come into a state of fulfillment, the individual must use both right and left sides to make a superior action or notion. This is where my family will not finish the picture to this metaphor. For as long as I can remember, there’s always been some kind of quarreling. Which leads me to the very beginning.
On July 25 of 1990, it was a sunny day in the wonderful state of Michigan. With the humidity outside, many families taking trips to the beach to cool off and having exclusive barbecues. My mother, on the other hand, resided in a dark and hot hospital on the maternity wing. At around 6:30 p.m., I was brought into this world at the Stattonford hospital. My parents Kevin and Laura Hart coddled their new edition along with sister Shaiyla and half-sister Marybeth. By the time I was two, Mom and Dad decided they wanted to throw yet another “baby in the pile”, and named her Kaiyla. Somehow, it must have been their picket-fence dream to name their kids in rhyming sequence. Although Shaiyla, Kaiyla, and my names all have characteristics, we all have strongly unique personalities.
Shaiyla is like Mom with her German embracing build of white blonde hair that doesn’t get bleached and big hazel eyes. Her figure is one that could knock Heidi Klum out of modeling for good! Unfortunately, her personality illuminates the prestigiously dense. That’s a little mean, I’ll rephrase. she’s dumb, but has consistently proved to exhibit some forms of resourcefulness. I couldn’t find ways like she did of finding transportation from the forbidden town party on fifteen cent pocket change and never getting caught with a hickey on her neck from the after party of the latest prom.
Kaiyla looks like the prefect concoction of genes between Mom and Dad. Like Mom, she has the skinny frame that Shaiyla also inherited, the taller height, and the pale complexion. Dad’s traits are visible through the piercing blue-green eyes and personality. Kaiyla and me somewhat resemble, but not to the point of onlookers exclaiming, “ Wow! Are you guys twins?” Thankfully, Kaiyla was also skipped over with the dumb gene. She often gave me seeds of encouragement and motivation when the situations looked bleak. (And to think, this is from the sister youngest of four!)
The oldest of the us kids was the standoffish Marybeth. Being from a previous marriage, and taking all of her looks from the maternal ring, She neither reflected, nor exposed a hint of closeness with Kaiyla or me. Marybeth had soft green eyes that reflected tranquility but an air of discomfort, like she living at a distant friend’s home. She was also bombarded with these luscious blonde curls, like bed springs around her head. I remembered being four when we were all supposed to be down for a nap. We snuck into Marybeth’s bedroom, and contracted a specimen of the springs. We rushed back with a great gob, Kaiyla and me skipping with delight. It wasn’t because I was mean that I did it… I just wanted to have the same wonderful locks all to myself. Marybeth clearly found out when she woke up, missing half a side of hair. There was also a visible track staggering back to our domain. By this time, we had our Barbie dolls natural hair chopped, with a short, make shift ‘fro wig attached. Marybeth got a hairstyle just like that Barbie. We were also acknowledged with a swift whack on the rumpus each.
My family could be characterized like the hemispheres in the brain. The two halves are connected (relatively speaking) but it’s pretty evident there is a dividing line, or a difference between the two. The hemispheres have different functions in my life. The one side supplies me with the minimum of my essential needs (food, shelter, and occasionally: comfort.) The other provides communication, embrace, and that feeling of acceptance. To come into a state of fulfillment, the individual must use both right and left sides to make a superior action or notion. This is where my family will not finish the picture to this metaphor. For as long as I can remember, there’s always been some kind of quarreling. Which leads me to the very beginning.
On July 25 of 1990, it was a sunny day in the wonderful state of Michigan. With the humidity outside, many families taking trips to the beach to cool off and having exclusive barbecues. My mother, on the other hand, resided in a dark and hot hospital on the maternity wing. At around 6:30 p.m., I was brought into this world at the Stattonford hospital. My parents Kevin and Laura Hart coddled their new edition along with sister Shaiyla and half-sister Marybeth. By the time I was two, Mom and Dad decided they wanted to throw yet another “baby in the pile”, and named her Kaiyla. Somehow, it must have been their picket-fence dream to name their kids in rhyming sequence. Although Shaiyla, Kaiyla, and my names all have characteristics, we all have strongly unique personalities.
Shaiyla is like Mom with her German embracing build of white blonde hair that doesn’t get bleached and big hazel eyes. Her figure is one that could knock Heidi Klum out of modeling for good! Unfortunately, her personality illuminates the prestigiously dense. That’s a little mean, I’ll rephrase. she’s dumb, but has consistently proved to exhibit some forms of resourcefulness. I couldn’t find ways like she did of finding transportation from the forbidden town party on fifteen cent pocket change and never getting caught with a hickey on her neck from the after party of the latest prom.
Kaiyla looks like the prefect concoction of genes between Mom and Dad. Like Mom, she has the skinny frame that Shaiyla also inherited, the taller height, and the pale complexion. Dad’s traits are visible through the piercing blue-green eyes and personality. Kaiyla and me somewhat resemble, but not to the point of onlookers exclaiming, “ Wow! Are you guys twins?” Thankfully, Kaiyla was also skipped over with the dumb gene. She often gave me seeds of encouragement and motivation when the situations looked bleak. (And to think, this is from the sister youngest of four!)
The oldest of the us kids was the standoffish Marybeth. Being from a previous marriage, and taking all of her looks from the maternal ring, She neither reflected, nor exposed a hint of closeness with Kaiyla or me. Marybeth had soft green eyes that reflected tranquility but an air of discomfort, like she living at a distant friend’s home. She was also bombarded with these luscious blonde curls, like bed springs around her head. I remembered being four when we were all supposed to be down for a nap. We snuck into Marybeth’s bedroom, and contracted a specimen of the springs. We rushed back with a great gob, Kaiyla and me skipping with delight. It wasn’t because I was mean that I did it… I just wanted to have the same wonderful locks all to myself. Marybeth clearly found out when she woke up, missing half a side of hair. There was also a visible track staggering back to our domain. By this time, we had our Barbie dolls natural hair chopped, with a short, make shift ‘fro wig attached. Marybeth got a hairstyle just like that Barbie. We were also acknowledged with a swift whack on the rumpus each.
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