self-portrait tuesday: 1/17/06 little explosions

my father was married five times.
my mother was his third wife.
they had two children.

rikk was born four years before me.
we lived together until
he was 12 and
i was 8.

at first, i lived with my mom.
and he lived with my dad.
then...eventually, we switched.

i have very painful memories from that time of my life.
being whisked away to texas..
coming home, six months later,
and feeling elated from seeing my mom and dad
standing together at the airport.
and then watching my dad drive away
after he dropped us at the house.

it all happened at the same age of the children i teach now.
maybe that is why i can relate to the shorties so well.
maybe i am stuck in that eight-year-old self.
maybe i want to somehow relive that time
and heal...become strong and
kick the ass of all those memories.
damn.
how crazy is that?

the pictures above are from a happier time.
my brother and i blissfully unaware of the grownup chaos
that surrounded us.
my dad had left behind three children
from two other marriages.
my mother had abandoned her first husband
to follow (or chase) my father (still married to his second wife)
to california and have his baby.
his second divorce, and hers, came through just in
time for them to get married while
i was growing in her stomache.

secretssecretssecrets.

in these pictures, i thought rikk was my only sibling.
i adored him.
he made me laugh.
he walked me to school every day until
i was in third grade.
he would wait outside the door of my classroom
every day.
every year: mrs. erhardt, mrs. binder, mrs. caruth, ms. cole.

then. i never lived with him again for more than a year.
we would spend weekends together
sometimes.
then, my mother moved to florida
and took him with her.
she would call and tell me what a
great time they were having.
how much fun it was there with her.
and that she hoped i enjoyed living
with my dad.

my brother and i have gotten close again
over the years.
it took some time.
we sat in his driveway, in florida,
with many tiny boxes of caps
(the kind you put in a cap-gun)
and rocks.
talkingandtalkingandtalking.
and remembering.
and laughing each time
the tiny explosions startled us.
the smell of sulpher making
us kids again.

rikk's motto is: you choose family.
amen, brother, amen.

january's challenge: personal history