Suburban Savage

What’s Complicated times Infinity?

April 22, 2010 at 12:05 am (adult children, complicated, family, step-parent, Urban Animals, youth)

You act like it’s no big deal. You act like it doesn’t really matter but I know you’re dying to ask. Let me break it down for you.

In reverse order: there’s me. Because I’m the author, I come first. When someone else does the legwork, he/she may take credit.

Next, there are my parents, Frank (“Dad”) and Paula (“Mom”). I adore them. They love me. They love me in the most extreme of polar opposite ways. The details of these loves are reserved for future posts. *insert grinning author*

Wait, though. They aren’t the only ones.

Also, there is my step-dad, Chris (“Papa”, if you’re family). He’s kept his end of the deal for the past 32 years. Thick, thin, and puberty (mine, not his), the man and the Mom (mine, not his) toughed it out. Believe me, I was no help in their endeavour. It’s entirely possible that an outsider may see me as the Gargamel to the Smurfs of their relationship. Papa taught me that choosing one’s family isn’t a one-time action. Every day, no matter what I did or didn’t do, he chose me. It took me way too long to realize how monumental this was.

Also, thanks to Papa, I can break another person’s will with a handful of words. If you’ve never learned this skill, I recommend you do so immediately, especially if you are female and measure less than 5’2″ in height.

There is my first (and only “real”) step-mom, Suzanne. She officially un-became my step-mom about 28 years ago but, as far as I’m concerned, she’s still golden. She has been kind, gracious, and loving from the first time I met her to this very day. She and I have maintained contact thanks to the fact that no one ever behaved as if it was not allowed (Thank you, Mom).

Now, we skip forward. Not forward as in “the future” but forward as in “between what happened a long time ago and right now”.

After the whole parents/step-parents situation, Frank and Suzanne used their collective Powers of Good to create Garth. Garth is my little brother by 9 years. Yes, technically, he’s my half-brother. Whatever. He’s my brother. I often refer to him as “my practice baby” because he’s the first person who helped me to understand full-on unconditional love.

Relation-shit hit the fan so Frank and Suzanne broke the rental lease (and my wee heart). No worries, dear Reader. I’m a tough nut.

Next, we have Frank and Pammy. There was no marriage, no procreation, no rental lease. There was, however, an intense fascination on my part with the Rock Star that was Pammy. Here is someone (a mere 9 years older than myself) with a shaved head, a pierced nose, a well-worn set of roller skates, and an artfully scissored collection of Punk Rock band t-shirts the likes of which I had never seen.

Thanks to my not-step-mom Pammy, I went late night Urban Animal skating in Houston, Texas. I learned how to graffiti a Federal government building without getting caught. I saw a real mosh pit, blood and studded collars included, at The Island. And, I had my confidence boosted by knowing that I was loved by the coolest badass girl on the planet.

Isn’t this complicated?

No?

The advent of Reality shows and sordid celebrity tell-all’s has you aching for “better, faster, more”?

I suppose it’s fortunate, then, that the story continues………….