If you’re a child of divorced parents you may be all too familiar with the sentence “every other weekend”.
When I was just 15 months old, my parents divorced. In a way it was probably better that it happened so early on because I have no memories of them being together, so it’s normal to me. If I had been 15 years old when they split up, it might’ve been more traumatic. My mother had full custody and my dad was only able to see me every other weekend. Now if you’ve been reading my other posts, you’ve already heard me say that my mother and I did not and do not have the best relationship. So on the weekends that I saw my dad, I was so happy and excited. He was the complete opposite of my mother, very warm and caring. He told me all the time how much he loved me and gave me the best hugs!
I think everyone has something specific they look for and/or cherish a lot in a parent, for me it was affection. I think because my mom didn’t give me any affection, ever, it was something I clung to with my dad. I also think this lack of attention and affection from my mom and only seeing my dad twice a month led to decisions I made as an adult. I can now see that me only having guy friends, having a serious boyfriend at 16 and pretty much not having even 1 day as a single person probably had something to do with my relationships with my mom and dad. I think in a way I was trying to get away from my mom any way I could and maybe tried to replace a male affection with boyfriends.
So anyways, back to my story, on the Friday’s my dad would pick me up, he would come to my school. I r
emember everyone in my class being aware of my situation becasue I was able to leave 1 hour earlier than everyone else every other Friday. Everyone loved “Alex’s Dad” lol. He arrived pretty much at the exact same time and that happened to be when we had recess. He would come into the classroom and draw a picture of a guy looking over a fence with a thought bubble. He did this every single time and all the kids in my class loved it. I still draw this little guy to this day. When I saw my dad, I’d run and jump into his arms, I was the happiest kid alive.
My dad and I had about a 60-90 minute drive back to his house and this time was so precious to me because we would talk about everything. This routine went on for almost 12 years until my mom moved us very far away and then I only saw my dad once a year. That will be another blog. During that 12 years, we literally talked about so many things and I learned almost everything a kid needs to know from my dad. We talked about school, boys and dating, menstrual cycles and even how to put on a condom. A lot of those things should have come from my mom but my dad already knew that she would never have those conversations with me so he took the time to explain them to me, even if it was really awkward.
Being with my dad on these weekends was so much fun BUT, he had a wife and she was like Cinderellas evil stepmother, or as my mother called her “bimbo”. Yes she called her bimbo in front of me, that’s how my stepmom was referred to me, even as a 5 year old. My stepmother despised me becasue I reminded her of my mother and she was rarely nice to me but always nice enough to me in front of my dad. During these weekends, I would spend as much time with my dad as I could because I dreaded going home. On top of the 50 reasons as to why I hated living with my mom, one of them was the “tell you dad” conversation I would always have before and after his visits.
“tell your dad to pay his child support”
“tell your dad that his bimbo wife needs to stop dressing you up”
“tell your dad to bring you home on time from now on”
It was always something. She always made me tell him something, she refused to see him or talk to him. For the two weeks after he dropped me off, all I would do is count down to how many more days it would be until I could see him again. For one brief second, there was a discussion about my dad getting full custody but for one, my mom would never let that happen. Not becasue she loved me so much and wanted me but becasue she wouldn’t let my dad win. Also, remember that evil stepmother? ya she didn’t want me either and refused to let me live with them. My dad never said it but I’m pretty sure his wife gave him an ultimatum, her or me. He picked her. That was a little hard to swallow because I knew my dad loved me but apparently not enough to tell his wife to piss off. So I was forever stuck with just seeing him every other weekend.