I always knew that my parents weren’t going to last. I just wasn’t sure when it was exactly going to happen. Hearing arguing was just known as background music to us. My sister and I… we didn’t really know what they were arguing about most of the time. It was the same thing every time.


Mom screams. Dad screams.


Dad swears. Mom swears.


It was a continuous thing. They would wait until we went to bed to just lay into each other. Like, we may be younger, but we aren’t deaf. Kids have excellent hearing and they seemed oblivious to the fact that we did. We could hear them yelling and arguing from two floors above them. We never knew what they were arguing about; sometimes it was about money, sometimes work, sometimes parties, even sometimes just the fact that no one picked up the dog poop. They would argue about anything and everything. I’m pretty sure they just made things up to argue about. My sister and I would sit on the stairs and just listen. We would observe and wonder, why are they arguing again? My sister and I were Siamese twins. We would just sit together. We would cry together. We would protect each other.


“Rachel, is mom and dad getting a divorce?”


“No Rebe, they are just talking. They are working things out.”


“Rachel, what if they do? Can we just live together? Just us?”


“No Rebe, we can’t. I think we will have to choose.”
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I was in about second grade and I remember it was one of their worst fights. My dad packed a bag and left. It was about ten o’clock, and I knew full well I should have been in bed and asleep by then, but I had bigger things to worry about. Was this it? Is our family breaking apart? I was little, so I ran out and chased after him. I did not want him to leave, but I also knew that it was better if my parents separated for a little.


I cried.


Would you have done anything different? No, probably not.


I think when I grabbed my dad’s arms, it broke his heart. He came back into the house, gave my mom a hug, and we all left and went to bed like nothing happened. Fighting was just a typical thing in our house.
Every time I would cry, my parents would feel guilty and apologize. They cannot bear to see their girls ball their eyes out. But, it did not stop there. I thought that the arguments would end. Nope. I was wrong. In fourth grade, there was another huge fight. I was two years older, so I was “wiser.” This time, I knew that they should just split up. Life would be sweet! Two birthdays, two Christmas’, two everything! You know how much clothes I would have!? The night after the big fight, I went to school.


“My parents are getting a divorce!” I actually just made that up; I assumed they were going to. It’s sad, but I was happy. My friends all felt bad for me, but I did not need anyone to feel that way for me if I was excited for them to get a divorce. It sounds terrible, but as a fourth grader, getting double of everything sounded like the life.


That’s when thoughts started rushing to my head. I had it all planned out. I would live with my dad, visit my mom on weekends, take double the amount of vacations, and get spoiled. Little did I know they weren’t getting a divorce.
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It was my eighth year, and this was the year. My life got turned upside down, when my thoughts turned into a reality. My family split. Since we were above the age of twelve we were able to pick which house we would want to live at. The judge would not force us to go anywhere we did not want to be, which made it harder to choose because either side I picked, I felt I was completely shattering the other parent. My whole life I have been a mommy’s girl and my sister was a daddy’s girl, so splitting up would tear my sister and me apart. That just would not do. I chose to stick with my sister. Whichever house parent she wanted to live with, I would follow. My sister and I were Siamese twins. My sister and I did not break apart, in fact we became closer.. I was afraid to talk to my parents because I knew that it would end with bashing the other parent. The only other person to go to was Rachel and she would actually listen.


I figured that Rachel was the older one, so she knew which house it would be better to live in. It was the time to choose. Do I pick Mom? Maybe Dad?
For the last couple years, we had issues with my mom and became closer to our dad. It was my sister, my dad, and I who did everything together. We would clean the garage, go grocery shopping, and go on vacations. We were the three blind mice, the three amigos, the three stooges. We became distant from our mother, so the choice kind of seemed obvious.


My sister and I chose our dad.


My mom was not hurt; she knew that when we wanted to be with her, we would come around.


“Girls, every girl needs their mother sometime in their life, but you don’t need me at the moment. I’m okay with that. You will come around. My door is open. My heart is open. I will never stop being your mother and you will never stop being my daughters. Everyone needs space every once in a while, and this is my time to be alone.”


My mom’s speech just crushed me. I felt sick. I felt hurt. I felt like I had betrayed her. I felt the urge to leave my dad’s and live at my mom’s. But that would entail me leaving Rachel. I could not do that.
I stayed at dad’s.
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I lived with my dad for three years. Life was great; the three of us were the best of friends; my dad was the kind of guy you could tell everything to. Every day, all day, Rachel, my dad, and I were always together. I think just a little too much though.


A father living with two girls…? just imagine that.


“Dad! We need tampons!”


“Dad! I’m going out with so and so”


“Dad! The school dance is coming up! I need a dress!”


“Dad! I need new bras!”


Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Let’s just say, he got annoyed. He did not mind doing motherly things for us, but after a while it got old. Not only did he have to deal with two girls, but we are teenagers. We have random bursts of attitude, we need “feminine products,” we have boy issues. Sometimes you just need to talk to your mom about your school crush, but you can’t when you become distant. My sister became my mother figure. She was the woman that helped with homework, boys, the chores, everything. She was playing two roles. A teenage girl and a mom. I gained so much respect for Rachel over the last few years.


Just recently, within the last year, we became close to my mom again. We realized that, being teenage girls, we needed our mom. We began to spend more time at her apartment and spending multiple nights over at a time. My dad would get mad at us for spending more time with her. We had to though; we missed out on about two years of not having a mother.


“If you are going to go to your mother’s, just stay there! You obviously like her more than me.”


“Really? That’s immature” Rachel would tell him sarcastically.


It got to the point where, we would not come home until after my dad went to bed and then go back out with our mom the next day. The thing is, we didn’t even feel guilty about what we were doing. We honestly did not care. We missed our mom and no one could tell us not to.


President’s Day weekend (of 2013), I ended up getting into a huge fight with my dad. It all started with asking what was for breakfast.


“Hey dad, what’s for breakfast?” Apparently I had a bad attitude and he mimicked me with an even worse attitude.


“Okayy then.” I slammed the fridge and started heading up stairs.


“You know what Rebecca, I don’t need your attitude and you don’t need to be slamming things I bought.”


I honestly don’t know where his attitude came from, because Rachel told me that I did not have an attitude with him. I always got in trouble for having an attitude and I never have one. I was done. If I’m going to get in yelled at for having and attitude, when I don’t, I’m going to moms. I was done getting attitude from my dad. The arguments between my dad and I got so vigorous that it got to the point where I wouldn’t come home until after three in the morning and he would yell at me and say I need to start paying rent. He would question me why his laundry wasn’t done, or why I’m never home. I was done tolerating his attitude and so was Rachel, she did not accept how he treated me and knew that I did not have the strength to fight back. So, she did it for me.


“I’m sick of hearing you give Rebecca s*** for her attitude cause she never has one. You always lay into her and I’m done. She is sixteen years old, she can’t pay you rent. You know why she stays out all weekend and doesn’t come home til after you go to bed? Cause she doesn’t want to be here and hear you b**** at her. I have raised this girl for the last three years, when you haven’t been here for her. We have never been as close as we are now and you aren’t acknowledging it. Rebe and I always used to fight, but recently it’s been us against you. We don’t want to hear your attitudes. I don’t know why you have been making a big deal about everything but you need to chill. Sorry we didn’t do the dishes last night, sorry we didn’t do your laundry, and sorry we have spent a lot of time at mom’s. You need to relax and realize that if your attitude doesn’t change we will leave.” Rachel is my life saver. She knew that when I couldn’t snap at my dad, she would. At this time, I was balling. It was one of those silent, hiccup coughs. The one thing I hate is people arguing and screaming at each other.


That afternoon, I went to my mom’s. Of course, my sister and I went together, we are Siamese twins. We have been living at my mom’s since February. It is a hard transition. I mean, I went from avoiding my mom’s phone calls, to spending every minute of every day with her. I missed her. I live in an apartment with my mom and Rachel, and it’s just great. I know that when I come home, I won’t get an attitude and I can relax without being all tensed up. I still communicate with my dad, but we are not as close as we were. Currently, we are moving things out of our dad’s house and getting situated at Mom’s . Now, he respects our decision to leave, he does not agree with it, but he respects it. Lately, my father has not been a fan of my mother, but he is going to have to get used to the idea of us living with her. I don’t think any place I move to will be absolutely permanent, but for the time being, I am grateful that I have family at all.