Life Happens

In Which I Speak In Total Seriousness And Rat On My Dad

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Okay, so. My dad and I have never, ever had a "good" relationship. Being the youngest middle child, there are four of us kids, I was always seeking attention, as it usually went to my little brother, or my older sister and her dance recitals, or Ryne and his little 'problems'. There wasn't a lot of attention left for me. I wasn't the pretty girl, or the talented one. I wasn't athletic, and I wasn't girly. I was smart. And I'm not calling smart people out or anything, but that's what I was. I didn't do anything. I played quietly by myself, or I did schoolwork or read. I was known to throw fits and tantrums, over even the tiniest things. I was known for chirping like a bird just to get gummy worms, hence my nickname, Kayleigh-Bird. So yeah, I didn't do much. I wasn't spectacular, I wasn't a child genius, and I wasn't the favorite. I was the least favorite.

I used to try everything for his attention. There was once, when my mom told me to just ask him to play, that I became all shy and worried he'd get mad, so I wrote him a note and slipped it into his bean bag in front of the TV.  It was a football beanbag, and his gaming controllers were already there. My dad was obsessed with video games. Always, always, I'd go to sleep, and he'd be up on them all night, and then again all day. He never even acknowledged the note. My mom fed us and drove us around. She read bedtime stories, even when we both knew I could read them myself. My mom praised us, and loved us, and kept us healthy, while my dad talked to his friends through a headset. Yeah, he still played with my little brother, and he even let my older brother play video games with him sometimes. In fact, he bonded with my brothers more, just because they'd watch him play for hours on end, immersed in the colorful pixels.

My sister got all the praise. She was given flowers every recital, he'd tell her how proud he was. She had pictures taken, so many pictures. He hugged her, he loved her, and I was left to the side. But I love my sister, and wouldn't trade anything in the world for her. That's my best friend, the one getting the smiles and encouragement and flowers. The one who laughed with me, played with me, smiled, and read with me. She was always there for me, and I was always there for her, and I've been to almost every single dance recital. I let her have all of the attention, because at that moment, it was her time to shine, and she deserved it. The way she flew across the stage, it was, and still is, jaw dropping. And she just got better and better.

Kierston is a dancer, that's for sure. She was meant for it; and she's the only one. The boys and I don't dance, it's her thing. But I don't have a thing. Cause she's smart too. Sure, when she was my age, she could read more, she could read faster, but she couldn't multiply numbers in her head as fast as I could. She couldn't do math as quickly as I could, and she didn't want to. Being good at math was the only thing that made me noticeable. But my dad just didn't see it.

And if we go a few years back, we see five year old me. We'd just moved from Virginia to Indiana, and back since two years before, I had danced. But I didn't want to anymore. I wasn't getting any more attention than I had, because I was dancing on the same stage she was. I didn't want to twirl and tumble anymore, I wanted to run and get dirty. So I started doing soccer. We lived in Jeff at the time, and the only little kids soccer league around was Clarke. They didn't want to spend the money on enough coaches, so there were very few teams, and when it came to games, my team was just split in half and we played against the other half. But I loved it. And I had fun. My dad came to my games, and it was all about me, the spotlight was on me. And on the colder days, when my game had ended, I'd kick my cleats off in the car, and we'd drive to a coffee shop and get me hot chocolate. I would sip at it, careful not to burn my tongue, as they drove around looking at houses. 

Moving on, a year later, soccer season again. This time, you see six year old me playing for church. We played against other teams, got to name our team ourselves, and the coaches were awesome. Dad came to fewer games now, because Riley was older, and so were the others. But mom was there every time, supporting me and cheering me on. And I loved soccer more by the end of the season.