Tyrannosaurus

My parents got divorced when I was in the fifth grade.

To be honest, I think they would have done it sooner, except they couldn't because I was a raging maniac.

I distinctly remember the first time that my mother mentioned to me that this was something that they were considering. (Though to be honest, I'm sure it was beyond the point of "consideration", and much more assuredly onto the point of "definitely happening, but how do we tell our crazy daughter".)

Her first attempt went as follows:

My Mom: Cindy, I need to discuss something with you.

Me: Okay mom.

My Mom: Your dad and I have been talking, and -

Now at this point, it's pretty obvious to me what's coming. I mean, I'm not an idiot. I live in my house with my parents. There's certainly no physical abuse going on, but that doesn't mean a Playskool plastic kitchen hasn't been thrown about a time or two. In fact, the yelling would sometimes get so loud at night that I would sneak into the bathroom, which was directly overhead of most of the arguing, and just stomp my feet really hard. (Basically, I was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Not bad, right?)

So, knowing what's coming, my reaction went something like this, before she could even get the words out:

"NoooOOoOOoO! No you're not nooooOoooOoo NO NO nooooooooo!"

This was followed immediately by what I can only describe as the best plan ever - I ran out the back door of the house into the woods and I hid.

Because clearly, if you're hiding in the woods, your parents are not going to get divorced. They're just not, that would be silly, their daughter is hiding behind a tree, they have more important things to worry about than the fact that they're miserable.

Eventually, my mother came and consoled me in the woods, and we went back to the house together. She didn't mention the divorce again that day, nor did she mention it any time again in the immediate future. It got to the point where I had convinced myself that everything was peachy. Sure, I was still doing the bathroom stomp five nights a week. Sure, my Playskool plastic kitchen was upside-down more than it was right-side up. These things were irrelevant to me. My parents both still lived in my house, and my mom was awesome, and my dad was awesome, and really, what else matters to a ten year old? Nothing. Obviously.

So, imagine my pleasant surprise when my father told me that we would be going to Boston! Just the three of us! In my head, I knew for a fact that this meant that everything was okay. Families that are on the verge of meltdown do NOT go to the Museum of Science. That would be ridiculous. Clearly, we were a family that was thick as thieves, and we were going to be awesome for the rest of forever.

The morning of our trip, I woke up early. I got dressed into the first clothes I could find (which probably were absurd, but I couldn't tell you for sure, because trust me, there are no photos from this day), and I waited for my parents to be ready to go. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was time to leave. I sat in the back seat of the car, and my parents talked to me about all of the things we could do while we were at the museum. We would see a show at the Mugar-Omni theater, and while we waited, I could play on the musical staircase. We could see the live lightning show, created with the world's largest Van de Graaff machine. We could see the life-sized T-Rex model, although since it wasn't winter, she wouldn't be wearing her scarf. Basically, it was a geeky little girl's dream day. Science, dinosaurs, and two parents. Yes please.

Unfortunately, specific memories of the day are sort of hazy in my mind. Am I sure that I enjoyed myself? I am beyond sure that, at the time, I was having nothing but the best day of my life. However, it seems likely that these memories are lost to me because of the significance of what came next. (You know what it is, you've known this whole time.)

Outside, in front of the museum, there is another totally awesome T-Rex model. As we were leaving, I stopped and stared at it in awe for ages until my parents decided it was time to chat.

My Mom: Cindy, we need to talk to you now, okay?

My Dad: But we need you to promise us that you'll stay here.

My Mom: You can't run away from us here, it would be very dangerous if you got lost in the city.

Well, my parents, bravo. You have shown Jerry Maguire's boss what's up even before the movie exists. Were you on the screenwriting team? Did you use your experience in telling your daughter about your divorce to jot down one of the most memorable movie scenes ever? Jerry may have been fired in a crowded restaurant to specifically avoid a scene, but you went above and beyond by bringing a ten year old to a place where you knew she could not escape you - a huge, strange city. Well done. Tip of the cap to you, lad and lass.

Anyhow. The rest of the conversation was what it was. They broke the news. I cried, they cried, I cried some more, they hugged me. I didn't try to run away, because really, where could I go? And even if I'd succeeded, then what? Massive childhunt through Boston, and then they find me, and next time they try to tell me, I get a trip to Disney World? (Hmm. Maybe I should have tried that actually.)

And eventually it happened. My parents got divorced and went on with their lives. My mother eventually married a great guy. My father eventually ended up with a fantastic woman. My life now is one that I wouldn't trade for the world, with a mom, a dad, a step-mom, a step-dad, two sisters, a brother, two step-sisters, two step-brothers, and a half-brother. I know that the world is better because of this turn of events.

But I'll tell you this much. I'll never look at that T-Rex with awe. Ever again.