Day 251: Some Childhood Memories You Never Outgrow

I have been in a bad mood all day. Well, not bad exactly, but grumpy, disconcerted, irritable and whatever other adjective you care to throw in, it’s all true. The time I did not spend actively being grumpy I spent trying to figure out why I was so out of sorts. What makes us just “wake up on the wrong side of the bed”? There was no discernible reason until I started to consider the circumstances. Normally, I love Superbowl Sunday. I love football and even when there are two boring teams like playing like tonight, I still manage to find joy in the day, but that didn’t happen. Which is why I dug a little deeper and hit upon the truth: it’s my blog’s fault.

Last night as I lay in bed not sleeping (I am a long-time insomnia sufferer) I thought about what I might write in today’s blog and I decided upon the significance of the day itself. Not the Superbowl game, but what else happened on Superbowl Sunday. Thirty or thirty-one years ago today (Superbowl Sunday, not February 7) my Pop asked my Mom for a divorce. I was five or maybe even four at the time and I didn’t actually hear the conversation. I witnessed the conversation, which is to say, I saw my Dad pull Mom aside as we were leaving for mass (yes, I grew up Catholic, close your gaping mouth) and discuss something I knew to be very serious.

I didn’t hear a word and yet I knew from their body language that whatever it was, it was bad. I could also tell from the way my Mother acted in church that something horrible was happening, but at my age it’s not an easy thing to vocalize that kind of doom. I can still feel that day. I see them standing in the kitchen by the sink, I know it was cold outside, I am aware of my Mother’s stiffened posture and tension all through church service and yet I do not recall a word. It wasn’t until years later that Mom mentioned that she hated Superbowl Sunday because that was the day Dad said he wanted a divorce. It was like a light switch went on for me. I questioned her carefully about when, where, time of day and year and it all matched perfectly. The day I’d been carrying around in my memory as something horrible without knowing why was the day our worlds changed.

As an adult I am able to enjoy the Superbowl without that day haunting me, a feat my Mother never achieved the rest of her life, but this year it did affect me a little. At some point the night before, my unconscious mind must have continued to turn this over and over, working it up to a discontented ball of angst. I woke up and my subconscious mind went to town wreaking havoc on all who dared speak to me. Funny the way the mind works, funnier still that I witnessed something that changed my life completely without realizing what it was and finally connected those dots years later.

My parents remained close and my Mother never stopped loving Dad and never stopped hating Superbowl Sunday. Today I felt a little bit of both and that emotional contradiction cost me what should have been a fun day. Kids see and understand so much more about the world than most parents realize. I think because I am so in touch with my childhood self this is something I never forget and it’s why I know I’d make an excellent parent. It is also why I will never be a Mother. Sometimes the damage we suffer as children seems harmless enough, but those scars can last a lifetime without anyone, including ourselves, realizing it. I remember what it was like to be a child. I rarely remember yesterday, but I’ve always remembered the heartache, angst and joy of childhood. I guess for me, the happiness just wasn’t enough to outweigh the bad.