My childhood was pretty average, I think. I had two young parents who got along, or so I thought. I had younger siblings that annoyed me to death, but they also made me happy at times. My parents didn’t argue a lot in front of us. I assume they did this in private, because my parents didn’t agree on much, but that I learned much later in life. Life at home was alright. I recognize that I was privileged to not have to worry about what I was gonna have for dinner, we had lunch for school already made in the morning, we went to private schools (sometimes), and we went on vacation. On paper, this is what a good life was meant to be. Two young people fell in love, decided to get married, had children, provided for their children, went to work. Life should be good, right?
I knew that things were not okay when my dad rushed me and my siblings to the airport on the day we were done with school. The fourth grade had been a challenge for me. Like I mentioned before, we went to private schools sometimes and third grade had been a lot of fun in public school which meant that I had fallen behind academically, so when I started fourth grade in a catholic private school, I had to play catch up for the first half of the school year. Math was extremely challenging, and I had to spend a good part of the school year learning long division and trying not to fall behind on other subjects. Every class was challenging, but that’s what my parents were paying for… the rigor or being educated by nuns. My favorite subject was English. I loved my English teacher. I learned a lot of vocabulary that year, which unknown to me at the time, would come in handy later. The nuns also had a choir and I was chosen to be a part of it. Perhaps that was the best part of the year, being selected out of the rubble to be a part of the choir and get to skip history class with the choir kids to practice in the auditorium. When the school year came to a close I was sad and excited. My mom had moved to Puerto Vallarta half way through the semester and she was waiting for us, at least that is what my dad said.
The airplane door opened and an asphyxiating humidity filled the air. It was hot. It was humid. It was hell. The sun was SO bright that it took a little longer than normal for my eyes to adjust after being in the airplane cabin for an extra 25 min waiting for the doors to open. We disembarked on the tarmac and with every step we took, my body warmed up more and I began to miss the city. Where had my mother brought us?
My mom had to work that day, so she sent a couple of her employees to pick us up at the airport. They had a pick up truck waiting for us, we rode in the back without the cover. As they drove us towards the hotel, the wind messed up my hair, mom would not be pleased with that look. My little brother and my sister looked very happy. My sister and I wore dresses and sunglasses. Our hair was tied with bows. My brother was wearing bermuda shorts and a polo shirt. We were classy city kids. The ride to the hotel didn’t take longer than 25 min. It wasn’t a fancy place. My mom’s job had arranged hotels for their employees and since my dad had decided that us kids should spend the summer in Puerto Vallarta, my mom hadn’t had time to get an apartment ready. Back then, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with this plan. I assumed it was a way to help us adjust to life in a new city, but it was a little suspicious that we weren’t going to my grandparents’ house in Monterrey for the summer like we normally did, especially if my mom wasn’t ready for us.
My dad left after a few days. In my child’s mind, I assumed he’d stay and I don’t know, help my mom find an apartment to live or hang out with us? But no, that was not his plan. I am certain, that summer was when I became an adult. That must have been the summer my mom decided that she was so done with my dad’s bullshit.
My mom is a gorgeous woman. If there is anything pretty in me, I got from her. More importantly, she is a very smart person who can do whatever she sets her mind to. I think I got that from her too. After having us kids, she decided to go to college to get her degree. With three young kids to take care of, family told her that she was crazy because now that she had a husband, she didn’t need to go back to school. But, my mom didn’t listen. Something inside her told her that she needed to do this for her. So, she upset my dad and the family and left us kids to be watched by relatives or spend insane amounts of time alone, to go get an education. To be honest, I was super little and I don’t even remember not having my mom around during those years. Once she graduated, she got a job and was quickly promoted. The opportunity to move to Puerto Vallarta was exactly what she had been expecting. My mom is not a fan of the big city, and she wanted a better place for us to grow up as kids without all the dangers from the big scary city. It’s a little ironic that she wanted to keep us kids, but the move is what forced me to grow up.
So, my dad goes back to Mexico city without kids and leaves his wife alone in a new city, far away from family, with a lot of responsibility at work and three kids to watch after. Why? Relationships are partnerships, right? Or so I’d like to think. If I put myself inside my mom’s shoes, I probably would have been extremely disappointed and angry at my husband for making that decision. As a kid, I thought he was going back to pack up our condo to move to the new city. Did that require us kids to be sent to live with her so soon? Maybe, maybe not. Was my dad upset that my mom had decided to move to Puerto Vallarta without a lot of discussion or preparation? Is that what happened or did my dad agree to something and then failed to hold his side of the deal? I am not sure, but I can tell you that this is probably the period in my life that has shaped my idea of what marriage is and the meaning of love.
My mom loved us, I have no doubt about that. My dad loved us too, I don’t have any hesitation about that either. But, did they love each other? That, I can’t answer but I can assume that the answer was a big fat NO. They tolerated each other. As a kid, I thought that was love. Why would I think otherwise? Kids learn from what they experience at home, and I grew up in a happy home with people that stayed together for the good of the kids. When did they stop loving each other? I will never know.
All of those questions plague my subconscious. Add to that the questions I’ve developed on my own from past relationships and you get a sea of doubt and uncertainty. What does love feel like, look like, smell like? How long does it last? Is there a way to extend its life or are we just fooling ourselves and continue the cycle of complacency and disappointment for fear of failure? Why don’t we recognize and accept it when someone stops loving us?
That last question is the key to my story. Now I see that my mom was sending LOUD signs to my dad about what was happening in her mind and in her heart, but my dad was either ignoring them or he thought that they didn’t matter.
I am guilty of trying to stay with someone for fear of failure. When the years start piling up, it is easy to think that we’re better off sticking through it and to refuse to take the more difficult road. In retrospect, my parents should probably have separated then, but the inevitable wouldn’t happen for another 7 years. I know they had good days, but in general they had really bad years. It started to become apparent to me in their interactions. My mom, always focused on work and on our grades. My dad absent for the most part.
After 5 months of looking inward and making sense of my last breakup, I feel that my ex showed strength in his decision to end our relationship. Regardless of what triggered it. Today, I feel happier alone. What I learned from those 7 years in Puerto Vallarta from my parents was that it is not worth prolonging a difficult decision just because you aren’t ready to handle it. This chapter ends with a bus ride going north. A woman and her three teenagers embarking on a new adventure and a defeated man staying behind to deal with his own demons.
I knew that things were not okay when my dad rushed me and my siblings to the airport on the day we were done with school. The fourth grade had been a challenge for me. Like I mentioned before, we went to private schools sometimes and third grade had been a lot of fun in public school which meant that I had fallen behind academically, so when I started fourth grade in a catholic private school, I had to play catch up for the first half of the school year. Math was extremely challenging, and I had to spend a good part of the school year learning long division and trying not to fall behind on other subjects. Every class was challenging, but that’s what my parents were paying for… the rigor or being educated by nuns. My favorite subject was English. I loved my English teacher. I learned a lot of vocabulary that year, which unknown to me at the time, would come in handy later. The nuns also had a choir and I was chosen to be a part of it. Perhaps that was the best part of the year, being selected out of the rubble to be a part of the choir and get to skip history class with the choir kids to practice in the auditorium. When the school year came to a close I was sad and excited. My mom had moved to Puerto Vallarta half way through the semester and she was waiting for us, at least that is what my dad said.
The airplane door opened and an asphyxiating humidity filled the air. It was hot. It was humid. It was hell. The sun was SO bright that it took a little longer than normal for my eyes to adjust after being in the airplane cabin for an extra 25 min waiting for the doors to open. We disembarked on the tarmac and with every step we took, my body warmed up more and I began to miss the city. Where had my mother brought us?
My mom had to work that day, so she sent a couple of her employees to pick us up at the airport. They had a pick up truck waiting for us, we rode in the back without the cover. As they drove us towards the hotel, the wind messed up my hair, mom would not be pleased with that look. My little brother and my sister looked very happy. My sister and I wore dresses and sunglasses. Our hair was tied with bows. My brother was wearing bermuda shorts and a polo shirt. We were classy city kids. The ride to the hotel didn’t take longer than 25 min. It wasn’t a fancy place. My mom’s job had arranged hotels for their employees and since my dad had decided that us kids should spend the summer in Puerto Vallarta, my mom hadn’t had time to get an apartment ready. Back then, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with this plan. I assumed it was a way to help us adjust to life in a new city, but it was a little suspicious that we weren’t going to my grandparents’ house in Monterrey for the summer like we normally did, especially if my mom wasn’t ready for us.
My dad left after a few days. In my child’s mind, I assumed he’d stay and I don’t know, help my mom find an apartment to live or hang out with us? But no, that was not his plan. I am certain, that summer was when I became an adult. That must have been the summer my mom decided that she was so done with my dad’s bullshit.
My mom is a gorgeous woman. If there is anything pretty in me, I got from her. More importantly, she is a very smart person who can do whatever she sets her mind to. I think I got that from her too. After having us kids, she decided to go to college to get her degree. With three young kids to take care of, family told her that she was crazy because now that she had a husband, she didn’t need to go back to school. But, my mom didn’t listen. Something inside her told her that she needed to do this for her. So, she upset my dad and the family and left us kids to be watched by relatives or spend insane amounts of time alone, to go get an education. To be honest, I was super little and I don’t even remember not having my mom around during those years. Once she graduated, she got a job and was quickly promoted. The opportunity to move to Puerto Vallarta was exactly what she had been expecting. My mom is not a fan of the big city, and she wanted a better place for us to grow up as kids without all the dangers from the big scary city. It’s a little ironic that she wanted to keep us kids, but the move is what forced me to grow up.
So, my dad goes back to Mexico city without kids and leaves his wife alone in a new city, far away from family, with a lot of responsibility at work and three kids to watch after. Why? Relationships are partnerships, right? Or so I’d like to think. If I put myself inside my mom’s shoes, I probably would have been extremely disappointed and angry at my husband for making that decision. As a kid, I thought he was going back to pack up our condo to move to the new city. Did that require us kids to be sent to live with her so soon? Maybe, maybe not. Was my dad upset that my mom had decided to move to Puerto Vallarta without a lot of discussion or preparation? Is that what happened or did my dad agree to something and then failed to hold his side of the deal? I am not sure, but I can tell you that this is probably the period in my life that has shaped my idea of what marriage is and the meaning of love.
My mom loved us, I have no doubt about that. My dad loved us too, I don’t have any hesitation about that either. But, did they love each other? That, I can’t answer but I can assume that the answer was a big fat NO. They tolerated each other. As a kid, I thought that was love. Why would I think otherwise? Kids learn from what they experience at home, and I grew up in a happy home with people that stayed together for the good of the kids. When did they stop loving each other? I will never know.
All of those questions plague my subconscious. Add to that the questions I’ve developed on my own from past relationships and you get a sea of doubt and uncertainty. What does love feel like, look like, smell like? How long does it last? Is there a way to extend its life or are we just fooling ourselves and continue the cycle of complacency and disappointment for fear of failure? Why don’t we recognize and accept it when someone stops loving us?
That last question is the key to my story. Now I see that my mom was sending LOUD signs to my dad about what was happening in her mind and in her heart, but my dad was either ignoring them or he thought that they didn’t matter.
I am guilty of trying to stay with someone for fear of failure. When the years start piling up, it is easy to think that we’re better off sticking through it and to refuse to take the more difficult road. In retrospect, my parents should probably have separated then, but the inevitable wouldn’t happen for another 7 years. I know they had good days, but in general they had really bad years. It started to become apparent to me in their interactions. My mom, always focused on work and on our grades. My dad absent for the most part.
After 5 months of looking inward and making sense of my last breakup, I feel that my ex showed strength in his decision to end our relationship. Regardless of what triggered it. Today, I feel happier alone. What I learned from those 7 years in Puerto Vallarta from my parents was that it is not worth prolonging a difficult decision just because you aren’t ready to handle it. This chapter ends with a bus ride going north. A woman and her three teenagers embarking on a new adventure and a defeated man staying behind to deal with his own demons.
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