Full Circle

My mom decided to move to Holt because it was near her place of employment and also near my sister. I liked Holt. We lived down the street from an ice cream store, we were near all of the fast food chains, the mall was only a 10 minute drive and dad was nearby, too. I adapted pretty well, though I missed the country and Fawn.

I remember this time as being scary for my mom. She had nothing and was on her own for the first time ever. I had a lot of new freedom because mom worked a lot. I was too young to start abusing the freedom, though.

What is the first thing you do after moving into a new community? Right! Find a church. My mom attended a local Methodist parish and I remember her coming home disappointed. No one spoke to her. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She contemplated checking out some other Methodist Churches in the area. I remember wondering what the big deal was. Methodist, Catholic, non-denominational….who cared? Why does God even care about all of these religions?

My sister got married in 1989. She married in a Presbyterian church in Dimondale. The church was beautiful and I felt comfortable there…except…behind the alter was a stained glass window…and in the center of the stained glass window…was an eyeball—the eye of God, or something. Again, a little creepy. My mom liked the church and decided to make a religion leap by checking out the First Presbyterian church in Holt. She went. She loved it. She asked me to come and I did. I hated it. The place looked like a barn and I was bored out of my mind. So I stayed home while my mom joined the church.

It was around this time, 8th or 9th grade, that I somehow decided I wanted to be Catholic again. All of my friends were Catholic and it seemed like a cool religion. Also, my step-mother had explained that Catholicism is the absolute true religion. Everything else just broke off from the Catholic church. I decided she might be right. I started telling people I was Catholic.

On Good Friday that year, I attended stations of the cross with her. Time for communion. She sat there. I finally asked: why?

“I’m not allowed to. I didn’t receive the sacrament of marriage in the church.” I remembered that they had been married in a Methodist church.
“Why didn’t you get married in your own church?”
“Because your father isn’t catholic.”
“So….he couldn’t get married in your church…because he’s not Catholic…”
“Not unless he annulled his first marriage,” she explained, “and by annulling his first marriage, he would have annulled you and your sister. The church would recognize him but not the two of you.” I felt so little when she told me all of this. Did God not love me because I wasn’t Catholic? How could a church ask someone to annul his kids? Is God full of these rules? Screw him, then.

I entered high school, had a lot of fun, went to church a couple times a year, still prayed, but never had a use for a personal relationship with God. Who really needed him unless you were scared, hurt or afraid? Besides, no one wanted to be a Jesus Freak. There is a time and place to be a Christian: Sunday. But as Jimmy Buffett stated, “There’s a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning.” It was all idealist BS and boring. People would shove their beliefs down my throat. Bah. Didn’t want it or need it. At least, I didn’t think I needed it.

The details from one day in particular will never leave me. It was the summer before 10th grade. My mom and I had moved into a house earlier in the year. My sister came over to the house. I wasn’t sure why. She sat on the floor of my bedroom and started looking at my photo albums. She was wearing white bib shorts and a blue shirt. Her hair was short and curly. We didn’t talk much. She just looked at pictures. Then she got up and left. The next day, my mom was driving me to Mason so I could take my driver’s ed test. Somewhere along Cedar Street, these words fell out of her mouth—David left your sister.

I felt so violent. I wanted to kill this guy. He was supposed to be my brother. We were all supposed to trust him.

“And, Holly…your sister is going to have a baby…you’re going to be an aunt.”

Pure joy now came over me. I wanted to cry and did. In fact, you can see it in the picture that was taken of me that day, the picture that went on my first driver’s license. I was confused, angry, and ecstatic.

After my mom had a bedroom built for her, my sister moved into the basement. It was the first time the three of us had lived together since 1979…and it was 1991. My mom got her oldest daughter back. I got to experience life with my sister. There were actually meals served and the laundry smelled awesome. My sister had cool clothes…clothes she couldn’t fit into for awhile. Yes, the benefits were wonderful and yes, stressful. For the most part, everyone got along and the best part was that I got to watch the baby grow.

He was born in March, just after I turned 16. I remember not being able to wait one more day. We all wanted him to be born so badly. And we had already named him: Zachary Edward. We were there when he came into the world. We all held the squirmy, little, yelly thing. The next day, my mom and I went to visit him. We asked to see Zachary Edward Goodrich in the nursery. They looked at us confused. There was no ZEG. My mom and I raced to the hospital room. David was there feeding his boy. “Say hi to Bradley Victor,” he said. I wanted to slap him. How did he have any right to this baby? He had left them. I hated David.

Bradley came home to live with a house full of women. He entertained us and I took care of him during the summer months, taking him everywhere with me. He was baptized and my sister attended the same church as my mom.

Throughout all of this, I was learning about life. When to keep your mouth shut, when to open it, etc. I got myself into a lot of little messes, all part of the learning process. I also had some internal struggles, too. The peer pressure was so intense. Have sex, drink until you puke, have the coolest clothes...I'm surprised I made it out alive. I made some bad choices. Very bad choices. Yet, there was something instilled in me not to steal, not to take advantage of my mom, and to always eat breakfast.

My sister started dating again. In fact, she became engaged just after Bradley turned one. She and Jeff married in March 1994. Our little boy left home. It was sad but a few months later, my mom got remarried to a man she had met at Lyn’s first wedding. She and I moved to Laingsburg to live with Dean the week after I graduated from high school.

It felt like my life had come full circle: being separated from my sister and father, moving away from Laingsburg. Now, everything had been put back into place except that it was different. A whole new journey was about to begin: my life as a college student.