On Thanksgiving, when I was little and my parents were still married and it was the good times. All the adults would sit around the long, glittering dining room table while the kids sat at the worn wooden one in the kitchen. I remember being so jealous. I wanted to be at the grown up table. I wanted to join their conversations and eat with the special silverware that was only brought out during holidays.

I should’ve enjoyed my youth because this is about where it ended. My parents got divorced when I was in 3rd grade and things escaladed.

My family was chaotic. I was too young and naïve to see why I was being put in situations involving drugs, alcohol and violent arguments. My parents were not yet ready to give up their old habits so my brother, sister and I were subject to their aftermath. There were times when the anger would be turned towards my siblings and me. Rosie and Fred have always been quiet and unfortunately, I had a mouth of someone much bolder. If my brother or sister were getting the blunt end of an argument, I would step in. Even though I was the middle child, I was the defender of the children and it was my job to help them. I’d yell and stomp around until they turned from my siblings to me and the tantrum I was having. From defender of the youth, my imagination convinced me that I was being trained for the CIA. A coping method, clearly. According to a therapist, but she didn’t see the things I saw when I was just a little girl.

I was convinced that everything I was being put through was training. That I couldn’t cry because I’d look weak and the CIA wouldn’t want someone who cried because they missed their mom.

My dad had a temper. He’d burst. An Italian with a short fuse. He was just my next challenge. Every argument was training. And I was gonna be a damn good agent. The best. I mean, why else would I have to endure such pain?

The older I got, I put aside my CIA fantasies and realized that my family was just fucked up. My mom was an alcoholic who drank away her pain with the mediocrity of life. My dad was sad, poor and angry. I watched them be sad and there is nothing more painful than seeing an adult lonely and hurt. I’d try to help.

I listened as everyone read their credos. Thinking of my still unfinished word document, I listened intently. Searching for that one line inspiration. Most people made some mention of their family. Their parents and siblings unconditional love and support. Role models in them.

I reflected to my own life and could only revert back. By 5th grade my parents could no longer help me with my homework. I made all my own dr. appointments. I applied to boarding school in 8th grade by myself. Signed up for SSATs.

With the economy, both of my parent’s jobs fell under. Construction worker and a real estate agent. My mom continued to drink. Dad was still angry. They were always honest about their financials. They weren’t the type to hide issues, fears, or bills. I’d ask my dad for lunch money. He’d just say I have nothing. He really didn’t and I had to accept that.

By the time I got to high school, their lack of involvement grew wider. My dad and I could only talk about hockey. My mom and I had nothing in common.

I had always been independent but freshman year, I had a new type of freedom. At my large public high school, I took it too far. I was lost in the 1600 students. I wanted to stand out. I wanted a spark. I found my place with the ice hockey team. I made the varsity team by default, because there were no other goalies, and I was better than the senior street hockey goalie they convinced to test out the ice. The boys accepted me right away, and most I had grown up playing with anyway. I would hang out with a bunch of 18 year old guys. What lost freshman girl wouldn’t want that? I felt cool. I was cool. People knew my name. People came to games. School wasn’t as important as maintaining this new social status.

By spring of that year, I was going to school stoned, spending the afternoons at my leisure, and coming home whenever I wanted. Then April came. PDS was handed to me on a business card from Kat Smithson. She saw me play and she wanted me. I called her the next day, and had my application finished that night. Two weeks after that, I went for an interview and tour. The same night, my dad called and said I was going.

I had no idea about PDS. Heard nothing about it. Didn’t even know it existed until Kat.

Sophomore year at PDS was one of the hardest years in my life. My mom was going a-wall and I moved in with my Dad full time as he tried to pick up the pieces. Now I was an hour and 20 minutes away from school instead of 50. Three space heaters kept my family warm that winter. School was hard. Hockey practices at 8:50pm Tuesdays and Thursdays for my travel team. No sleep.

I was attempting to balance my home life with my new Princeton one, and it was an ugly clash. Boyfriend at home. Friends at home. New friends. No time. Too much homework. Too much hockey. No money. No rides. It’s hard to convince my dad to driv an hour up to Princeton for a party.

Junior year was different. I had drifted from home friends. I felt stranded in SJ. Grades started getting better. More interested in school. New advisor, Kelly Dun.

My friends. Who all invited my into their homes. Who never judged me. Who no matter what boy I was dating, what test I was stressing about, or what family issue was going on, listened. Who watched me take my first bite of a hoagie haven phat lady with barbeque sauce and bacon of course. Who edited my essays and sent me study guides for euro. Who never made me feel judged and laughed at the random stories of my life. They encouraged me. When my grades started getting better, they were the first to congratulate me.

December of my junior year. Mom got 2nd DUI. Kat, who used to drive me had a concussion. I was miserable. Getting to school was hard. There were times when I couldn’t get to school because my Dad didn’t have enough money to drive all the way here and back to work.

Kelly Dun emailed me and asked to talk. I remember walking up to colross thinking I was in trouble. Turns out she just wanted ot talk. Well this quick talk ended up taking 2 hours of tears and life stories.

A week later, my mom lost her license for 2 years. I passed my driving test 3 days after that. I went right from DMV to a hockey game in Bridgewater. I was on my own. My dad used to say that I needed him for rides and money. He was right.

I started staying in Princeton. Kelly’s house became my 2nd home. She welcomed me into her heart and her family without question. She took a chance, and I love her for that. My life became PDS. My confidence went up. I was getting better grades. My friends encouraged me. I started to resent home life.

I hated my parents for what they couldn’t give me. It seemed like PDS was doing more than they were. Gave me Kelly. Friends who asked about hockey, school, and college. I got a job in Hopewell and supported myself financially.

Something was missing though. I needed to see my family, Princeton felt fake. I started going home whenever I could. I felt like I abandoned my family. They didn’t understand why staying in Princeton made my life easier.

I feel so stupid now, thinking back. Now literally on my own. The fact I could do that in the first place. I could adapt to PDS. I took advantage of PDS. Got better grades. Had motivation. By not being able to give me anything, I was forced to get things on my own. I pay for oil changes, food and clothes but it gave me independence. By my dad telling me over and over to work hard. Not to end up working like he is. A dog. My mom would tell me to stay true to myself. My sister told me to be content in life and appreciate the little things. I needed to hear my brother’s sarcasm and his never complain attitude. This is what I was missing in Princeton. I was missing the things I didn’t realize I had in the first place.

How did I end up at this school? How was I able to stay here? What was the connection I had with it?

I decided it had to be the people. My friends accepted me immediately. They can be bitches sometimes and I don’t always see things the way they do, but damnit they love me and what else could I ask for?

In bouncing between my dads house, moms house, grandmoms house, my friends houses, and kellys house…I wondered how I became who I am today. I don’t feel like either of my parents. Stubborn from my dad, yes and hippyness from my mom, but who raised me? People around me. I’d watch. An observer. I saw what I liked and didn’t like and applied that to my own life. I learned through the people around me and I learned not to take anyone for granted because everyone knows something you don’t. From this mentality, I decided on a belief.

I believe in life. The intricate ripple of endless action. The pathways, dead ends, and wrong turns that led to me in this moment. The people and places. Conversations and arguments. This life….this day…the whole sperm and egg deal…and the fact that I didn’t die on the way to school this morning. A British band called the Streets said it best, “For billions of years since the outset of time, every one of my ancestors has survived. Every person on my mom and dad's side successfully looked after and passed on to me life. What are the chances of that?”

And I’m afraid that I’ll end up like my parents. That after everything they’ve told. After the lives I’ve seen them live and regret. I want to be successful because after all the s*** they’ve put me though, I only want to see them happy. I want to buy my mom an art studio where she can drink wine and paint all day long if that’s what she wants to do. My dad said he only wants a little shack on the beach in key west and he’d be happy. I just want to help everyone like people helped me. People took chances on me.
There are no words to describe my family dynamic the way I feel it myself. My life has never been easy, yet when I look back, I never see the bad. I see love and a tough fight against animosity. Through the arguments and drinking, never once did I question if my parents loved me.

When I was young, I would resent the things I went through, but with a wide grin and blind sense of optimism, I pushed onward. I took on the life skills of an adult, and excelled with no guidance. I wrote away my life stresses into the stack of journals and worked out complex logistics like they were simple math. Every situation happened the way it did for a reason and I’m okay. I’m independent, powerful and resilient.

And to the CIA who I know is listening right now. I’m ready.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~