Doofus

The more I longer I live in this house, the more things I uncover that remind me of the time Doofus entered the family. Doofus’ real name is Ron (… or is it?) Six months after my parents divorced, my father moved out. In that time, they pretended like nothing had happened. Even my neighbor, who came over every Sunday to sit in the kitchen talking to my father for hours, had no idea anything was going on. He mentioned to me years later that he couldn’t believe they kept it secret from everyone for so long. I can’t help but wonder if he was a little miffed that my father didn’t confide in him after he had layed his troubles on my father for years.

Anyway, my father moved out, and my brother not far behind him since he was already off in college. He chose to return to live with my father instead of returning to the house with my mother. That was his side.

My sister, still in high school as I was, stayed here with her friends. This was her side. In the middle of her senior year, all of her precious friends turned on her and she had a break down. She couldn’t go back to school. A couple of her teachers came to the house to tutor her through the remaining months to get her the credits she needed to graduate. A year or so later she met a guy and moved out to live with him.

Unlike my brother and sister, I didn’t take sides. But I had no where else to go, so I stayed where life was stable. My father lived in tiny apartments and moved around town a bit. Those memories are a story for another day. I feel like writing about Doofus. It’s mean to call him that, but I’ve done much worse to the poor guy. I understand him a little better now, but he never really understood me. Like many people, I never gave him a chance.

To be continued …