Who Do You Believe?

      Who do you believe? Who do you believe when both parties, who are supposed to love you and take care of you, are telling completely opposite stories? Who do you believe when both sides say the other is the devil? Who do you believe when they’ve both lied to you before, you’re just not sure how much? Who do you believe when your father has been in and out of your life, but he says it’s because of your mother? Who do you believe when your mother says that he’s lying, and she has never tried to keep the two of you apart?

           I struggled with this for a long time. It turns out the answer was pretty simple; I just didn’t want to see it.

           When I was three years old, my parents divorced. They were both just 20 years old, and they had already had enough of each other. That’s what teen pregnancy does to you, folks. It can tear even the best couples apart, so for a couple that only liked each other in bed… It’s easy to see where this is going, right?

           I saw my dad every other weekend pretty consistently until sometime after my eleventh birthday. At this point, he decided he had a better shot of making it somewhere out west. He told me I could go with him, and since I was eleven, I wanted to. Being a child made me think of it sort of as a vacation, not months or possibly years without my family back home. I came home one of the last weekends he was there with a letter he had written for my mom telling her that I wanted to go. She didn’t tell me no; she explained it to me without the sugar coating.

           “You’ll be gone for at least six months without seeing any of us here. That’s almost a whole school year. Baby, you threw up because you were home sick your second day in Virginia, and your teacher had to let you call me so you could calm down. What are you going to do surrounded by nothing but corn and squirrels for six months?” She didn’t mention school because I’d had no friends, but the rest of her points all hit hard. I loved to travel (I still do), but I can’t be gone more than one week. I had to call my father and tell him I changed my mind. He was pissed, but he left anyway. I didn’t see him for a year and a half.

           I don’t remember much about when he moved back. I had just started middle school, and I was in the early stages of puberty. I was mad at everyone, but I wasn’t really mad at him. He had been gone so long at this point that he stopped being in the front of my thoughts. He simply stopped existing for a bit. Sometime in the summer after sixth grade, he called my mom to see if the three of us could all grab lunch and talk. I think she still wanted me to have some kind of my relationship with my father because if I remember correctly, she kind of pushed me into it.

           We met at Longhorn to eat and talk. I didn’t say much, nor do I remember much of it. He told us that he’d left his wife (my stepmom), and that he’d love to have me over again. The third weekend I was supposed to go, my mom called me during school. She told me that he wouldn’t be picking me up because my stepmom had showed up on his doorstep and wouldn’t leave. Naturally, they got back together, and I stopped going again. He chose to sit with his supposed soon-to-be-ex wife than come pick me up? Seriously? I tried to think of it a positive. I had more time to spend with my boyfriend. (I’m convinced that one line of thinking has caused myself more trouble than it was worth, but that’s another story).

           It went like that for a while, which I guess makes me as stupid as him. They would split up; I’d start coming around again. They’d get back together, and suddenly he was always busy. They had serious relationship issues, which is partly why it made me so angry that it seemed like I was too much of a burden to handle if he had a wife. The older I got, the worse the ends were. We’d yell and fight and scream before I decided to stop going over there again, the words getting more graphic and hateful each time. Each time my mother stood by, helping as much as she could. Always upfront, but never disrespectful. She’d tell me why he did things that way, and she held me as I cried. She was my rock and –still is – my best friend.

           Then, I was 17 and stupid. I had never really “rebelled” before, so looking back, I think that’s what this was. I had just started seeing my father again (his wife was gone for good this time), and I decided I wanted to move in with him that April. My mom didn’t want me to have a job; she wanted me to focus on school. Since I didn’t have a job and money was tight, I didn’t need a car. I wanted both of these things. I moved in with my father.

It was nice having freedom for a while. He let me drive his old car. I did the grocery runs and had a job. By June, he had used part of his bonus from work to buy me a 2004 Dodge Neon. I felt like a grown up. I have a tendency to push down any nasty feelings I don’t want to feel, so it took about four months of it before I realized just how much I missed my family (see above).

I broke my mother the day I moved out, and it is still one of my biggest regrets in life. She later told me how she would cry each time she walked past my room, waiting on me to come out and tell her I loved her. Mommy, if you’re reading this, you will never know just how sorry I am to have done that to you. Please just know I could take it back if I could.

I had just really won my father’s affection, so I couldn’t face him to tell him I wanted to leave. I left school early one day, packed all of my things, and left him a note on the counter. He never called or texted. He didn’t ask questions. He just… let me go. I moved back in with my mom. It wasn’t the same. It was just the two of us for so many years, and then I broke her heart. I’d lost my best friend.

Slowly over time, I gained her trust back, and I did eventually hear from my father again. We’ve seen each other a few times, but never on a set schedule. As I’m writing this, I haven’t seen or heard from him in almost three years. It took me a long time to figure out why I would sometimes be given the gift of his attention and sometimes wouldn’t: I quit calling first.

Never chase someone who doesn’t at least pretend to make an effort, especially when that person is failing to fulfill their parental obligations. Never break the heart of the person who actually stood by you through it all to get an ounce of affection from a person who clearly isn’t willing to give it. Please, please stick with those who have stuck by you. Please don’t do what I did. Do not be afraid to cut people off. I wish I had stayed away the first time.

So who would I believe? My mother. Always and forever, from now on.