My goal with today’s post is to finish explaining the parts of my past that I was too young to remember. Disclaimer: this is a compilation of stories I have been told from my family, I cannot guarantee the legitimacy of everything here.
When my parents came home from Vegas they decided that they might as well legitimize their actions. So they threw together a little wedding reception held in Calgary and invited their families out to the event. Then they moved in together. Their goal was to make life as normal as possible for upcoming lil’ me.
Turns out that they had had twins previously together but an undisclosed incident had led to a miscarriage. I’m assuming this actually happened although only my unreliable mother has been the only one to comment on the event. To be honest here, I have always been glad that I did not have siblings. I would never wish what I went through on anyone else.
My mom and dads version of normal isn’t what the average folk would consider it. After I was born my parents would throw parties. Wild parties. The 90s was an interesting time. Smoking and drinking was always permitted in their house. Don’t worry: they put towels near the door to my room to “soak up the smoke so it wouldn’t kill me”. Parenting win. They also discovered a new use for their infant daughter: drink holder. When it was just the two of them drinking they would bring me into the living room, rest me up against the couch, and pass my beer bottles to hold onto. Apparently, I loved the taste and would suck on the top. Sigh. Maybe this was a long-term strategy to get me hooked on the taste of beer. Well the jokes on you mom and dad. I despise the taste. Combine this with the fact that I frequently fell off the changing table because diapers were so revolting to my father that he would be unable to hold me steady as he dry heaved out the window.
Come to think of it – the above is wonderful foreshadowing to the rest of my life.
There were not so dangerous, but not as gripping, events in my pre-conscience thought history. My parents adopted a lovely dog that they named Timber. She was a beautiful keeshond who I got the pleasure of spending the first eleven years of my life with. Her homecoming was less than ideal. Now Timber was amazing and I loved her to pieces but she does come with a pretty good backstory.
Day 1. Mistake 1. My parent’s impulsively bought an expensive purebred. They showed up late – family tradition – and ended up with the psycho runt of the litter. As they were driving her home, which is a short twenty-minute drive, she got carsick. Everywhere. My mother was so thankful when they finally arrived home because then the dog could safely go be sick in the backyard. She let Timber out onto the deck and walked over to show her where the stairs to the grass were. Mistake 2. Mother turned her back on the energizer-bunny-like dog for a split second to check something on the deck and Timber came bounding up. She slammed into my mother so hard that she fell down the stairs and ended up breaking her ankle. It was time to go to the hospital. Thankfully, the car reeked of dog barf and there was an unruly – this made the situation a lot easier on my dad. ‘’
Of course, Timber and I became best buddies. We sat in laundry baskets together while watching Calgary Flames games, went for walks side-by-side to the park, and she sat at the dinner table with us and ate right off of it. She was the first of many dog siblings I would have.
Small fights would breakout between the two of them. They weren’t ready for a sudden change in their life. They wanted to be young and enjoy life and instead they got me.
Three events that solidified my Mom and Dad’s amazing parenting abilities
1. My Dad has a very sensitive sense of smell and will dry heave over the most minor odor. So one day my Dad was changing my diaper, when the smell hit him. Commence dry heaving. He had one hand on me while he was doubled over reenacting a cat throwing up a hairball. I managed to roll my way off of the changing table and hit the floor.
2. Both my parents love beer and hockey. During game we would all sit on the couch in our hockey jerseys and they would drink beer. I was their personal beer holder and I would suck on the rim of the bottle because I loved the taste of beer. This trait clearly didn’t follow me to adulthood.
3. Being in their early twenties, my parents loved to party. This included throwing house parties that involved heavy drinking and smoking inside the house. Luckily, my parents pieced together that smoke inhalation for a young baby was a bad idea. The solution to this was to put me in my crib and stuff a towel at the bottom of the door so smoke wouldn’t come into my room while they partied all night.
This was a short jump to divorce. I have no idea how or why my parents split up, but I have an idea that it is probably related to personalities not matching up. I also have yet to confirm this with my father but based on photos of him and Donna (my father’s second wife), early accounts of her presence in my Dad’s life, and a quick relationship startup right after my Dad and Mom moved out, leads me to believe that there was an extra martial thing going on there…
My Father cheated on my Mother. My Mother cheated on my Stepfather. My Stepfather cheated on my Mother. My Stepmother cheats on my Father. I’ve been cheated on in three different relationships. Granted two of them were High School-level relationships so maybe they don’t count.
I’ve never fathomed why someone would ever cheat on someone else. I have felt the pain of being cheated on and witnessed, on multiple occasions, one of my (step)parents go through that pain. Unfortunately, I rarely feel surprised when a friend of mine tells me about a cheating boyfriend/girlfriend and I didn’t even bat an eye when I found out my, now ex, boyfriend of two and a half years had cheated on me. I don’t know maybe I will gather up the strength in the future, but this has lead to probably an unhealthy level of cynicism.