Hidden Imperfection

For most of my life, many people thought my family was a prime example of what an American family should be. My mom and dad were married, we were very close to our extended family, and we always seemed to be happy when we were together. We had dinner as a family, took family vacations, and were involved in our community. Mom and Dad always came to my band concerts, the Friday night football games, and all the parent meetings at school. In fact, some of my friends would comment on how lucky I was to have parents who were so caring and involved with everything. I always thought it was hilarious to hear my friends joke around and say things like, "Wow, I wish my parents were like yours! Hey, do you think they'd adopt me?" Most of the time I even thought I was pretty lucky. As I grew older, I began to realize that we definitely weren't perfect; we were just really good at covering up what was wrong.

By the time I was ten years old or so, I started to overhear my parents arguing at night. I became very worried when this happened, and I would usually end up quietly crying myself to sleep. I wanted so bad to just make them stop, but I was afraid to mention anything about their arguments to them. I just didn't understand. I had always assumed they were happy together, and before then I hadn't had a reason to believe otherwise. The way I understood it, happy people didn't get so angry at each other. But when I finally got up some courage and asked about what was wrong, Mom would tell me that they were just "having a discussion," and Dad would say, "Sweetie, it's just a grown-up thing. Don't you worry about it at all." But once they knew that I knew something was wrong, they tried to hide their anger from me. They did their best to act like nothing was wrong.

Mom told me that everything would be fine, and when I got older I might be able to understand what was going on. But a few months later, she told me that she was thinking about divorcing my dad. I didn't understand the whole concept of divorce just yet, but it sounded frightening. I must have thought that it meant I would never see Dad again or something, because I burst into tears and didn't stop crying for at least half an hour. My reaction must have made my mom second-guess the divorce idea, because she didn't mention it again to me for years.

As I started to understand that things weren't as perfect as people thought, I felt so bewildered. My idea of what a familly dynamic should be was starting to unravel around me. It was like I had two families: the one that seemed so perfect to the outside world, and the one that was living amidst conflict and turmoil, teetering perilously on the edge of falling apart. When Mom and Dad were alone together, they were so miserable. I could see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices. But the moment other people came around, everything seemed better. Actually, it didn't really get better; it was just swept momentarily under the proverbial rug so it looked like everything was better. The moment anyone else was around, the conflict disappeared. Or, to put it more precisely, it was temporarily ignored.

We never spoke about hiding our conflicts, it just happened. It was an unspoken rule that we would never let the problems show to the outside world. We all did a pretty good job of keeping our problems hidden. As far as I know, no one knew until much later that there was anything wrong between my mom and my dad. Each time they were out in public, the appeared to be so full of affection and love for one another. I felt like we were all living a lie, and trying to appear as something that we were really not. The happy, smiling family that everyone saw was just an illusion, and a way to cover up the problems that were quietly tearing us apart. We were trying hard to make everyone believe that we were truly a happy family, though we were far from it in reality.

As I got older, I began to see through new eyes just how miserable Mom and Dad were together. The summer before my senior year of high school, things came to a boiling point. I guess I was finally old enough to get a better grip of just what issues were tearing at my parents. Even though my mother and I had always been very close and able to communicate well, the details of the secret conflict between her and my father had alluded me until that one point in time. I wasn't emotionally prepared to find out the real reasons behind all the tensions. But then again, I don't think anyone is really ever ready for such ugly truths.

In the moments after just a few of the occasions and circumstances behind the conflict were partially revealed to me, I felt like I was in over my head for the first time. My head was spinning while trying to process the information, and I could feel my heart breaking for both of my parents. After I heard about the reasons why Mom and Dad weren't happy and I got over some of the shock, some of the past years' events made more sense to me. It came as no surprise to me when Mom told me that she was filing for divorce. There was something different about how she talked about the divorce this time. Instead of saying that she was thinking about it, she stated that she was going to do it. There was no hesitation in her voice. I handled it differently, too. This time, I knew Mom had to get out of the marriage for her own sake and sanity. And I felt like it was my fault that she had to put up with so much over the years. Maybe if I hadn't bawled my eyes out when she mentioned divorce when I was ten or so, she would be happy by now.

This time, I felt like the news of the divorce was a blessing, and maybe once it was all over, we wouldn't have to pretend to be so perfect. It still cut me to the core to think that the family I had known all my life was being split, even though I had known for a while that our family wasn't very healthy. It also hurt when people found out about the looming divorce, because their first reaction was usually one of shock. The flabbergasted utterances were usually along the lines of, "{i{divorcing? But they were always so happy!" It seemed impossible to nearly everybody that my mother and father, two people who appeared to have it all together, would be splitting up. Their reactions almost made it feel like we had failed, like we didn't live up to the standard of perfection we had been desperately trying to project. But honestly, it was more of a relief for me than anything. Once everyone found out about it, I didn't have to live a lie anymore. And it felt good to be able to own up to having problems instead of ignoring and denying them. Once the divorce became final, I experienced a variety of emotions, but I was mostly glad that my mom and dad wouldn't have to live in carefully-concealed misery anymore. It was like starting a brand-new phase for all of us.

I don't know why my parents when to such efforts to make it appear that we had a perfect family. My best guess is that they wanted to stick together for my sake. I'm sure they wanted me to have the best family possible--one where I would have my mother and father living together under one roof with me. The decision to stick it out for so long was probably also influenced by fear. My mom has always been very conscious of what others think of her, so she was probably afraid that others would label her as a failure for having a marriage that ended in divorce. In my family, divorce has always been the type of thing to avoid at all costs. Most of my family members hold conservative views, and believe wholeheartedly in maintaining a strong family. They've all learned to stick together and do what's best for the family as a unit, even if it means abandoning personal happiness. The one or two couples in my extended family that had gotten divorces before my mother and father had really shook things up for the family. It split us and make situations terribly uncomfortable sometimes. I think mom and dad were trying to stick it out in order to avoid making the family "choose sides." It's kind of a noble decision, but one that made them pretty unhappy for many years.

Looking back, it's ironic how the happiness that everyone thought my parents shared was one thing that they really didn't have. It's a powerful feeling to know that you have something that everyone else envies, but it's sad when you're only pretending to have it in the first place. In reality, trying to keep up the facade of perfection doomed my parents' relationship. It cost them many sleepless nights and a lot of frustration and anguish in order to make it appear that they were so ideal. Maybe if so much of their lives hadn't been based around keeping up the appearance, they could have found some real happiness.