It’s Tortilla Time| Hi I’m Tori and This is my Story

Dear Dad,

I am absolutely livid. As you are well aware, Ben has recently returned home from spending a week at your residence. Upon his arrival home, Ben informed me of some things you were saying in my absence. I was absolutely horrified to learn that much of what you were saying had no truth to it at all.

If you and she-who-shall-not-be-named have an issue with me, I would kindly request that you address it with me in person. The first bone you had to pick, I believe, was the fact that I went to the mall with my aunt and cousin. You believe I did this deliberately to get out of watching Liam for you. Even if this was the case, I was not aware that watching your child was my moral obligation. I went to Ohio to visit with my aunt and cousin, which I was accomplishing through shopping with them. Because you have an apparent lack of interest in socializing with our family does not necessarily mean that I have inherited this unfortunate trait from you.

Alas, I am not a nanny that will supervise your children at your every last request. I am a seventeen year old girl with every intention to visit with my family.

I was further annoyed when I learnt that you thought of me as a bitter disappointment. I find your reasoning for this conviction to be quite comical, as you claim that I am not quite social enough. You were furious that I participated in a social activity, going to the mall with my aunt and cousin, and then quickly claimed that I was not social enough for your liking. I am curious as to how you came to this conclusion. Are you aware of how many amazing friends I have? Are you aware of how many social outings I attend? The answer is no, and this is because you, sadly, have had minimal to do with my life for the past seven years. I would appreciate it immensely if you would refrain from talking about things that you are obviously ignorant to, IE my life in general.

You may view me as a bitter disappointment, but I hold you in comparable regard. You are a bitter disappointment as a father, and a human being in general.

I was blown away when she-who-shall-not-be-named claimed that she had recently discontinued giving me money for my good grades. Why you ask? Because over the course of my life I have not once received a penny from either one of you for good grades. In fact, neither of you have ever seen a single report card of mine, a fact that you often grumbled about. I never felt that it was necessary for you to view my report card, as you played no active role in my life whatsoever.

You are nothing to me; you certainly are not a father nor a friend. You are nothing. I never made you choose between she-who-shall-not-be-named or I, but you opted to choose anyway. You chose to leave our family, you chose to discontinue seeing your kids regularly, you chose to move far away, you chose not to inform your kids of your wedding, you chose to begin a new family.

How dare you cry at the train station when I left on Sunday.

One day, I sincerely hope that you come to realize the sacrifices and mistakes you have made. Until then, there is very little that I have to say to you.

Tori

I was recently reminded of stunt I pulled when I was twelve years old.

She-who-shall-not-be-named was still a relatively recent addition to our ‘family,’ and I was obviously far from impressed. She was selfish, vindictive, and just overall despicable. What more could you possibly desire in a stepmother? She was about as amiable as swarm of killer bees. That is, after you approach their hive, rattle it, pluck it from the tree, and douse it with Coca-Cola.

This was after she had somehow managed to convince my father to rarely see Ben and I. She had taken charge of the farm, bastardizing it beyond recognition. It had somehow taken the form of an immaculate estate where you wouldn’t dare touch the contents without first washing your hands. A far cry from the casual country get-away it was intended to be.

She began yelling at us for the most frivolous of reasons, such as lying down on a couch or singing. I didn’t doubt that she enjoyed taking her anger and frustration out on us. She would constantly lecture Ben and I about how her parents’ divorce was far more traumatizing than ours, and that we had absolutely no right to ever feel bad about it.

She had crossed me one too many times, and I was going to make her regret doing so.

I sneaked into my mother’s medicine cabinet one day and discovered pills that resembled mouse duty uncannily. I discreetly packed a handful of these pills into my weekend bag, and was off for a weekend at the farm with my father and she-who-shall-not-be-named.

At the tail end of the weekend, just as we were about to leave, I scattered the pills in piles throughout the entire house. I placed the pills meticulously, making it very convincing that there were an army of mice present. I made sure to place a batch near she-who-shall-not-be-named’s sleeping quarters.

The next time I went to the farm I noticed an abundance of mouse traps scattered throughout.

My life has admittedly been dull, and my site stats have no doubt reflected this.

I’ve been extremely busy playing Rock Band prepping for my exams.

My dad hasn’t made any attempt to contact me in months. I know that I should have come to expect this by now, but it still feels like a punch in the gut. He’s far too occupied raising his new replacement children and being kicked around by she-who-shall-not-be-named. Oh well, karma will be served in the form of a father’s day card.

I am passing chemistry, and I am subsequently elated.

I’ve been eating Special K cereal on every possible occasion; breakfast, lunch, after school snack and dinner. I now consider it its own food group.

Afternoon naps are now a part of my daily regime.

Nothing of significance has occurred as of late, and I remain unsure of whether this is a good thing or not.

She-who-shall-not-be-named’s name isn’t Jane, by the way. This was before my father revealed her to us, so he told us that her name was Jane Doe. Being barely eleven at the time, I believed him and thought that that was legitimately her name.

My Mum’s friend Lora can be surprisingly wise.

Ben and I were essentially raised with Lora’s two children. The four of us shared a common thread; the fact that we were raised by strong, single mothers. Our fathers left, married and began new families shortly after. We both lacked a liking for our new stepmothers, and even developed a series of jokes inspired by them.

Mum was catching up with Lora a few days ago, as it truly has been a while since the two conversed beyond brief ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ conversations. They were discussing our fathers, Lora was saying that her children hadn’t seen their father in a while, much like Ben and I.

‘As much as people like to complain about the teenage years,’ Lora said, ‘they truly are the best years in our kids’ lives. Sure, nurturing them when they were young was great, but now we can talk to them as people. These are the best years to build a relationship with our kids, and if their fathers don’t want to make an effort to get to know their kids now, they’ve lost them forever.’ My Mum thought for a second and quickly realized that what Lora had said was extremely true.

Has my father ‘lost me’ forever? I’d say that that is a fair assessment.

He has never shown an ounce of remorse for the pain that he caused when he went away. I was a mere child, lacking an understanding of his absence. She-who-shall-not-be-named quickly appeared on the scene, and my father allowed himself to be manipulated by her into not seeing us. He then moved far away, married without informing us, and began a new family.

I could probably count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him in the past couple years.

It’s now nearing seven years since the divorce.

It has profoundly changed me as a person. But apparently not my fashion sense.

Spring is undeniably among us at last.

I am so eager for summer to arrive, it’s unreal. The sheer amount of school work I’m receiving these days is enough to make anybody wish to stick their head in an oven, if ever so briefly. I, fortunately, have not succumbed to such a lurid inner desire as of yet. But who knows what tomorrow will bring.

The ever improving temperatures outside bring back fond memories of previous summers. Last summer brought several Ohio trips, and I unfortunately have not been back since. Liam was still quite young, at an adorable stage prior to the horrendous terrible twos. I like to think of it as the calm before the storm.

We were driving through the seedy quarters of urban Michigan, en route to Ohio; Liam, Ben and I in the back seat. Amid the factories, abandoned houses and smog were enormous signs advertising various strip clubs and the like. Pictured were often trashy looking females, no doubt in attempts to look alluring to sleazy men driving on the interstate. We passed one such bill board and Liam, gazing intently out the window, immediately pointed his nineteen month old finger at the sign and proclaimed ‘MOMMY!’

Ben and I were understandably unable to control the ensuing laughter.

She-who-shall-not-be-named is my stepmother,
I profoundly regret that she cannot be exchanged for another.

Her appearance is loathsome, her personality corresponding,
Her face is misshapen, her clothes are quite daunting.

She is childlike and stupid and will talk off your ear,
The image of her belly dancing is enough to evoke fear.

Although in her eyes she is pure and utter perfection,
A conversation with her is like death by lethal injection.

Her ugliness and stupidity can be matched by no other,
Because she is MY extremely bitter and selfish stepmother.

There is nobody that I dislike more than she-who-shall-not-be-named; my stuttering, belly dancing, considerably young stepmother. However, her mother (who I have referred to in my previous blogs as GRANDMA) gives her quite a run for her money.

As my good friend Mary can attest, my rants about GRANDMA were constant when I was spending a considerable amount of time in her presence (a couple of years ago). Her head-banging to country music, her repugnant taste in fashion, her annoying aura, her constant yapping… the like. It was a bad scene.

It had been a while since I had seen GRANDMA, and I was quite contented about the lack of GRANDMA in my life… until two weeks ago. I kid you not, this was the first conversation she’s had with me in years.

GRANDMA- Tori, I heard you bought an expensive camera.
Me- I guess you could say that.
GRANDMA- Now, what’s with kids and buying expensive cameras?
Me- Care to elaborate?
GRANDMA- Well, you know, it’s pure stupidity.
Me- Excuse me?
GRANDMA- I mean, why buy an expensive camera?

I mean, why buy a car when you can roll around in a box? With a big sail as a means of acceleration? That way she could float along into the ether and annoy somebody else.

I cannot fathom why my father would ever leave our family and marry into this despicable one.

At least I got an adorable half evil baby brother out of the deal.

And one who slightly resembles a potato.

Replacement children. I digress.

The few days spent with my father were about as mundane as expected. I was pleased that I was able to finally meet The Potato (which has since been shortened to Po), though I will sincerely miss telling people that I have a brother that I haven’t met yet. Simply for the ghetto value, you see.

Liam is now entering what is considered to be the terrible twos, and after this weekend I have determined that this is a very appropriate title for such a phase. I have been subjected to much beating and malice at his two year old hands. An incident that stands out in mind occurred in the car.

Me- Liam, kick me one more time and I will take your soo-soo (soother, binky, pacifier, whatever-you-please) and toss it out the window.
Liam- Stares blankly in shock and angst.
Me- Okay, I may be kidding about that, but BY GOD I WILL take your soo-soo.

She-who-shall-not-be-named was her usual mannerly (ha) self. I wished to watch Rugrats, which was of course denied. Tom and Jerry was quickly put on instead. It wasn’t two minutes later that she-who-shall-not-be-named emerged from the television room with Liam and remote in hand. She remained out of the room for the remaining duration of the show. So there I was, sitting alone in a room, watching a stupid show that I had no desire to watch.

No offence is intended to those with love for Tom and Jerry, but as a child of the 90s, nothing can suffice for Rugrats.

Another interesting instance was when I noticed my coat thrown over a chair. Right after I had hanged it in the closet. Sometimes I don’t even dare ask.

My father was quite curious as to why I continually referred to Aidan as Po.

Father- So what exactly is with this ‘Po’ nickname?
Me- Well you see, Po is short for Potato, to which he resembles uncannily.
Father- You think he looks like a potato?
Me- Well, I mean it in the most lovingly way possible.

Sometimes I really despise my conscience.

The fact that I feel morally obligated to meet the potato means that I am forced to spend the weekend with my father and she-who-shall-not-be-named. This is a most lurid fate. Not only is it common knowledge that I hate spending time with them, I know that they hold our visits in comparable regard.

The sole silver-lining is that I get to see my brother Liam. He is so irritatingly adorable that my heart melts when I am forced to part with him.

My goodness I sound sappy.