When I was in elementary school, so early two-thousands, I remember inwardly deciding that even though I lived in a split home, I would not act out on this like my peers who were witnessing the same events in their families. And my family split when I was fairly young. I had already started school so I still have a few memories still of pre-two households, but not many. I knew through listening to adults, that my peers who were continually in trouble whether for fighting in school or kissing really early all came from split-households. And I was not going to be a product of a split household like this.

And I saw it through high-school and college. I can still pretty easily pinpoint whose parents are together and whose aren’t. It’s interesting too, the kids, or not kids now, whose families split much later or earlier, the difference is still uncanny from those whose are still together. I don’t think each child reacts the same, and I don’t believe that those who were raised in one household fended completely better. But, for myself, I don’t think I was completely unscathed by the whole thing, like I thought I was. This has more been a reflection on myself as an adult. I have always assumed that because I inwardly decided that I would not be a trouble-maker, I would be among one of those who you’d be surprised to find out. (Find out that my parents aren’t together.)

Yet, here I am late twenties writing a blog about my feelings, pursuing an obscure extreme sport, and making a move to the city after growing up in rural Alabama. (I digress…)

But really, I really did think I was fine. I am fine. (I’m fine Mom.) But, I look back now at some of the reactions I had to breakups, or being turned down, how I deal with my father’s not-quite-girlfirend, girlfriends, and I think maybe, maybe I haven’t been as coy as I thought I was to avoid the trauma that is living in the aftermaths of divorced parents. And I call it a trauma, not to point fingers or negative blame on my own parents or others at all. I only insinuate that from my observation of Ciara dancing on the desk in my 3rd grade classroom singing “Hot in Herre” by Nelly and my own actions and reactions to life in general, the remaining ashes from that initial fire still smolder.

You can certainly argue that these events have made us stronger in some ways: more aware of the relationships that we find ourselves in, expanding the respect of the parents who raised us, being independent. But, did our parents know we’d be affected like this? Is the affect of a child whether young or adult a required city to be hit in order to win the war? I certainly don’t know. And, I needed so many of the people, now family, that I gained as a result. I’m an accountant with a blog who rides horses, just a reflecting here.

But today, when my father’s maybe-girlfriend, girlfriend messages me about a horse, I immediately wanted to take her camping and drag her air mattress into the pond while she sleeps. I will “Parent Trap” you so fast. Dears, I’m twenty-six years old. Why am I bothered by this so much? Our parents have their own independent lives. I adore the additional family members that have joined us along the way; they are our new families.

But deep down, always selfishly, and even to the detriment of those around me I will always want to “Parent Trap” you. I will put spiders in your camp bags, and the same thirteen-year old girl who made faces in every single one of their wedding photos and puked in their handbags and threw that goose tag that one found away on purpose; I’d do it again.