I don’t remember my birth, obviously, but I was told that very exciting and interesting story hundreds of times. I was third born in my residential family and while I was being born my father, Darry Dolezal, was in the lobby of the hospital managing my young, unsettled siblings. While being born a complication arose, my mother was pushing when suddenly the midwife shrieked, “Stop pushing, stop pushing! The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby’s neck”.
After a while my mother was told to continue pushing again and as I came out the midwife, who was trained to deal with situations like this, spun me around with graceful skill and fragility so that the umbilical cord would not choke me or break my neck. After the umbilical cord was cut I had to be resuscitated due to lack of oxygen, so I was rushed to an emergency room before my mother even had a chance to hold me.
As my mother put it, I was a very lucky child. At the time of my birth only one in five babies survived such a procedure, yet I was sent home just two days later in perfect condition, although my neck permanently had a prominent bump on it due to the strain put on my neck at birth.
I don’t really remember anything up until I was about four. First memories never seem to make sense. Nothing significant happened, nothing worth remembering. Yet somehow they stick with us forever. My first memory was on my fourth birthday, I vividly recall prancing around the house singing in a loud, youthful and out of key voice, “I’m four, I’m four”. I also remember my mother getting pregnant and the overwhelming excitement that I would have a younger sibling; I finally wouldn’t be treated like the baby of the family.
When my mother had her ultrasound to find out the gender of the baby I whined and complained until they let me into the operating room. It was like letting a scientist with no self-control into a room full of new discoveries. Everything was new and exciting and I couldn’t restrain myself from messing with everything even slightly abnormal. When they started the procedure I watching intently and vigilantly watched as they spread the mysterious blue cream-like substance onto the bulging pregnant stomach of my mother. Then I stared confusedly at a screen with what looked to be a green blob.
“Is that the baby”, I asked in a suddenly bored tone.
“Yes, but right now it’s only a fetus”, the nurse answered sweetly with an amused look.
“A fetus”, I repeated questioningly.
The nurse thought for a moment then answered politely, “The fetus is like a baby but…”
She was interrupted abruptly by mother saying in an annoyed tone, “Quit bothering the woman and let her work”.
“It’s no problem”, the nurse replied before I had time to retort. I didn’t realize it at the time but she seemed to be flattered by my constant questions of curiosity. Although, even with the nurse’s comment I felt embarrassed and kept my mouth shut for the rest of the ultrasound.
After a while of silent boredom the nurse announced, “I have the gender, it’s a girl”.
I was filled with disappointment. I would have preferred a little brother but hopefully a little sister wouldn’t be too unbearable. I was still excited, I vowed to be the best role model a big brother could be, but it proved to be a more formidable task then planned.
About four months later me, my brother James, my sister Rose and my dad were once again in the waiting office at the hospital while my mom was in the birthing room.
“Why is it taking so long?” my brother whined.
“Patience is a virtue”, my dad replied calmly.
Whilst my brother continued whining and moaning I just sat uneasily waiting to see my new sibling. What would she look like? What would her name be? Would I be allowed to hold her? So many questions running through my head yet excitement kept them from being uttered aloud.
“Bonnie Dolezal’s family may see the baby now”, an old nurse announced. We followed her to a room a little ways down the hall where my mom was holding what looked like a bundle of pink blankets. When I finally saw her adorable face I was filled with happiness.
We took turns holding her and when it came to be my turn I found it unfulfilling. All this waiting, wondering and pondering for a boring baby that did nothing but sleep. But even if this moment wasn’t what it was built up to be maybe the time that followed would be.
For the next couple of months things were good, we decided to name the baby Marcella after my great-grandmother although I wanted her to be named something that thwarted with a B. When the baby had matured a little bit I was the master of making her laugh. I could simply toss her a side glance unblinkingly and she would burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.
Meanwhile I had been sent to kindergarten and was making friends on the first day, unlike half the other kids who cried when their parents had to leave. Ms. Globitz, the teacher, was idealized by all her students. She was funny, witty and a great teacher. She always helped me understand everything by turning it into a game or a song. One stuck cryptically in my mind for years to come, “F R I and E N D plus S spells friends.” I would sing it morning, noon and night and my family soon got bored of it.
“Shut up”, my brother, James would snap at me whenever I started the friends song.
“Let him sing if he wants to sing”, my sister Rose retorted.
My sister always stuck up for me, even when she ought not to. Once I knocked over and broke the television and my sister took all the blame and got grounded. For this and many other reasons I had the utmost respect for my older sister even though I was taller then her by the time I was thirteen and she was nineteen.
When I reached first grade I developed my first romantic interest, Fionna, she loved giraffes and she had two dogs, Sue and Spike, and we always played together during recess. We had inside jokes and we liked be around each other. But one day when we were riding the bus to school she said in a sweet but sad voice, “My dad said we've got to move to Springfield.”
“What? Why?”, I said frantically.
“I don't know, but my dad says we have to”, she said apologetically.
“Well your dad is stupid”, I said, anger taking control of common sense.
“No he's not”, she said in a defensive and offended tone.
I immediately felt bad and regretted saying it, I was just really sad that she had to leave. “I'm sorry”, I said quietly trying to make sure the last things I said to her weren't insulting her family.
The next week she left and I was utterly devastated, and for years afterward, and still sometimes today, I wondered what could of happened if she didn't move to Springfield. False hopes of her coming back, or me running to Springfield and getting back together with her, even to the point of marriage, but those dreams faded with age although I can't deny that I still contemplate them sometimes in my moments of thought.
Things were fairly normal for a while, I went to and usually enjoyed school, Marcella stayed at home with my mom and her at-home day-care, and most everyone seemed happy. But they weren't. One day when I was seven I was sitting in the kitchen when my father called a “family meeting”.
Me, Marcella, James, Rose all slumped into the family room and took our rightful places in our usual seats. After we had all gotten comfortable my dad announced with a tone that implied bad news from the very start, “Me and your mom have been talking it over and we've decided to get a separation.”
A look of utter horror and trepidation froze on my face as possible outcomes and endeavors ran through my mind and angry butterflies waltzed in my stomach, keeping the words I wanted so much to scream out, at bay. There was a long, agonizing silence before my mom said, “It's not you guys' fault, okay?”
“What's going to happen now?”, Rose asked in a choked voice.
“Well, I'm going to move out and your father will have you on the weekdays and I'll have you on the weekends” my mom replied
This conversation went on for what seemed like eternity yet got nowhere. When it finally ended I skipped my homework and went to bed, not believing what had just happened in this house that used to be such a pleasant place.
For the next couple of weeks my mother slowly moved out to her friend, Kate's house. Our first time staying there was a completely new experience, there was cable T.V. and a small dog named Wilson running around the house. Also my mom and James had gotten the most adorable white kitten and named him Pippen.
Christi, Kate's daughter, once got a babysitting job babysitting a kid named Nathan, he was younger yet taller then me and had bright blonde, curly hair. We instantly became friends, we ran around the basement playing pokémon and spider-man. We walked to the park and messed around and sometimes we would steal some of his grandmother's money and walk across Stadium to Schnuck's and buy some doughnuts or sodas. I didn't have any other friends in that neighborhood so we basically spent all of our time together.
One day my mom had some extra money and decided to buy a trampoline with her extra estate money. I then instantaneously was the most popular kid in the neighborhood. All these kids came to play on it and everyone loved, or appeared to love, being around me. But then one day my friend Lee was pushed off the trampoline by some other boys and broke his arm, from then on we refrained from letting other people use it.
Kate, who's whole left side of her body was paralyzed, didn't always make the best decisions. She was obsessed with dogs and blinded to the fact that some of them can be dangerous around little children. So one day she bought a pit bull that she refused to get rid of so my mom decided to move again.
We moved to a duplex way out in the middle of nowhere, about a twenty minute drive from my school. Although the house was spacious and had an awesome field behind it and my friends always liked visiting it. There was also one winter where the snow got up to like seven inches over night and we had the best place to sled and make snowmen, life there was quaint and easy.
Although we didn't live there for long before the rent became too much and we moved once again to the third floor of Gatehouse Apartments. It was really annoying to have to walk up two flights of stairs every time we went there but the kids who lived in the surrounding apartments were fun to play baseball with.
While living there excitement crept up on me as my tenth birthday approached. I was going to have a Harry Potter party. My mom made the most phenomenal cake, she built a Hogwarts out of Little Debbie snacks and no one even bothered to eat the actual cake. As me and all my friends sat there and devoured fatty cakes I sat for a second and said aloud to myself, “Wow! I can't believe that I've lived a whole decade.”