1967-1968

I don’t know that my parents should really ever been parents; especially not when they were; especially not with each other. As a matter of fact, beyond the basic biological parenting, my parents weren’t really parents even to the children they had. We basically raised ourselves, for better or for worse, and at least from first grade or so, on. I am willing to accept that they fed, housed, and often clothed us, before and after first grade. But their ability or willingness to do even that was variable, unreliable, and minimal, at best.

I don’t remember a whole lot from before the twins were born; just a few snippets, really. I remember being in my grandparents’ Lido Beach house. I loved that house. I remember my grandfather’s loving, albeit troubled, presence. I loved that man. That’s about all I remember from my life in New York. I moved from New York to Kansas when I was 2. I was born during the summer after my parents’ sophomore year of college. So, the summer I turned 2, they had finished undergraduate school and moved from New York to Lawrence, Kansas, to attend the University of Kansas for graduate school. We moved there in the summer of 1967.

Before the twins came into being, already, according to my parents, I was a troubled child. I cried if my mother touched me. I threw fits in restaurants. The crying thing was probably not normal. I have heard stories about my mother’s pregnancy – stories of her not wanting me, but being pressured into keeping me by my grandparents, or at least, my maternal grandfather, and my father. Given my father’s inability to love his children, or pretty much anybody, I find that difficult to believe. That said, when I was born in 1965, my father was 21. I was 21 when my oldest child was born. A person isn’t complete when he is 21. At 21, much of your physical development is complete, yes, but much of a soul’s emotional development remains to be done. So, in an attempt to give that father the same benefit of doubt that I want people to give me.

I do remember taking a running-jump into my mother’s lap. At least before she was pregnant with my sisters. Unfortunately, when I did the same thing during her pregnancy, my enthusiasm was met with barred arms and stern words. I didn’t take that well. My bad, I guess. I started resenting my sisters at that time. I wish that weren’t the case. I am sorry that is the case. But I don’t know how I can change what was, not now, 41 years later. Oh well.

Unfortunately, from that moment on, I resented the baby growing in my Momma’s belly. I wanted a brother who wouldn’t take my toys. I got twin sisters, who did. I say I resented the “baby,” because, until Monique was born, nobody knew that Michèle was on the way…