Have you ever wondered how the “good kid” feels? You know, the “smart one” who does well in school and, for the most part, behaves? The “sober one” who doesn’t drink to excess or use drugs? The one who lives in the shadows of his troublesome siblings? Today, you have your answer. Because behind the summer of all those good grades and all that good behavior is a child lost in a family blizzard of invisibility. And while I could have easily told you all of this myself–I honestly didn’t want to because I didn’t think anyone would understand the torment–but our contributor today is courageous enough to recount the times he felt like...
THE INVISIBLE KID
by C.P.
I grew up in a very troubled home. My mom and dad married at 16 and 17 when my mom became pregnant. That was not easy for them, as their parents judged them harshly. They were silently shunned from the family. By that I mean, we still spent time with them, but there was always that silent we-know-what-you-did look and underlying treatment. This was enhanced as my two older sisters and my younger brother made their choices in life.
Me? I had my bad boy days. At the age of seven I could rip off the local 7-11 with the cashier looking right at me. I was good.
But one Saturday, when I was nine, everything went wrong. I found a pack of my dad’s cigarettes and smoked them all. Like Clinton, I did not inhale, just went through the motions. What was the big deal? Later that afternoon, my dad questioned us all, “Who was smoking behind the well house?” I was scared but did not ‘fess up.
Later in the evening, my parents went to a Sunday school class party. The kids were all dropped off at the church for the teenagers to watch. I was playing with some of the office equipment and almost started a fire.
A little later, a couple of us snuck off to 7-11 to “buy” some candy. I got a load: gum, taffies, candy bars and vampire blood in a tube. On my way out I heard the cashier ask, ”What’s that in your pocket?!”
Oh, boy. I was caught.
I showed her what was in my pants pockets, all the stuff I had stolen. She wanted my name. Not thinking, I told her MY REAL NAME!
“What’s your dad’s name?” she asked.
Think, Phat, think. Before I knew it, I told her his real name. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She went to the phone book and started dialing. All I could think was “I ain’t goin’ to jail!” So when she turned to dial the phone, I ran. She didn’t catch me.
Somehow my dad found out and asked me if I had stolen anything from 7-11. Again, I lied. I thought I got away with it. We went home, but all night, when I heard a car drive by, I knew it was the cops coming to cart me away. Needless to say, I did not sleep well that night.
The next morning was Sunday and I could hardly wait for the end of the service, for the alter call, so I could repent of my sins. I did and have never looked back.
I became the white sheep of the family.
That sounds good, but I also became the invisible kid. Since my record was clean and my siblings, well they were hell raisers, my mom and dad ignored me. I did well in school. I was active in church. I planned to go to college to study theology.
But the problem was, no one noticed me at home. My birthdays were the first thing I remember not having. Later my parents said, “Well, your birthday always landed at the end of the school year and since we were teachers and either moving to another school or wrapping up our school years, we simply forgot.”
Wow.
Football games were missed, track meets ignored, grades were looked at, “Okay, A’s and B’s what else…?”
The silence was deafening.
Their time and energy was spent getting my older sister out of trouble with pregnancies — 4, that I know of, before she was 17 — or my other sister with drinking, or my brother’s grades, attitude, or drug use.
But I seemed to have my stuff in order. I was the invisible kid.
Now this may not seem like a Tempest Tale to some, but I deal with feelings related to being invisible to this day. It is an invisible wound that I hide with my humor and gregarious ways. I became the class clown as a kid and have not stopped to this day.
Laughter is the best medicine and has helped me deal with my pain.
I couldn’t wait to leave for college to start life on my own, away from the deafening silence. But the loneliness was just as loud. So I did what every good preacher-boy does, I prayed. I asked for the loneliness to cease and the silence to go away. The answer from God, “Go thou, therefore, and seeketh a wife.” (Yes, He spoke in King James Version; I hadn’t found the NASB yet.)
She is the person who has helped me the most. We met at eighteen. On my nineteenth birthday, I had my first party. Now the loneliness is gone and the silence is filled with words of encouragement.
And I get a party every year.
It may be a drizzle to some, but it is my Tempest Tale.
