***I am blown away by the emails I've received since starting this new blog. From people who knew me from school. Most amazing? Most of them have a similar story. Most of them felt the same way I did and thought of me as not having these types of things happening in my life. How "funny" is that? I'm only 3 posts in and already I'm learning just how skewed my perspective of that time of my life was. Then it got me to thinking...if it was that skewed then...how skewed must it be now? I'm chewing on that for a while.
You know, I started this thinking that I would just go in chronological order and start at the beginning...getting to the "real" stuff later. I had no idea there would be such a response to the parts about me growing up. Makes me a little nervous to get to what I consider the "real" stuff...***
It was the summer of my 8th grade year (I think--maybe the summer BEFORE my eighth grade year??)
The details of most of my teen years are extremely blurry at this point.
I'll admit now that I may totally confuse, misrepresent, and butcher the events of years 13-18.
I'll probably have to break this up into several different posts at the risk of this turning into War & Peace.
Anyway...it was summer time. My sister had just started attending this wonderful little church (the one I mentioned yesterday that I was very active in. You know..the one with the boy I was madly in love with?)
She was invited to lunch at the youth pastor and his wife's house but my brother-in-law couldn't make it, so Missy took me instead. We pulled up to the beautiful house and were welcomed into a warm, caring and open home. Carla (not her real name) was the young wife with three little kids who cooked up a wonderful steak and french fries meal. We sat and ate and chatted. Grant was her husband. He was very welcoming also; friendly & funny. After we ate, Carla & Missy started chatting about the youth program and the plans they had to go to an amusement park that summer. They invited me to come. I was thrilled at the idea of going, but scared at the idea of being in a group with however many other teens that I didn't know.
Long story short--I started attending church and the youth group regularly. I did go to the amusement park and my sister went with me. In fact, both of my sisters went along with an aunt and my aunt's friend.
I began to babysit for the couple's 3 kids and when Grant found out that I was in danger of failing 9th grade...he stepped in and offered to tutor me.
They spoke with my parents and worked out an agreement that I would come over to their house after school on Friday, spend the night and Grant would tutor me. I babysat a lot for them. I enjoyed being in their house and with their family. They were a middle-income family with a nice vehicle, a beautiful house. (Did I mention that had a great house??) Apparently, a "house" represented something more to me than just a dwelling. I was told by a therapist once that it represented stability.
Pretty soon, Friday to Saturday turned into Friday through Sunday (so I could go to church with them.) Not too long after that, Friday through Sunday turned into Friday through Monday morning (when I would walk to school from their house.)
They were very kind to me. They had the idyllic family. I wanted so badly to be a part of that, even if only by being grandfathered in.
Finally, 9th grade ended. I passed. By the skin of my teeth, but whatever.
I traveled with this family. Took vacations. They bought me things like clothes for school, books to read, the braces that I had dreamed so long for, and included me in everything they did like I was one of their own. It felt fantastic.
At 14 or 15, I instinctively bucked everything my parents said anyway, but throw in the mix that now the things I was learning in church seemed to fly in the face of what I was being told or taught at home...it was very confusing.
Also throw in the fact that Grant & Carla were only about 13 years older than me and it only complicated things.
As I was starting to write this post, Joe (my hsusband) and I were talking about it. He's been reading right along and has, of course, heard this all before. Maybe not all at once in consecutive order, but he knows the gist.
He started asking me about a timeline of events, and I have to say--it's sketchy at best. It seemed like 100 years I lived there and at other times, only a few months.
So, given the above admission that I have no clue of the exact order or timing of events, let's just jump to the meat of this story.
Grant was (is) a charismatic, charming, funny, passionate guy. He was passionate about God, about getting the teens in the church involved, and about doing things the "right" way. Which many interpreted to be "his" way. I'll let you draw your own conclusion.
He started showing an interest in me scholastically and visited the high school when I was in 10th & 11th grades. He also started tutoring other kids who needed it. He even went so far as to meet with my teachers and talk with them about my home situation. I don't remember the exact reason for that, since I was a good student and in honors classes at that point.
He guided me spiritually as well. He was the youth leader, after all, and I lived in his home. I listened to him speak about the Bible with so much knowledge and conviction. I never doubted what he said was true.
I trusted him implicitly.
I also adored his wife. She was a tough cookie. Strong, gracious, caring. I don't think I had ever met someone who embodied the Proverbs 31 woman better than she did. She literall sewed some of hers and her kids' clothing. She cleaned her house spotless, every week. She did everyone's laundry every week. She cooked three awesome meals a day. She homeschooled their three children. She also held Grant's hand in his business--and literally--any time that he needed or wanted it.
She was an outspoken voice of logic and reason when it came to the Bible. Many, many women looked up to and learned from her. She was the very picture of the ideal wife. Almost Stepford, you could say. And I think I will.
I remember that one of her many responsibilities was to pick out Grant's clothes every day.
She had to blow dry his hair after his bath--which she spent in the bathroom with him during, talking to him while he bathed. Pretty much every day.
They awoke at 5, 6 am to run together every day.
Everything was based around Grant and what he wanted or needed. Or how he felt the family should run.
If I'd heard the verse about wives submitting to your husbands once, I heard it a million times in their house. In all its literal translation.
I remember once he took his shirt off at the end of the day and dropped it on the floor of their bedroom (which is where the only TV in the house was.)
I said something derrogatory about how Carla worked so hard to clean the house every day and he just dropped his shirt anywhere he wanted.
That wasn't welcomed with open arms.
In fact, Carla made me apologize to him for being disrespectful.
I was bitter. I wasn't sorry I said it then and I'm not sorry now. Actually, I wish I had been brave enough to say more then.
Carla & Grant put all the kids to bed at 8 and I got to stay up for a bit longer and watch movies with them. Some of these were questionable at best. In light of this person being the youth leader and a pillar in the church, I (even at 15) was alarmed by one of the movie choices--the movie "Whore." It was about...you guessed it...a whore. A prostitute. I can't even tell you the plot. I was so uncomfortable.
Anyway...Carla & Grant used to "tuck me in" every night like they did their own kids. It was very nice, actually. Although I was struggling for independence, I was also starving for parental affection. Things with my parents were strained at the time. I'm sure in large part to me "choosing" another family over my own.
Eventually, the tuck ins turned into morning wake ups for school. I can't be sure how it all started, if it was always like this or if it turned into something different than the way it began. Grant woke me up every morning for school. There was a routine to it. One that I learned to anticipate.
And I think I have to stop there. I can't stop pausing to put my head in my hands. It's all a little overwhelming. It's amazing how many memories come rushing back. All the feelings.
I don't know how much I'll share, how much I'll infer, and how much I'll avoid altogether.
I'm sure you've already started inferring some things.
I'm terrified at who is reading this. I keep thinking about all those reading who will be thinking, "Why in the world is she telling everyone this?" I'm not completely sure.
I think because I'm tired of feeling like I have these skeletons in my closet. I'm tired of feeling like I'm hiding these big secrets. It's not like I haven't talked to people about it, but I don't think I've ever fully spoken freely about it.
Anyway...I'll be back.
