In my last post, I talked a little about what Mother’s Day means to me, why it always feels like a complicated and slow 24 hours each year. It’s the anniversary of being kicked out by my very own mom.
I made a couple of deliberate choices in writing that post:
- I didn’t say anything other than “kicked out.” In the past, I’ve said Disowned and Abandoned and other such deeply emotional words. But I wanted to speak frankly and honestly about it, and I didn’t want anyone to roll their eyes or think I was just butt-hurt and dramatic (I assure you, I am butt-hurt and dramatic in plenty of other avenues). I still think all three words–kicked out, disowned and abandoned–are pretty accurate. Kicked Out seems to be the most neutral.
- I did not say why she kicked me out.
Because when I was writing, I was like, well, I don’t want to start getting all defensive, pointing fingers. It wasn’t the point of the post, either. It was about how shitty the Hallmark Holiday™ is for me.
I also didn’t want to put a reader in a position of thinking “well, I’d kick him out too,” or trying to play devil’s advocate or some horseshit like that. Because technically, events did occur before the deed was done. One could say it was causation. And do I REALLY want any poor soul reading this blog to be like hmm, well…
I didn’t think you would. The feedback I got on the post though–many of these commentators are mothers themselves–said they could never imagine doing that to their own kid, for any reason. Are you willing to bet on that?
For now I kind of feel like talking about it.
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It was May of course. My sister and I switched between Dad’s and Mom’s houses every Wednesday and had done so for a decade. We’d spend a week at one house, then a week at the other. I think we used to call Tuesday nights “toss nights” at Mom’s because it was always a transition to go from one house to the other, for better or for worse. I’m not going to tell you divorce marred my childhood, btw. I’m just saying that it affected how we lived. I’m glad my parents didn’t stay together.
In the event that a Wed-to-Wed made it so Mothers Day or Fathers Day landed on the opposite custody, the kids would get Tossed to the applicable parent’s house for 24 hours. Christmas was also divvied as such.
On Mothers Day in 2010, Dad had custody, so we went to Mom’s, and all was fine. She was really intense about holidays that celebrated her. I tread very carefully almost my whole life with her, but on her birthday or mother’s day? Don’t fuck it up.
There’s a lot about the day I don’t remember now, which is pretty cool. I know we watched a movie, and the next time I hear the movie’s title my neck hairs are going to tingle. I used to know. After the movie, we sat on the sectional in the living room and she talked to us about how she can’t wait for us to turn 18 so she can move to Florida. “I could have just taken you with me already,” she reminded us, “your father would have lost the custody battle. But I’ve always said, my girls should have a relationship with their father.”
“I’ve stayed in this horrible place for years JUST for you! And you’re so ungrateful.”
Don’t worry it was a joke. Except it was said often.
As I was saying, she talked about what she loved about Florida. It’s warm, it’s sunny. Everyone is SO nice there. There aren’t any bugs at all, like there are in MN. The weather is perfect.
The next activity was to go around the circle and the four of us would each talk about where they want to live someday. I was normally very good at these prompts. I knew JUST what to say to not get a rise, and, if I was lucky, get some good attention.
But I had a wild hair up my ass in May 2010, apparently. I said, “I don’t think I’d want to live in Florida.”
She asked me why. It was an out! I could have said, “just kidding, Florida is perfect” (I’d ever been there myself of course). What did I say instead?
“I think Florida is too hot for me.”
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That was the turning point. That was the last thing I said before it was all over. She spoke louder and louder about how wrong I was. Florida is NOT hot. People who say that are fucking stupid. They hate Florida because they can’t live there themselves. I don’t know what I’m talking about. There are way too many bugs in Minnesota. It is way hotter here than in Florida.
“Thanks for ruining mothers day.” Those were the last words she said to me in that house, before she stomped away, went to her room, slammed the door, and didn’t talk to us. That, or she hugged my sister but not me. I honestly can’t remember.
We got to Dads and as soon as we closed the front door I sobbed. Later that night, Dad said mom had called and she wanted me to stay at Dad’s full time for 30 days. Just so we could have some time apart. My sister would continue to switch houses. I remember sitting on the couch and we tried brainstorming as to why Mom doesn’t want me. I had a lot of hope, actually, that the trial was going to end and everything would be okay. She freaked out all the time. It was how she handled life. I was normally very good at knowing what to say and what not to. I became a master at reading her mind–or as much as I could with her unpredictability. So, I sat on that couch, I was exhausted from crying, but knew it would get better again, once she cooled off.
But she didn’t.
The next day, I went to school like every other 17 year old. I had to pretend like I wasn’t falling apart just to get through the day. I found it to be such a strange thing to tell anyone about. I always befriended my teachers, and some of them knew, but it always felt like hyperbole to say that I was kicked out. A perfect 4.0 student doing every activity ever, well liked, popular in the lil tiny charter high school full of queers and future socialists. It felt like it was just exaggerating a fight. It was hard to say. Plus, my sister was in high school with me too and I didn’t want to make it weird for her. I probably failed her in a lot of ways.
I wrapped up my junior year of high school. I had a whole senior year, and I graduated, and Mom wasn’t present for it. I got a great scholarship, got a great ACT score. Got my drivers license. Got my first car. Wrote a ton, was super sad but super creative. Crossed the boundary from Lifelong Depression™ to actually considering death for the first time.
There are many theories that have been Tossed around in my family about what her motives were. The kindest one is that she knew she couldn’t take care of me and my depression, so she left me with someone who could handle it. I have a number of other ideas that aren’t as generous.
She came into my life a couple more times, and I would always learn the reason later. The first time we connected after the kicked-out incident was when I was 20. It was around my birthday and christmas and I saw her FB message and just did not reply. I laid in my dorm room staring at the ceiling, gasping for air. But I decided to not reply until after the holidays because I just didn’t want to set myself up for weirdness/disappointment. In retrospect it was one of my wisest moves in college, although that lesson would be forgotten a few more times regardless.
We connected. I messaged her and I remember when she replied two days later, I was driving to my hometown. I remember it was the first time I’d ever texted and drove before. I didn’t want to but I could not just let her message SIT there on my phone. It was her first message to me!! So I definitely looked at the phone more than the road. I read that message over and over, too, trying to absorb any drop of attention to make up for 2 and a half years.
Mom and I talked for a few months off and on. It was fine! She was actually being nice. She did refer to the kicked-out incident as something I did on my own volition, but whatever, she was being nice to me! I was getting her back!
I didn’t fully comprehend this until after, but as I think I mentioned, there’s always a REASON behind her kindness. It had been a few months, ya know, and my sister was graduating high school. I came into town for it, and Mom suggested I sit next to her (the first time seeing her in person since I was 17).
So I sat next to her.
Victoria’s Secret perfume.
Bleached long hair.
She asked to take a selfie.
She posted it in Facebook and said how much she loves her family.
—
*poet snaps* 