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Life & Events > The Hill Behind the House
 

The Hill Behind the House



As early as I can remember, my parents had a difficult relationship. Some of my earliest memories include them arguing, my dad knocking over a cocktail table, my mom crying, and my brother and me hiding under a bed. As time passed, I added memories of name-calling, separations, reconciliations, and more arguments. The arguments would usually be about money, or lack thereof. As a child, I learned how to get my younger brothers and myself out of the way and how to lay low. When I left to go to college, I was more concerned about how my brothers would fare without me than the transition to dorm and college life.

It was during my freshman year of college that the hil behind the house became an issue. My father had wanted to plant it. My mom had told him that they couldn’t afford to, but my dad planted it anyway. Within a week of the planting, torrential rains spawned by a hurricane hit our area. The seed was washed down the hill, and if there were to be any crops on this hill, it would have to be replanted. My dad started pressuring my mom to ask her father for the money to replant the hill.

For my mom, the hill behind the house became the final straw. She’d had enough. She’d had enough of the arguing, of the asking my grandfather for money to support her husband’s failing ventures, and of the constant pressures associated with trying to maintain a sense of balance while raising a family in a dysfunctional environment. Within a month, she’d moved out and filed for divorce.

The past two years have been my hill behind the house. Though my hill looks differently than my mother’s, it’s still a hill. And though there hasn’t been the arguing, I almost wish there had been. It would be easier to explain and more apparent to my children as to the cause of the hill, but I decided years before I had children, that I would not raise them in constant turmoil. I made certain that they had a stable environment.

Though I have more resources and a more certain future if I choose to move on, it’s still a scary thought. My mom had two children at home, two in college, and a high school diploma. I have three adult children and a master’s degree. My mom didn’t even have a job at the time that she made her move. I not only have a job, but I have a tenured position.

Though I know I won’t end up living in a cardboard box and eating at soup kitchens, I am still terrified by these thoughts: What if no one ever loves me again? What if this was supposed to be it, and I’m screwing up? What if my children really don’t understand and they end up hating me with the same passion that I love them? But just as I’m scared by these thoughts, I’m just as scared by the thought that I will live the rest of my life, just as I’ve lived the past couple of years, climbing that hill behind the house.

posted on May 10, 2009 7:42 PM ()

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