In the beginning....

Tomorrow marks my 2 year anniversary of the first time I went to Riverview. I wasn't dragged there. I wasn't expecting to be changed, either. I was hung over and sick. I was also searching, but used to it by now. For the past few years I had been intensely seeking for a place I fit in, a place to grow, a place to know God...a place I hadn't really ever had. I listened with skepticism as the pastor discussed being in a rut. I chuckled to myself. Yes, sir...my whole life.

My parents were high school sweethearts, married right out of high school with a little girl on the way. They lived in Laingsburg, MI sandwiched in-between my dad's family: grandpa and grandma on one side, aunt Helen's family on the other. My mother worked as a hair stylist to help put dad through Michigan State. After he graduated, he took a job as a bartender. Both had jobs which required communication skills and dealing with other people's issues but they were so tired of being young, struggling, supporting a family, the two caved under the pressures.

They separated in 1975 and my dad moving to Lansing.

The End.

Oh...wait...there must be more.

Mom did the best she could with an 8-year-old. They continued to go to the Laingsburg Methodist Church with the rest of my dad's family, who fully supported my mom's decisions. Dad came back to Laingsburg once a week to watch my sister on Wednesday nights. I guess its safe for all to guess that my parents still had some kind of love between them otherwise, I wouldn't be writing this :)

I don't know if I was supposed to save their marriage, if I was a "surprise" to them, or if they panicked when my mom got the results. Mom says she was happy but I wonder. The truth: my grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer and asked my pops to move back home. I guess, in a way, the tragedy of my grandpa dying is why I might be here. God knew I was going to arrive on the scene but everyone else thought my sister was going to be an only child.

Mom and dad did get back together until I was about two and a half. My father finally confessed he was in love with someone else and they got divorced.

My mom had little options at the time. She met a man who was 10 years younger. His wife had left him with a four year old son and a one and a half year old daughter. We went to live with him in Charlotte but we had to leave behind the family, including my sister. She was 12 at the time and did not want to live with Lee. My mom's parents took her in so she grew up in Ellsworth, a small town next to Charlevoix, MI.

My mom stepped right in as a surrogate mother to Chad and Fawn. Fawn even called her mommy. She brought us three kids to a little country church around the corner from our house. This church resembled the church from Little House On The Prairie, complete with a Reverend Alden. Approximately 20-30 people attended, all of them were our neighbors. A large cross hung behind the minister over a red curtain backdrop. I always wanted to know what was behind the curtain. A picture of Jesus hung above the organ. I would stare at His image, wonder why this guy loved me so much. I saw pictures of Jesus playing with sheep and holding little kid's hands. It didn't make sense to me. But if we didn't love him, we were going to hell for sure. As far as I knew, hell meant no Barbies, Pound Puppies, big wheels, or family. Sure, I'll love Jesus. He did die for me after all...wait...I wasn't even alive. How did he die for me before I was even born? I just did as I was told. Believe him. Love him.

There is a memory that stands out. Nighttime. Candles flickered. Everyone was singing Christmas hymns. Lee was there which was unusual. The "Larder" children were asked to come to the front of the church and recite a poem. It was about a Christmas Tree. We had one little line each. One of us froze. Can't remember who. I was deathly afraid. It was probably me.

For the most part, us three kids went to church every other weekend when we were home. We dreaded it. Getting dressed up, putting on the tights, dress pants, uncomfortable shoes, curling the hair. My argument was that the guy in the pictures wore a robe and sandles. Why were we getting so pretty? It was ingrained into our minds: it is respectful to dress up when you enter the house of God.

Church was boring. We usually had to sit through the entire service because there wasn't much of a Sunday School program. My mom bribed us by promising McDonald's breakfast afterwards. The whole charade was over by the time we were 10. I'm sure it broke my mom's heart but we were relieved.

But there was something else going on behind the scenes. It was taking place every other weekend when I visited my father. It was confusing. It was a little scary. It was Catholicism.