Learning to Cry

by Christopher C. Payne

  With kids it always seems that the real story lies somewhere in the middle. Damn, with adults you could say the exact same thing. Nobody ever seems to get a story perfectly straight. I guess if everyone looked at the same thing and perceived it precisely the same way we would never have any disagreements. Life would be simple and easy going. Sadly, we would morph into the grey zone, and we would lose our individuality. Everything has a double edge to it.

  So Melissa said she had never been able to find the earrings. Not only that but her friends were now ganging up on her at school, calling her names, and making it uncomfortable to be around them. Her closest friends were all siding with Shelly, and they were pointing fingers at her, calling her a liar, and threatening her. As a parent you always want to believe your child. You never want their lives to be uncomfortable or unsafe. I just don’t get it. How can you protect them when they make it impossible to be protected?

  We called Shelly’s mother back. I informed her that we would not be able to find the earrings, but I would happily pay whatever they were worth. I felt bad they had been lost. I could not figure out what happened, and we were at a dead end. Ah, if life were only that simple. Shelly’s dad got on the phone, and the situation devolved substantially from there. He was a known alcoholic and not the brightest guy on the coast. He launched into a monologue about the Korean War and how it should have been won by the United States.

  You might laugh at that, but I am dead serious. He kept going on about the parallels of life and war and how we needed to protect each other. We are all on the same team, and he wondered how I could not understand this. When he had been in the war, life was simpler. He protected his friends, and they protected him. Everyone watched everyone’s back. The conversation then moved to some of his family history and how he came to live on the coast. He worked his way up to the house they now lived in, and we finally got to a conclusion. While this sounds lengthy, the conversation didn’t last more than 15 minutes.

  He was obviously drunk, and nothing flowed from one topic to the next with any logic. It wasn’t like you got to the finish line and leaned your head back saying, “ahhhhhh, now I get it.” You just leaned your head back and thought, “holy shit, what the hell was that?” To sum things up, we asked Shelly and her friends to stop picking on Melissa. We offered to pay for the earrings and were told no. We endured our lecture, and at that point we all moved on. We never did have Shelly over to the house after that, but sadly this was not the end.

  The next day was Friday, and school was bad. We had planned on picking Melissa up after her final period for our trip of now five people, but were called in to see the principal at lunch time. Shelly it seemed had decided to take matters into her own hands. She and some other girls, all of which we knew, had cornered Melissa and held her down while Shelly hit her and poured soda over her head. Interestingly the truth of the earrings came out, and Shelly now knew where they were, but all of the girls were caught and sent to the principal.

  We happen to know the principal very well. He had been Melissa’s principal in grade school. When she had graduated, he was promoted and followed her to middle school. Cheryl and I were one of the largest donors to the school, so we talked to him quite often. When he called us in, he was perplexed about what to do.

  Melissa had stolen the earrings and bartered them for some pot. I thought he was joking because Melissa didn’t even smoke pot. On that we all agreed, but I guess this was her first attempt at ascertaining some in the hopes of seeing what it was like. Shelly and all of the other girls found this out, but their interrogation methods were not appropriate. So the dilemma was to suspend them all for a week or let them all off, after calling everyone’s parents, and see if we couldn’t put this to rest. I chose the latter, and we grabbed Melissa and left. Most of the other parents were not there yet. We had been the first ones called.

  It was easy to see that things were escalating. Melissa was facing more serious issues, and she was not handling herself well at all. She screamed at us when we got in the SUV, telling us that they were lying, and they had beaten her up. She was spouting off about being a victim, saying she had never even seen any pot. How would she even know how to buy any? We grounded her, of course, which led to more screaming. With that, we packed up the rest of the kids and headed toward our happy vacation home. Things were spiraling out of control.

  I have no doubts that pot is available in middle school, but the things that kids do astound me. Melissa had a pool party on her previous birthday and invited a bunch of girls and a few boys over to the house to celebrate. One of the little girls did not go in the pool because she had already started her period. This was during the summer of their 6th grade year. Come to find out three months later she was no longer enrolled in middle school but was now living with her grandmother in Arkansas. The rumor was she had gotten pregnant.

  At the time I remember thinking it didn’t surprise me. Her mom was known for being a little loose around town, and it appeared the daughter was following in her footsteps. Isn’t it odd how we judge people? I didn’t know this family. How was I to understand what their situation was or what rules they lived by? As I would soon discover, it could easily have been my daughter heading off to her grandparents, as well. No father ever wants to imagine his little girl having sex -- especially at the ages of 11 or 12 or 13.

  What is the rush to grow up with kids today? Don’t they understand that once they grow up there is no going back? You can’t have your innocence once it is gone. It doesn’t work that way. Virginity is yours to have up until the first time you have sex. When that first time occurs, it is all over after that. Everything else is just the next time. My heart was breaking inside. My head was hurting from the escalating tension with Cheryl, and I didn’t know how much longer I could hold it together. Was this what life was meant to be? How many chances do we get to do this correctly? Is it just the one shot because I was now seriously thinking about asking for a mulligan?

  The saddest thing that came to mind that day was our two little girls. They were the ones who were getting the short end of the stick. In life there is only so much energy to go around. There is work, the house, finances, kids, activities. You can only do so much. When one area of your life starts sucking up more energy you subconsciously shift things around, taking your allotted effort and moving it to the place requiring focus. It is something similar to the shell game they play on the streets of New York City. If you take it from work, you could potentially get fired. If you take it from the household chores you might soon find yourself without a house. My guess is when one child acts up your energy diverts from the good children to the one with issues in most cases. I know it did for us.

  We were slipping into a pattern where the two little ones were lacking in attention. This became normal for both of us. It isn’t like we ignored them. It was more like they somehow fell down in the priority list. I think Cheryl compensated for this by telling me it was all me. She enjoyed pointing her finger, but most of the time she was pointing it from a hotel room. She was never really home. Ah, the irony of self-defined elitism.

  There was one instance when we were skiing with some friends. The busy-body ladies coupled up and complained that I was only riding with Melissa on the ski lifts and not Amelia or Cassandra. Amelia had asked to ride with Cassandra at the time, but the two pretentious mothers didn’t bother asking. As they were both prone to do, they readily pointed their fingers at their husbands. Heaven help us if either one of the wanna-be Stepford wives ever actually took responsibility and helped out themselves. They were too busy chatting for that to happen.

  For our current trip to the mountains, we had decided at the last minute to drive two cars. We were hauling a bunch of stuff up, and it just made sense to get everything loaded and out of the way. Sadly, it also gave me an out. Cheryl and I got into a huge altercation that night when we arrived at our destination. We hadn’t even gotten settled in yet when we began hurling vulgar language. The kids were in ea
rshot and heard most of what we were saying, as Cheryl so often allowed them to. Maybe the stress of life in general was just too much. Maybe it was the pressures we placed on ourselves. I don’t ever pretend to have all the answers, but that night I could no longer handle it.

  I grabbed my bag, threw it in the SUV and headed home, leaving the family there by themselves. She texted me and called as I drove back, but it only made things worse not better. At one point I hung up the phone, took off my wedding ring, and threw it out the window. I never did tell her the truth about that. Maybe I have an issue about lying, as well. I just always felt that it was better she didn’t know what I had done. I think that was the day our relationship ended. The ring heading out the window to the side of the road was just symbolic. I still remember hearing the clinging sound as it hit pavement and rolled away to its new home.

  Our pattern of blaming each other continued after that. I didn’t move out that weekend, but the household tension was mounting on all sides. The au-pair felt it, the kids felt it, and if we were able to admit it to ourselves, we felt it. We were like oil and vinegar, and the mixing was never going to happen. Admitting defeat is not an easy thing to do in a marriage. Neither one of us were looking for somebody new to love, we just no longer loved each other. It would still be a couple of years before this was finalized, but that day was a pivotal point in setting us down the road to separation.

  I still wonder what was best for the kids. Would Melissa’s outcome have been different had I stayed married? Would she have made the same choices or would life have been different. Should couples suffer in silence for the sake of children or is it even possible to let a relationship deteriorate quietly. Cheryl and I were anything but relaxed, and we had been that way for a long time now. Is that the right kind of environment to rear a child? There never seems to be an easy right or wrong answer. All we can do is move forward and attack each obstacle with the best intentions and hold on to hope that things even out in the end.

  The Three Stooges?

  Father

  Three is a magic number in our society. There are three Stooges. You couldn’t have just two, and four is another even number. There are even three Musketeers. Sure, there was talk of a fourth, but that was down the road. There is the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The Holy Trinity is three. Despite Melissa’s continual demand for attention dictated by her actions, it was becoming obvious that Amelia was in need of some guidance and desperately needed more of our focus. We did still have three children, not just one.

  She was struggling in grade school, and it wasn’t from a lack of effort. Having three daughters has taught me a valuable lesson in life. Each one possesses different characteristics. They have different strengths and weakness. Each one approaches life in her own unique way. Amelia, I always felt, stood the best chance at success. She is the one who will most likely be our foundation as we get older and the family matures. There is always one who rises to the top by sheer will, somebody who possesses the inner strength to shoulder the burdens of the group.

  Amelia had her work ethic. Melissa had her intelligence. Cassandra had her spunkiness, which scared me to no end each passing year as she grew older. Luckily, all three were amazingly beautiful. Amelia’s work ethic impressed me the most. When drivers enter a race, they all begin within the same parameters. Some cars might be faster, some cars might be more dynamic, some might possess an enormous burst of speed while some might be built for the long haul. While every car varies, they are all within the guidelines of what the race restrictions require. Equal specifications, so the race is fair.

  The difference is the drivers. Drivers can use their personal attributes to maximize their car’s strength and will it to the front. The driver by sheer force of actions and paying attention to the details can figure out ways to push the car so it does things the automobile was not originally designed to do. Amelia was tenacious. She struggled mightily in school, but it was not from laziness. She worked every night longer than average; she didn’t have to be reminded to open her books. She didn’t need prodding to do her homework. If anything she was the exact opposite. If we didn’t afford her the time she needed, she was reprimanding us.

  Cheryl and I did not understand the dynamics of what was occurring, so we decided to have Amelia tested. Luckily, the public school we were in had the process already in place. Amelia’s teachers agreed that it would be a good idea to see the results of an in-depth academic analysis. Amelia worked too hard, was too sweet, and had too much desire for us not to completely understand why her efforts were not resulting in more success. We made the official request with her teacher and waited for the process to take its course.

  Like all things with your children, results never happen quickly enough. A new school psychologist, fresh out of graduate school, led the public testing procedure, and it seemed to be dragging along forever. I guess there are guidelines and timing requirements, and our property taxes do not contribute enough for expediency. Cheryl is not known for her patience, and I am not always known for being the most tactful. While our children will never be ones to worry about not getting their fair share, they might have to worry about being isolated due to their parents less-than-stellar social skills.

  After waiting for what seemed like years, we finally started pushing the system a little. I shouldn’t say we, since my ex-wife was the primary instigator in most school activities. Again, she demanded this. When she hit a roadblock, I got involved, as well, and as luck would have it our meeting date was finally assigned. In hindsight, I am not sure we expedited anything. The process had to run its course. As this was the school psychologist’s first assignment, she was learning the intricacies of the real world and how it varied from academia. We might not have been her ideal first customers.

  As with any situation that surfaces, new experiences always afford the opportunity to learn new skills. If you take those newfound tools and apply them to life, you will grow and mature. It is part of the aging process. As I look back on our initial meeting with the school psychologist, I am amazed at how random people might change roles and play a major part in your future. You should always be careful how you treat people because you never know how that person might be involved in your life down the road.

  When I met Karen, I found myself short of breath. There was something about this woman that threw me off. She was beautiful, but I meet beautiful women all the time. With her, it was something more. I wouldn’t figure it out for a few years, but Karen was somebody special. I did my best to concentrate during the meeting but admittedly was distracted by her voice and her every action as she moved.

  Amelia was having trouble with concepts. She, as we all knew, was very intelligent, but her brain worked in a way that made it difficult for her to navigate through a word problem. The easiest way for me to describe this is adding two plus two was easy. That was four. Adding two apples with two oranges and asking how many pieces of fruit there were in total was difficult. I am simplifying this greatly, but that was the basic nuts-and-bolts of what was occurring. There were ways to help Amelia with this issue, but the biggest factor in her success would be her ability to work harder than average.

  I am not the most religious person in the world. I don’t go to church. I don’t pray. I don’t spend a lot of time interacting with God, but I am amazed at times. Most of us seem to be programmed so the very attributes that we need for success are built into our systems. Amelia might struggle through life, but the very thing she needed the most was a strong work ethic. It was the very thing she possessed. That was her strongest differentiation from the norm.

  We got Amelia a tutor, gave her the extra help that was needed, her teachers worked with her, and I am proud to say she has been on the honor roll ever since. The honor roll. How the hell that girl does it is beyond me. She works harder than anyone I have ever seen. I am not sure what she wants to be when she grows up, but whatever she chooses, she will figure out a way to get there. I wouldn’t want to be the person who
stands in her way. By her will alone she will fight to attain whatever goals she sets.

  It is difficult not to compare daughters even though it is against the rules. Every person is unique. You can’t compare a plane to a car, for example. It doesn’t make any sense. Yes, they are both machines, and yes, they might both transport people, but they are completely different. They hold different characteristics. They feel different, look different. They are different colors, sizes, shapes. You cannot compare them, yet with children we all inevitably, even if subconsciously, do the sizing up.

  Melissa was so smart. She was socially adept. She could do anything she wanted if she applied herself. The sad thing was watching as she continually lost focus. It reminded me of a deer in the middle of the road as a car’s headlights flashed so brightly right in its face. She would spend as much effort in avoiding schoolwork as Amelia would in doing homework. In middle school, this was now taking a toll. She would approach me to help her with a test and, as I always did, my first question was did you read the book. Did you read the chapter or chapters the test is covering? She would attempt her lie and say yes, and within five minutes of quizzing her, it was obvious she had not. We would argue, she would relent, and eventually head off to read.

  Her idea of reading was to skim the chapters versus reading the actual words. She would study the highlighted areas, read the bold descriptions, study the sections on the side that were listed as important, and then return. We would go through the chapter again, and I would, again, tell her to read the book. Eventually she would find a way to force herself, or I would just give in from exhaustion. We ran this circle many, many times throughout her middle school years without anything ever being resolved.