Forced Adulthood

When I was a child I always wanted to be a grown up. It seemed more fun than being a child; there were so many adventures that my cousins, and older sister were allowed to partake in that I wasn’t. My sisters to me were something of legend anyway since they left the house so early, but I was told of their glory days by my parents as if they still lived with us. They were allowed to go out and stay out until the crack of dawn, and come home with metal in their skin with seemingly no punishment. To me, it was all I ever hoped for in the future. To be able to do anything I wanted without having a consequence immediately follow was all I could dream about as a child.

I heard other children talking about adulthood as well, but the tone was completely different than mine. They had learned about being an adult from what suspected was the television. The aspirations all came from a place of darkness; they unlike me wanted to get in trouble with their parents because that was the only way they could get attention from them. Being an adult was more about using our parents as much as they could, before they withered up and died. I remember walking around the playground with my best friend and hearing this girl speak to her father. He was in the Air Force, and had just returned from a deployment and showed up at the school as a surprise. He asked her to get off the swing so she could greet him properly. He was met with brutish detest. She calmly said to him “No I don't think so”. After a quick back and forth he began to get increasingly angry now demanding, and screaming at her to jump off the swing and greet him. She responded in the same manner replying “I said no, your such an asshole”! At the time we had never seen anything like this before. We both stared at him with curious eyes wondering what he would do next. That type of disrespect would never be tolerated in either of our households. The first “No” that she spoke would’ve resulted in maximum punishment for either of us. Being a child meant doing what adults said no matter who they were; simply because they were adults, and adults above all else needed to be respected because they knew better. However, to our surprise the man did absolutely nothing to his daughter. Instead he just walked off and approached the playground. Noticing us observing him he shouted at us “Do you kids want to play some soccer”. Shaking our heads quickly as if to wake us out of the trance of observation we were under, we gave him quick nods of approval, and a quick, but loud “Yes sir”! The kids had already grabbed a ball anticipating three new players to add to the roster. That’s when we found out the man had a son that went to the school as well who’s name was Caleb. The exact opposite of his sister the son was thrilled to see his father, and could barely hold back his building excitement. We made teams like this, the man, his son, myself, and my best friend on one team versus everyone else who wanted to play. They said it was unfair, and it was, as we proceeded to beat them 4 to 1.

When recess was over I watched the man pour all his devotion, and attention into his loving son that he hadn’t seen for quite sometime. His daughter partially realizing her mistake tried to make amends, but something had changed in him between the scene at the swings, and the end of recess. Even looking back to when he first left her there, there was no look of defeat in his eyes or walk. It was almost as if he knew she would act this way and had already given up hope for their relationship. When she approached him after recess her father, who was deep in a catch up conversation with his son changed expressions, and unlike his son, who was on his shoulders, refused to touch the girl so she walked behind them with her head down. At the time I thought that this must be her punishment for treating him so poorly, but I would soon find out that I couldn’t be further from the truth.

Later that year during late fall about October I had started dating the girl who had a problem with her father. At that time I had pushed the memory out of my head; thinking that she had received her punishment at the house, or maybe she was having a bad day, and just decided to act out (she was a girl after all). Whatever the case was at the time I didn’t want to know about it, it didn’t drive my decision to want to be with her. I wanted to be with her because she was one of the fastest girls in the school, and she was crafty. Plus since she was such a good egg it rubbed some blemishes I had acquired throughout the years off of me. She was a shield for me. I could still receive damage of course, but it was much less significant then if I was by myself. The more we hung out during school the closer we became. My friends started questioning me more frequently as I would often leave soccer to go swing, and chat with her until recess would end. She taught me new games that required memorization, she brought me into her circle and introduced me to her friends, and would often tell me that no one has ever treated her with such kindness. To me I wasn’t necessarily being kind to her as much as I really did enjoy spending time with her. It wasn’t puppy love, and neither of us called it that, but we truly did enjoy being in each others company. One day she felt she was ready to spill the beans about her family, and explain why things were how they are.

“My father is not the great person that everyone thinks he is”. “When he and my mother were still together they would fight constantly.” “They would wake up and scream at each other until he went to work; then he would come back and it would start over again all throughout the night until we slept”. We were in the back of the school playground at the time. There was nothing but open rocks and a half open metal container bin back there. Kids weren’t allowed back there alone, but the P.E teacher would allow us back there as a class to play red rover, and conduct speed tests. We were inside the metal container; deep in the back so the darkness would hide us if anyone came, and I asked my friends to keep a lookout. It was so dark in the back of the container I couldn’t see her body or mine for that matter, but I could hear her voice trembling with each sentence. There was a slow dripping sound coming from what I thought was above us, but as she put her head into my chest I felt the tears from her face seep into my shirt. I told her “We don't have to talk about this if you don’t want to, you don’t have to tell me anymore”. Face still in my chest she mumbled “It’s okay” and continued her story.

“They decided to get a divorce, and I thought that it would fix things, but it only made them worse. They continued to argue day and night about how my father was the only one contributing, and how he wanted her out of the house. When she wouldn’t leave he started beating her on the side of the head so no one would see. Then she started using drugs, and ended up on the streets.” Choking on her tears she told me she hadn’t actually seen her mother in a couple years since then, and that she and her brother lived with her father, stepmother and half siblings. At that point it started to click for me. That deployment her father was on meant nothing to her; the time he had spent away was a holiday for her. The 6 months or possibly a year was nothing compared to the time she hadn’t seen her mother. He was trying to force amends on her that she never cared for. To her, her father had already abandoned them. I asked why Caleb was treated so differently, and was met with a condescending tone and answer. “We don’t act the same even though we both witnessed the same thing” she said. She told me Caleb never brings up their mother, and never attempts to try to plan a visit. “He acts like she’s dead, and my dad likes that”.

I never knew the world could be like that. I knew about death and by no means was I sheltered from things of this world, but for a family to be split by such hatred was something I didn’t think could happen. I also failed to realize the significance of our age at the time. We were in 4th grade no older than nine years old, and she was already dealing with things of this caliber by herself. I only realize now why she was so mature back then, and it was because life gave her a taste of what it had to offer. What being an adult was really about. She had grown up immensely in a few years; forced to carry the burden of her parents, and having never received love from anyone but her mother. Who, was now destitute (as far as she knew) and made her bitter, but gave her experience and wisdom that I didn’t want, but it wasn’t my choice that’s what growing up is.

We became closer following that conversation, but she started to see me as more than what I could handle. I did not realize what I had done to her psyche. There was no one that she could talk to like that, not one person. I was the only person besides immediate family that knew what was going on with her. I knew why she was the way she was, and I was the only person that would listen to the intricate details of her suffering. Fall of the next year we were a real couple. As real as two fifth graders that had never had anyone else could be that is, but it was real for us. We held hands everyday, had kissed a couple times, and had even spoke of meeting each others family. At least she did. I knew my mother would never approve of me bringing back any girls to the house at that age, but she knew about her, and she liked her to an extent so, she said she would let me see her outside of school; on the condition that she met both of her parents along with my father. Immediately I agreed out of excitement not remembering her situation at the time, but maybe (in my head) it had changed. Luckily for me it did.

Her birthday was coming up and she was having a party at her house, a sleepover to be exact, and funny enough her parents wanted to meet me as well. There were parent teacher conferences the week before her party that weekend, so we made a plan for them to see each other then. Parent teacher conferences were right after school so kids didn’t have to leave and come back, and the parents who were arriving to pick their child could go to the classroom and speak with their teacher. The system made sense enough, and usually I would be outside with my friends avoiding the PTC as long as possible; because teachers never have anything nice to say at those things, but this time I was inside waiting with girlfriend. Her face was rosy and I could tell she was in a happy but nervous state. I grabbed her hand, which felt like it was just dipped in a bowl of water, and stared in her awaiting eyes for about twenty minutes. Her dad showed up first with her stepmom, but her eyes never wandered from the parking lot. Now I was nervous, and before I could say or ask anything she sprinted out the door letting me go. Her arms were spread wide with her head nuzzled air tightly into an unfamiliar body to me. The woman was short, about 5’4 in height, and wore some ripped tight jeans with converse at the bottom. Her shirt had ACDC on it and was black, see through and worn. She had her head shaved revealing multiple scars and wounds from previous altercations, and her face was square at the top but came to a point at her chin. Her lips were red with lipstick and pierced. She had an eyebrow piercing to match with jet black hair that went slightly past her shoulders. I thought this must be her long lost sister; another piece of the puzzle that I had yet to meet or figure out. As they walked over hand in hand the woman looked upon me and asked if I was the “One”. My girlfriend replied with a nodding yes and looked at me like she was giving me a gift. With one hand pointing at the woman and another wiping her tears away she said, “This is my mom”.

I was excited to meet her mom, but the butterflies in my stomach had become more restless. After meeting her mom I knew for sure that my parents would never let me stay over. It had nothing to do with her mom, but everything to do with my parents who were straight up and down individuals. They wore suits and ties out to events, their casual attire never had any holes in it, and I’ve only seen them wear jean shorts when they went out to summer events like a BBQ, or swimming gathering. I started walking behind them, as I didn’t want to spoil her moment in finally seeing her mother, but that usual five minute walk felt like an eternity. I was thinking of any excuse that I could pull out to convince them, but had came up with nothing by the time we reached the door. My parents were already sitting together in the middle right of the classroom waiting, but eager for me to return. She and her mother sat across from them, and I sat at the end with my father who was a lot easier to deal with during these meetups than my mother. She knew how to look at someone and put fear in their eyes as if they were a child. Constantly she would boast about how she could see what a person was about before they even spoke, and on top of that wasn’t the kindest person in general. All my friends were chosen wisely, and usually briefed on how to act around my mother. The ones who decided not to “play the game” I had to drop and move on; forced into only seeing them during school and for a small amount of time after, while we waited for our parents. This was different. I couldn’t just cut this girl off, after all that we had been through, and the things I heard at that time I couldn’t see myself with anyone else. So I sat and waited for the fireworks.

My mom started out with the questioning asking something along the lines of what she did for work. Her mother replied she was in a band of some sort, as a side hustle, but worked for the soup kitchen usually Monday through Friday. I could see in my mothers face she was already done. She didn’t ask about her tattoos or piercings because she didn’t like them. Then she decided to ask about her dating life. Her mother gave a quick answer about divorce, but I could tell it had earned her a couple of points because my mother had also been divorced, which means she related to the struggles of being a single mother. Now did she know that her mother hadn’t been raising her, and had left it up to her father and stepmom? No, but she didn’t need to know and I counted it as a win. About 15 minutes into the conversation is where my luck began to change. Originally and even up to this point I knew that I was never going to spend the night. The odds were never in my favor, but in came her father and stepmom who were dressed exactly like my parents. Business casual, with nude coloring and black trimmings, it caught the eye of my father who told them they looked sharp.

When they sat down the entire conversation changed for the better. Her father as I knew but didn’t think mattered was in the Air Force, but that struck a rainbow chord with my father who was in the Army. He mostly made fun of him and the branch, but for some reason the banter was lighter. Her stepmom worked as a nurse which my mother did as well, and they immediately hit off a conversation about the crazy things they had seen, and the amount they had to study for exams. Now at that time I still didn’t think I would be invited to the party, but luckily her father brought it up asking If I was attending. In my head I thought, no way, no way are they going to allow me to go. It was a number of things her mom, their attitude, their pickiness, but my parents only asked one question back. They asked if her stepmom and father were going to be there. Both of them had a hearty pulled back laugh as they realized the question was serious. The party is at their house so of course they’ll be there they said, but they also added in that her mother would not be in attendance. They looked at each other threw their shoulders up and agreed. I was shocked! I couldn’t even get my parents to agree for me to go to a guys house, let alone a girls house that I’m dating, but I didn’t realize what had just happened in the adult world. My parents didn’t trust her mother at all, but her father and stepmom were cookie cutter individuals and seemed to leak trustworthiness. They trusted them because they looked and acted like them, and in doing so refuted to acknowledge that her mother was an adult figure. They seen her as someone that couldn’t handle the responsibility of a child, and deserved what she had coming. In that moment I could see the defeat on her face as she looked down at the floor for the rest of the conversation, and I seen my girlfriend shed slow tears as one rolled from each eye separately. In that moment I was happy that I could finally see her after school, but now I think being an adult is just about ridiculous decisions, and making early judgments on people we barely know. For the safety of our children sure, but wouldn’t it be easier if we could spare them the future pain of what we had to go through, and instead of only allowing them to speak to certain people, learn to speak to everyone? I’ve never enjoyed being an adult.