Monday, October 27, 2014

Grandma and Grandpa's House: Shocked and Terrified

After our haunted house experience, which we deemed an overall success, we decided to go to a professional haunted house. It was on a farm. You waited in line to get on a haunted hay ride that drove you to the haunted house. Grandma, Grandpa, Sarah, Kristi and I all piled up on the wagon. It was my first haunted house experience and I was freaked out when the wagon started moving. Kristi was on my left and Sarah was on my right. We passed by gory stages of crazy surgeons and killers on the loose. We saw ghosts and demons running alongside the wagon. I was so scared that I thought I was going pass out, but I was too proud to admit that I couldn't handle the haunted house scene. I started feeling queasy just as someone with a chainsaw jumped on the wagon. He started to saw parts of the benches that we were sitting on. It was too much; so, I quickly turned to Kristi, feigning concern for her when I was the one that needed help. I spent the rest of the ride looking at her and trying to tune out the scary stuff going on around me. As soon as it was over, I jumped off and refused to go into the haunted house with Grandma and Sarah. I waited outside with Kristi and Grandpa, drinking hot chocolate and trying to calm my nerves while they went through. Apparently, Grandma laughed and clapped through the whole thing. At the end, when a man started chasing them, Sarah took off and left her. I can just imagine Grandma slowly walking away from him, giggling all the way.

Grandma loved feeding people. We would often have church members come over for dinner. We would often run out of room on her small kitchen table. So, after she served one dish, she would remove it from the table and bring another over. One time, she hurriedly brought one of the salads and realized that she had forgotten the tongs; so, she grabbed it with her hands and dumped it on each plate while muttering, "My hands are clean. My hands are clean."
One night, we had Don over for dinner. He and Mom had been dating for a little while. Grandma made chicken. While she was serving, she asked, "Do you like breast, Don?"

Grandma didn't have many clothes and what she did have was raggedy and stained. Mom said that she would sometimes be embarrassed by Grandma's stained outfits but that she later realized that Grandma didn't have clothes because she spent her money on them. She spent her money on their music lessons, riding lessons, ice skating lessons etc. Grandma often wore a Mickey Mouse sweater with two large stains, one on the sleeve and one on the stomach. I think Mom has that sweater now.

Grandpa's driving was terrifying. I often prayed for safety as I sat in the front seat of his white Lincoln. One day, he turned to me and asked if I wanted to drive. He took me to an abandoned parking lot and switched spots with me. It was the first time I got behind the wheel and it was our secret. I got to drive back and forth in the parking lot for half an hour or so. He would have me practice accelerating and slowing down. We practiced parking. I loved it.

I used to read Frances the Badger books. They were about a naughty little badger who would often get herself into trouble. She had tea parties and picnics and ate boiled eggs out of egg cups. Grandma made this a reality for me. She hosted a tea party for me; I got to invite some of my friends over. We ate cucumber sandwiches and drink out of tea cups. She took us on a picnic in a beautiful field. She also bought some special egg cups so that I could put my boiled eggs in them. She gave us little spoons to crack them with. It was fun, experiencing new things with Grandma. We read Hank the Cowdog books. Grandma also bought some of the tapes so that we could listen to it while we drove. We also loved reading George and Martha books about two silly hippos who experience new things together and play tricks on each other.

We got used to Grandma and Grandpa's house rules. They were strict, but so was Mom; so, it wasn't a huge adjustment for us. Grandma was put in charge of a primary class at church and she was having a hard time keeping the kids in line. I had heard her discuss this problem with Grandpa a few weeks in a row. She had started talking about it with Sarah and I, asking what our teachers had done when we were in primary. I went to the bathroom as they talked in length about it. As I came back, I didn't know that they had switched to a different subject. They were talking about a fun activity Grandma could do with her class. She was going to simulate 'holding to the iron rod' and wanted the kids to hold onto pieces of string with blindfolds over their eyes. She wanted to have people whisper to them, both good and bad spirits, either encouraging them to hold on or telling them to let go. When I came back into the room, Grandma and Sarah were talking about what the evil spirits could say to them. I sat down and, still thinking that they were talking about punishing the primary students, heard Grandma harshly whisper, "We can just say, 'God doesn't love you! Just give up! Give up!' " I was stunned! Grandma was strict, but she had never whispered that to me when I was naughty. I suddenly felt really bad for the troublesome children but was scared to say anything, worried that Grandma would say something similar to me if I objected. I was especially shocked because Sarah was nodding with Grandma, both looking excited to say such things. Thankfully, as they kept talking, I realized my mistake and explained to them how bothered I had been. Grandma laughed hard. We sat around the table crying and laughing for a long time.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Grandma and Grandpa's House: Acceptance

I slowly got used to life in Minnesota. Even though I missed the mountains, I grew accustomed to the tall water towers in every city. I got used to the Minnesotan lingo and even started using some of the phrases we used to mock. I stopped hoping for snow days; Minnesotans are not phased by massive amounts of snow. I wore socks to bed and bundled up for school for months on end, including some summer months. There were really only two seasons in Minnesota: winter and road construction. I learned about wading/kiddie pools. I learned about the importance of hockey and hunting. I learned that tractors are usually the reason for traffic jams. I started to appreciate how beautiful Minnesota is, with the many lakes and endless farms. Everything was lush and green, so different from Utah.

I got used to being away from Dad, JD, and Esther. Es was attending college in Rexburg, Idaho and working part-time. She was busy but happy. JD was living with Dad in Orem, Utah. I have little memory of life pre-separation and thankfully, my Minnesota life wasn't as consumed with post-separation war as it had been when we lived in Santaquin, UT. Dad was hard to talk to, making it easier for me to accept how little he called. His calls always revolved around talking about how Mom didn't really love me, how much he was hurting, how my rightful home was with him and JD, and how she would burn in hell for destroying us. I would like to say that it was shocking that he so readily said these things, but it wasn't. He was so different than what I remembered. Sometimes, I would dust off my old memories and replay them, memories of him coming home and kissing Mom before dinner. Memories of waking up early to watch cartoons and say goodbye to him as he left for work. Memories of him teaching me how to weed and plant my little garden. Memories of him making fresh tea with the peppermint from our yard. Memories of sitting on his lap in church. Memories of seeing his car on our road and holding onto his handles as he drove up the driveway. Memories of late night snacks that he would share with all of us. Memories of a seemingly happy home with two happy parents.

After they separated, my friend taught me that my wish would come true if I made it at 11:11. I spent the day running around the old Santaquin house, counting all of the clocks. I also counted the ones in our cars. I counted a total of 10 clocks and so, I made this wish:

I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. I wish my parents were back together. 

I later revised it to:

I wish my parents were back together times 10. 

10 years later, I caught myself saying it in my head while in a college class. It shocked me to realize that my wish had become habitual.

Our yearly summer visits to Utah were rough. To be fair, it must have been extremely difficult for Dad. He wasn't Dad anymore, but an entertainer. We didn't have a routine with him anymore and we no longer lived near our old friends. When visited him in his two bedroom apartment, we quickly realized how little we had spent with him when they were married. His work schedule took him away from us for hours at a time and we suffocated in the hot confinement of his apartment. We hated it and so did he. JD wasn't really there. He was physically there, but he rarely spoke and never left his room. He played computer games late at night, all night and then he slept all day. He always looked the same, unhealthily thin and pale with gray circles under his eyes. Every now and then, he would open his door and talk to us. It was always the highlight of the summer, talking to him, hearing him. He was so angry and unhappy. I think that anger is what kept him alive, helped him survive those depressing years. This new and unhappy Jeremiah overtook my memories of him. I couldn't remember what he was like before all of this happened.

Esther would come to visit us in Utah and in Minnesota. I didn't realize until I was older that she was forced to be an adult at a very young age. She always had a job and took care of herself. I think she knew that she had to; she didn't have a choice. She was the cool older sister and I quickly loved everything that she loved. It seemed like she always had a new hair color every time I saw her. She bought me my first CD, a Dido CD. I listened to it on repeat. She took me on a sister date; we went shopping and ate at Los Hermanos. I still have the blue sweater that she bought for me on that date. I remember watching her clean the downstairs bathroom of our Santaquin house. She had been trying to record Torn by Natalie Imbruglia on one of her tapes but had only gotten a partial recording. I remember hearing her cheer, because she finally caught it in time and recorded the whole song.

Santaquin became a memory. It wasn't home anymore but a past life. I stopped writing letters to my friends, stopped visiting them when I was in Utah. I stopped praying that everything could go back to the way it was. I looked forward to coming back to Grandma and Grandpa. I had moved on and loved my home in Minnesota.