When my mom and dad divorced, I don’t remember them ever discussing this with me, but they might have. All I remember is one day I saw a bunch of boxes around our house. My mom’s stuff and my stuff wasn’t in the house, I assumed it was in the boxes.
I live with my mom and go to my dad’s on Friday’s and come back either Sunday or Saturday, usually Saturday. Up until about two years ago, I was OK with the agreements. That all changed with, you know, the ‘Becoming a teenager’ and that kind of stuff parents say. I started feeling like I never got enough time with my dad.
Because I never really spent time with my dad, the relationship is kind of awkward and odd. He treats me like I’m a nine-year-old who is going to get lost if he wanders like ten feet away or is like 20 feet in front of him on a bike trail. And I’m fifteen and have my permit. It’s time for him to stop doing that. I don’t know, but it’s real annoying.
My basketball games are a different scenario. Sometimes he comes, sometimes he doesn’t. Usually, he doesn’t, because of work, or it’s too icy, or whatnot. In the past I would get really upset when he didn’t come. But that stopped last year at the beginning of my eighth-grade year. I was done crying over him not coming. Now, I don’t really even tell him that I have a game. One, because I don’t want to hear his bull—t apology. Two, it just for some reason gets my hopes up higher.
A year and a half ago, my stepmom started having problems with alcoholism. He divorced her. I was happy, but yet upset. I was happy because I never liked her. It’s not that she was like the evil stepmother like in Cinderella. She was nice, but I didn’t like her. Now my dad and his girlfriend, Brenda, have been living together. I like Brenda like a lot. She’s really nice. But if they were to ever get married, I couldn’t go. Not because of like: “You’re too young to go” or something. I mean like I couldn’t bring myself to go.
After going to [my dad’s first remarriage] and after years of thought, I decided that if he were to get married again that I wouldn’t go. I couldn’t go through with it again, no matter what. Even if he begged.
I know that being married only twice is a small number compared to some kids’ parents each being married like five times, but they still hurt the same. I don’t know why it would be so hard. It just is. Not to sound like a seven-year-old, though. It’s because I’ve seen it once and had my hopes up, but I don’t want that to happen again: Get my hopes up high and have them fall twice as low as before.
I don’t talk to my dad about problems or anything. Actually, I don’t really talk to my mom about them either unless it just blurts out in front of my mom. What I do is sometimes talk to professional counsellors in one-on-one chat rooms, because it’s anonymous. Sometimes I talk to my younger cousin, who is very understanding. Occasionally, my older cousin, and besides that, my friends.