The Family Break-up

           Families get broken up all the time, all over the world. No matter where they're from it's generally always the same factors that can cause such a devastation. Factors like financial pressure, alcoholism, abuse of drugs, loss of a loved one, and many more can be at the root of it. Yet, despite all the trouble these events can do to a family there is one act that, in my opinion, triumphs over all of the others; a divorce. I had grown accustomed to the already unstable nature of my family, but nothing shook me up more than the time my mother decided to divorce my father.

            When you're a kid, everything seems better than it actually might be. You are oblivious to anything going on behind the scenes, or at least I was. During my younger childhood years, there were a fair amount of really good memories. Like our really big backyard. It was probably the biggest one on the block. It was full of wild and untouched grass and plants that rooted from the edges of all four fences. My parents knew how much my sister and I loved to play outside for hours. So they told us that they wanted to build a swing set with an enormous, two story playhouse like we've never seen before. We giggled and hoorayed with joy and excitement. My parents spent what felt like weeks building our own playground. My sister and I would try to be as much help to them as we could, but they seemed to have had it handled. When it was finished, it did indeed live up to the expectations that were set for it. They always acted like a great team and cooperated well with each other in order to get things done for us. 
             As I got older I started to realize how strange of a relationship my parents actually did have. They hardly spent much time together. After work, my dad would come straight home and watch TV in the shed which left my mom a more dominant role in raising my siblings and I. Whenever my mom and dad did interact, it was never in a loving way. They were always bickering about the same things as if it was the first time they had argued about it. Even though their relationship was clearly unstable to everyone who encountered it, it didn't seem that bad to me. Growing up with that example did not quite brainwash me into thinking that kind of behavior within a marriage was normal. I just assumed that they must have had some other hidden aspect of their relationship that was keeping their flame burning for eighteen years. If it was anybody else's relationship I wouldn't be expecting them to stay together forever. But for some reason, I assumed my parents were the exception until the day my mom came to my sister and I with sincere thoughts of divorce.

            "I don't think I can live like this anymore," my mom told us with a worried face, two weeks before Christmas of 2013. You could tell she was very anxious about how we would respond. We kept quiet until she was completely done. Even though she held complete seriousness in her voice, the whole situation still felt unreal. Especially since she hadn't even declared her feelings to my dad yet. I guess breaking the news to us first was more important for whatever reason. That logic alone reinforced to me the idea that their marriage was never built on the right things. It made more sense to talk about something as severe as a divorce with your spouse long before you even think about involving the kids. But, what was done was done and now all I could think about was how my dad was going to take it. Although my mom might have thought this through and seen the signs long before anyone I know for a fact that this news would hit him like a truck. Shortly after my mom's confession to us she ventured out into the shed to confront my dad. I don't know exactly what was said, but if their intense and boisterous voices could pierce right through the thick walls of my room then I knew it wasn't anything amiable.

           A couple days later my boyfriend decided to come over and hang out at the house. Whilst in conversation, my dad walked up to us and asked if we could speak to him on the picnic table in the backyard for a more private setting. I was immediately taken by surprise from his want to have an intimate conversation with me let alone my boyfriend as well. He wasn't one to express any emotion other than sarcasm. I always believed that he used his sarcasm as a defense mechanism to avoid expressing real feelings in order to prevent himself from judgment. As we listened to what my dad had to say, he attempted to give us a heartfelt lecture about how to keep a relationship going strong. Then he started to explain his perspective of why my mom wanted a divorce. Even with his sunglasses on I could tell he was trying really hard not to let a single tear fall, as if in doing so it would make the conversation sound more serious than he had wanted it to be. Towards the end he expressed his hopes for him to somehow make things right with my mother and continue their marriage. My heart wanted to reach out to him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. That I believed they could make things work. My head knew the truth though. Both of their actions is what destroyed whatever was left of their marriage in the long run, and there was no way my mother was going to continue to settle for a man whom she deemed "too old for new tricks."

            The next few months for my parents were filled with bickering and hurtful words towards each other like I've never seen. Even after my dad moved out the fighting continued on. My sister and I were constantly put in the middle and were always faced with choosing a side. No matter how hard we tried to stay neutral, my parents would find a way to put us on a side. Most of the time they didn't even realize they were doing it. They were too caught up in being justified in their own feelings to fully consider the effect it could have on us.   

             Now with the divorce finalized, their constant arguing has settled down. They aren't able to have a civil conversation yet, but they try harder to keep my siblings and I out of it. However, I have a feeling their issues will continue to have a negative effect on the rest of us until they both decide to suck it up, focus on their kids, and move on with their lives.

            There are a lot of reasons why a family breaks, but from my experience there is no other pain or hardships that can out-do the aftermath of a divorce.

           

                         

 

The Importance of Names

A name can say a lot about a person.  They come in all kinds of different shapes and sizes with meanings behind them that can represent a vast amount of possibilities. They can represent things like one's heritage, social status, and ultimately their identity. To some people names are everything and they wouldn't be anything without them. However, I wouldn't consider myself one of these people. 

My parents gave me the name Tori Lynn Foster. 

My first name, Tori, was ultimately chosen by my father. My mother wanted my name to be Victoria, but both of my parents couldn't stand the idea of someone mistakenly calling me Vicky. I guess it just rubbed them the wrong way and I'm glad it did since I'm not too fond of that nickname either. Besides Tori being simple and short enough to yell across the house in only two syllables, that name was mostly given to me in honor of my dad's oldest sibling and only sister, my Aunt Lori. Her and I share a lot of common qualities in our personalities so I guess naming me somewhat after her was fitting. We both are very sarcastic, love to read, down to earth, and have a bit of a tom-boy side. 

My middle name, Lynn, unofficially came from my mother's side of the family. Her oldest sister and my aunt, Francesca, always wanted a middle name growing up and decided to make it Lynn at a very young age. She introduced herself with that fake middle name to everyone she met which only slowly, but surely, convinced herself that it really was her middle name. She even requested to be announced as Francesca Lynn Percy during her graduation ceremony. My mother could see how much my aunt wanted the name Lynn to be a part of her, so she decided to make it a part of my name on her behalf. I really like how it is short and simple just like my first name. I think it even has its own sort of flow to it. Tori Lynn. Rolls right off the tongue. 

My last name, Foster, is the one part of my name that I don't know much about to begin with. The only facts I could get out of my parents was how it had only been in my dad's side of the family for a couple generations and that it is of German and Polish descent. To me, Foster sounds very bland and intensely White. Although, I have heard people comment on how much it fits with the rest of my name.

They say a name can make someone who they are, but in my case I would like to believe that I would still be the person I am today even if I was given a different name. The major events that have happened throughout my life span would have still happened whether I was a Tori, a Vicky, or even a Deborah. It definitely adds to your story though.