Rearrange the letters in the word PARENTS and you get the word ENTRAPS.
I found that out one day when I was playing Scrabble, got the seven-letter word, and had no place to put it.
That’s the way I’m feeling right now, trapped with no place to go.
It’s not fair. A growing girl should have parents who act more like grown-ups. They’re supposed to know what they want out of life and not be confused and constantly making a lot of changes.
Not my parents though. They are still, as my father likes to say, “getting their act together.”
They started getting their act together by breaking up. That happened the summer I was between seventh and eighth grade. It was a real shock. Sure, I knew they weren’t getting along well, but I didn’t expect divorce. Not the way it happened.
Right after seventh grade I was sent to camp. My parents told me that camp would be good for me since I was an only child.
Good for me, ha! It was their chance. My father moved out.
I had no say. It was all arranged by the time I got home from camp.
My mother got to stay in our New York apartment and keep the furnishings.
My father sublet another apartment nearby and got the summer house in Woodstock.
Each of them got part of the savings.
My father got the car, which my mother had never learned to drive anyway.
Both of them got me, joint custody.
I lived half a week with one parent, the second half with the other. Weekends were alternated. If this sounds confusing, it was. I had to keep track of everything with a calendar. Once everything got really messed up. Each parent thought it was the other’s weekend to have me, and both of them made plans to go away. It was awful. I felt like neither of them wanted me. Finally I ended up calling my friend Katie and making plans to stay with her. By that time both of my parents had canceled their weekend plans.
For all of eighth grade I commuted between the two apartments.
It was weird.
At my mother’s I had my old bedroom. At my father’s I slept on a convertible sofa bed.
During that time, the differences between my parents really showed. They should never have gotten married so young. They should never have had a kid. But they did.
I had two different wardrobes. My mother likes me to wear designer clothes, the ones with alligator, horse, and swan emblems. My father, however, is always buying me message T-shirts, like DON’T HASSLE THE HUMPBACK WHALES. It got so that my friends could tell which parent I was staying with by the clothes I was wearing.
My father really loves the country. He wants to paint and not work in an office for someone else.
My mother enjoys living in the city, loves being an interior decorator, and gets poison ivy from just looking at pictures of nature.
By the time that the divorce came through, the only thing they agreed on was that they should live in the same neighborhood so I wouldn’t have any trouble getting to school.
I had no trouble getting to school. I just had trouble once I got to school.
Something happened to me after the separation and divorce.
They thought they had everything figured out just right. Only they didn’t. They forgot that I might have feelings too.
So I did lots of things at school. I talked in class all the time, never turned in any homework, wouldn’t give the right answers when teachers called on me.
One day I got to school real early and snuck in. I Krazy-Glued everything I could. In the men’s faculty bathroom, I glued down the toilet seats. In the women’s faculty room I plugged up the coin slot on the Tampax machine. In the science lab I glued everything in sight—chairs, the desks, the Bunsen burners. I even found the teacher’s marking book and glued that to her chair, which I had already glued to the wall.
Then I went to homeroom.
It didn’t take them long to figure out that something was wrong, since I’d also glued the lock to the front office. It also didn’t take them long to find out who was responsible, because the tube had leaked and the fingers on my right hand were glued together.
The principal said she was shocked to “see a girl create such havoc.”
I told her that with Women’s Liberation anything was possible.
My parents really had to pay that time. They had to come in for meetings and then they had to pay for repairs. They’re still taking money out of my allowance for that.
I was suspended for a week. When I got back, I talked to Ms. Fowler, the guidance counselor. She discussed it with me, asking if maybe I just wanted something in my life to stay in one place.
My parents started to see each other to talk about the problem—ME. For a while, I thought that maybe they’d even get back together.
They didn’t.
While all of this was being discussed, other decisions were made. My mother decided to open up her own design business and would have to travel more. My father decided to quit his job and take two years to live in the country, paint, and try to support himself as an artist.
Once again they decided what was “best” for me.
Now I’m living in Woodstock all week with my father and almost every weekend, I go down to New York City to be with my mother, riding the Divorce Express.