Packing For Life (Part II)

Here's the rest of my personal narrative....

My Auntie was never one to spoil me. I was always expected to do certain things independently. At the age of nine, I was expected to do my own laundry and iron my own clothes. As a result, early on, I saw many days with wrinkled clothes and overflowing hampers,. Doing these simple things were going to “teach me independence” is what Auntie would say as I groaned about doing them. She always stressed how she hoped I would become a "strong, indepedent, black woman. At 13, I was learning to handle more responsibilities, but like every 13-year-old female I was answering the inevitable call to puberty and womanhood. Life was awkward and became ten times more awkward as a result of my situation.

So despite all of the independence I had acquired by this point, I still wanted and needed some guidance especially today. I had just made a decision that would change my life drastically. Having my Auntie there to talk to and hash out all of the anxieties and nervous feelings I was experiencing would have been nice, but unrealistic. It was as if there was an invisible line separating us. She would not speak to me and I did not know what to say to her. She would walk by me and very easily not look at me or in my direction. I knew what this meant too. I had hurt her. When you hurt Auntie, she did not want to speak with you or even be in your presence. She only spoke if it was an absolute necessity. She was distant and silent. I had been living with this for two days and it continued down to the zero hour of my departure.

As my father drove up, I was tying up loose ends. I made phone calls to my best of friends to remind them I would stay in touch. I called extended family and friends to say my goodbyes. I made my last attempts at reaching my Uncle, which deemed unsuccessful. I reluctantly wrapped my arms around our starch white, short haired Lab, Thunder, goodbye. She had been around since I was seven and I was going to miss her. She seemed unknowing and I tried to tell her that I wasn't coming back, well not soon anyway, and my throat began to well up.

By now all of my extra large black garbage bags, filled with my belongings, had surprisingly filled the trunk and back seat of my father’s white Toyota Camry. It was time for me to go. With butterflies in my stomach I headed towards the door. These were butterflies stemming from a paradox of emotions; happiness and excitement because of the opportunity to embark on a new life journey to hopefuly create a bond with my mother and extreme sadness for leaving behind the people and the life I had led up to this point. Most of all, I was hurting because I began to see the hurt that my choice had imposed upon my Auntie.

I turned to my Auntie, as my father waited outside, to say goodbye. We embraced quickly. During that embrace, she told me she loved me and I replied the same. I walked to my father’s car and exhaled deeply once I got into the car. ‘Wow, I did that without crying,’ I thought to myself.

The next few moments were surreal and seemed to happen in slow motion. My Auntie, a picture of stoicism for the past two days, had broken down. She was sobbing heavily, hanging out of the screen door, pleading and sobbing into the cold November night “Please, take care of my baby!”

For a while I was in a dream-like state. I wasn't aware of my surroundings, none of it seemed real. The lump that warns you of a cry was resting in my throat and exploded into a rush of tears when my father said in his soothing fatherly tone, “It’s ok to cry, honey.” The storm of emotions brewing inside of me must have been apparent in my facial expressions. Seeing my Auntie so hurt, hurt me. It was as if he had given me permission to feel and express the emotions I had been afraid to feel for a while. I cried as we drove down the dark roads of the Merit Parkway from the city to the countryside, not knowing what lay ahead on my new road in life.

First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage...

My sister is getting married next month. She is happy and in love, so that makes me happy --and I may be getting another neice/nephew from her sometime next year, but shhhh don't tell anyone:).

I haven't been to many weddings, but I absolutely love them. I am a pretty empathetic person. I feel for people in their pain and happiness, no matter who you are--criminal and victim alike-sounds corny, but it's true. I get very emotional (maybe even a tear or two) when watching the news or life moments on reality shows (I know, I'm a punk). So, when I see a couple that is truly in love I become extremely happy, I mean why not, love is a beautiful thing. There's not enough of it in this world anyway. When I say truly in love, I mean so much so that their love for eachother and the happiness they feel just radiates from their bodies and it makes it difficult for those who are around them not to feel that vibe. I am probably alone in saying this but, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes had me believing in love again. Obviously I do not know these people personally, but I got this "truly in love" vibe from them when they were being over saturated in the news. I am also an avid viewer of the TLC reality shows, APerfect Proposal, A Wedding Story, and A Baby Story. These events -- i.e., proposals, weddings, and pregnancies, [if you are unfamiliar with these reality shows]-- are things that I equate with happiness in life.

My career means alot to me, but when I look ahead at what I want for myself, I see a loving marriage and children-a happy, somewhat functional, family. That means more to me than anything, mainly because I did not have what you would call a "normal" or "functional" family. It worked for us, out of necessity, but I did not have an ideal upbringing. I have almost been in denial about this because I don't want to scare away the already commitment wary dudes I meet. It even kind of scares me. I have always been the unconventialist, tomboy, liberal, semi- feminist, of my family. I am different than everyone else in many ways. That is my role--to be different. I am entering an unconvential career of photojournalism, which frightens most of my family because they think I will be broke--which is probably true, but at least I'll be happy, right? I barely dated in high school so the fam has never had a chance to torture my dates or boyfriends. I've had and still have my "situations" while in college, but have yet to bring home a strapping young gentleman to meet the family. Since these moments have never occured I am actually looking forward to the day that I can bring him home to meet my family and my dad can talk computers with him and my mom can probe into his life with her nosy questions. So it's kind of crazy to discover that I am in fact very old-fashioned and not that different at all.

Packing For Life

I have to write a personal narrative for my Magazine Article writing class, so I'm posting it...comments/criticism is appreciated :) thanx folks...

Auntie ignored me for the next two days leading up to my departure.
She hasn't been handling this whole thing too well, understandably so. In my mind I was going to tell her it had nothing to do with her. That I was nervous as hell. That I really needed her guidance. But at the age of 13, I could not articulate that without those temporary speech impediments that usually occured when I was nervous or emotional.

I was moving in with my biological mother.

Two days earlier, accompanied by my Auntie Dor (considerably older cousin Dorene), and my Auntie, I visited the downtown courthouse. We were met by a few family members including Uncle, Auntie's ex-husband, who was more like a father than an uncle. My Mother and her husband were also there. The tension in the air was uncomfortable, but strangely routine at this point.

The judge wanted to speak with me alone while the adults waited outside. This caught everyone a little off guard. Our closed meeting was very short. He asked me a few questions including the decision maker, "Erin, do you want to live with your mother?" Me: "Yes." He didn't even ask me why or anything.

Two days later I wait for my Father, who also had not been a factor in my life up until this point, to drive me to my Mother's house. I must have been in denial because I still hadn't packed. My excessive stuffed animals were still resting in their comfortable positions. My bed was unmade, my room a little messy. My clothes were even still in the closet or in the dirty clothes hamper. It was a scene of confusion and unorganization. All I had packed were bookbags filled with schoolwork, yearbooks from over the years, and goodbye cards and gifts from schoolmates and best-friends. But, how do you pack your life away?

More to come....