Childhood Memories

As a child, I always felt out of place; in my home, at school, everywhere.  When I started school my teacher had to teach me to tie my shoes.  I didn’t have many social skills.  Friends didn’t come easy to me.  I really didn’t know what to say to people.

               
I can remember one time I came to school late and it was my father dropping me off.  I was probably around nine or ten.  He walked in the school with me.  He asked me to tell him I loved him and give him a kiss.  I felt extremely awkward in that we never did those things.  The halls were empty, there was no one watching.  After what seemed like an hour of silent awkwardness, I whispered, “I love you,” and pushed my cheek to his.  He told me that that was not a kiss, that it was a hug.  I had never kissed my father before in my life.  I hesitated, and then kissed him on the cheek.    

               
Another memory from my childhood is the only time I ever saw my father cry.  I’m guessing I was probably close to ten years old.  I was asleep in my daybed under my frilly pink comforter when I woke to a strange gulping sound.  At first I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, until I decided it was coming from down the stairs.  My heart was pounding in my ears as I slipped out of bed and down the stairs.  I took a few deep breaths before I poked my head around the corner.  On our living room couch was my father.  The sounds I was hearing were the sobs coming from him.  His face was soaked with tears along with streams still flowing.  Shock washed over me and as quietly as possible I hurried back up the stairs.  I wrapped myself in my blanket and laid there awake until the morning.

There was one point, not long before my father started moving out for periods of time, that I found my father putting something in the ceiling of my parents’ bedroom.  When I asked what he put up there he insisted that there was nothing there.  I argued with him jokingly and he got angry.  I dropped the subject.