31 March 2008

On this blog, I have tried to keep the truly painful and personal subjects to a minimum. Yes, I've talked about how my then boyfriend left me when I was two months pregnant (Hey, he just got married and he's having a kid - thank you, Facebook). I didn't talk about how devastated I was, not really. I didn't talk about how I cried myself to sleep nearly every night, and how it took me until a year after Nate was born to start getting over how he'd left. After all, he might read this. Even more, did I truly want to share that with people I don't know? I'd wrote about it, as it was happening, on my other blog. And I'd learned my lesson about how people read that and then get their panties in a twist.

Instead, I've tried to write about benign or happy subjects. Unfortunately, when I'm not happy, I don't feel like I have anything to write. This past week I did not feel inspired in any way to write. I wish that I would have. Writing makes me feel better.

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When I was a child, my parents fought a lot. My dad was an alcoholic who loved my mother, but didn't know how to show it in a way she'd understand. My mom expected too much. Dad was gone a lot, traveling for work, and when he'd come back he'd be bombarded with kids and a wife. He'd drink and get mad and slam cupboard doors and yell. They'd fight, sending us to our rooms, screaming at each other.

When I was in sixth grade, I met Nick. We were in a class together, an English class, reading Kon-Tiki. Our desks were pushed together, two facing two, and he sat across from me. He was amazingly cute, very shy, and didn't like to read. In fact, if I were to be honest, I'd say he was never a really good reader, like I was. I didn't pity him, nor did I feel sorry for him, instead I empathized. You see, we had to round-robin read in our groups of four. When it was his turn, he'd turn really shy and quiet, and read very slowly.

We were in band together, too. He played the trumpet. Our band leader took us on a trip to see the Des Moines Symphony play (I think - it was a really long time ago). We sat next to each other. Tyler was there, too. Tyler and Nick were really close friends, but Tyler always made fun of me. I rather had a crush on him, actually. I did for years. Anyway, Nick had one of his friends (probably Tyler), ask me out. I said yes.

We "dated" for awhile, like middle schoolers do. We hung out and occasionally went to watch a movie together. He was my first boyfriend. We never kissed, just maybe held hands. We were both really shy and I didn't know what to do. For Christmas, he gave me a horse that when you move it, it neighs. I was a huge horse fan, and was always across the street at the neighbor's stables. I broke up with him on Christmas. I don't remember why, but we didn't talk again for several years.

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This story, and the ones about Nick that will follow, are extremely painful and bittersweet for me. I love Nick, but we are no longer talking, and I'm not entirely sure why. I'm going to write about it, because I can. And maybe it will help me understand and remember our long history.

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