Personal Narrative: Divorce

Divorce; when I think of it I get the chills. I don’t like thinking about home my once happy full home would split into two very separate houses. If that is you actually live in both houses or is it just a visit. It reminds me of the time where my parents picked my older brother Zander and I from school on a sunny June afternoon and brought us to a park. We sat a picnic table where my mom and dad proceeded to tell us they were “taking a break”. As a six year old I didn’t understand what that meant. Were they going on vacation? Or maybe taking some time of work? I decided I wasn’t interested in the conversation and I ran to the swing set instead. My dad came over and started pushing me on the swing. Zander was still sitting at the picnic table with my mom hugging him. Why was he crying I
But it didn’t matter because I was having fun swinging. My brother understood about what was happening because he was a whole two years older than me. Little did I know that what they were trying to explain to me would affect the rest of my childhood.
My childhood had its ups and downs. Of those in which I remember are good memories. But when bad things happened I tended to blank them out of my life just so I could move forward. But I do have fond memories of my parents divorce. A year after my little brother Julian was born the mood in my house changed. My parents were fighting more often. I was taught to not get in the middle of them but it at the time always seemed like the right thing to do. When would try to stop the fight they usually stopped just because they didn’t want to see their children witness that kind of stuff. My older brother acted like it didn’t bother him even though deep inside it did. I