Young Love

You know. Everyone has a story to tell. As I push through memories of my childhood and early adulthood, I am reminded of that. Each of us remembers things a little different, from a different point of view. Some choose a more diluted version, some see a more cloudy version others choose not to see at all. It does not mean that they don't exist, just that they choose to forget.

My mind floats to some interactions between my mom and dad. One particular occassion must have been pretty bad. It is representative of what we would come to witness over the course of our parents marriage. I am always surprised at how much they could love and how hard they could fight. We saw them hold hands and cuddle. Dad would bring flowers, open doors and just leak love from all of his pores for mom. Mom was putty in his hands. On the flip side of that coin, dad was loud, argumentative and abraisive. This might have been a result of his work schedule or the primative pressures put while raising a large family on a limited budget. Whatever the reason it was sometimes tough to watch.

On one occassion, the screaming and yelling of obcenities started in the living room. Dad had come home and, as was typical of this time frame, found a common thread to pull. It seems that mom was not keeping the house clean, especially the kitchen. Mom did not agree (looking back we thought this argument was a ruse for another problem) She stood her ground and things got heated. Dad would cuss and throw something. Mom would bark back. The whole thing lasted for what seemed to be all day. As for us kids, we just stepped aside. We had learned early on that this was best. It was the only way to keep attention off of us. At some point dad decided to illistrate how much of an issue the unkept kitchen was for him. He bagged up all of the items in the kitchen. Each bag was then taken to the street for the garbage man to pick up. Mom decided to stand her ground. If he wanted to throw things away, she would let him. He was not going to push her around.

We all watched the stubborness invade our home. We all watched in disbelief as the garbage man picked the guts of our kitchen. Dad had proved his point. Mom had proved hers. When things finally settled down and they always settled down we knew. Dad would head off to bedroom and mom would follow suit for further discussions. There would be some more yelling from behind closed doors then the bed would squeak. That was our childhood signal that all was well. If the bed squeaked the argument was over.

The next day, we went shopping for new kitchenware. Mom was happy dad was happy and we had new kitchenware. What a great day!