Six Word Memoirs on Life Stories

Wench says,

I was kicked out of the house when I was 17. The argument was over whether or not I would stay outside and pull weeds in the garden when my vision was going black and I was dizzy. I said no, my mom said I could move out then. So I did. In all fairness, that is not really what was at the root of it all. There were other things going on.

That year, I went to Falcon Ridge Folk Festival, as I had many years. I always went with my dad and brother. My mom and sister used to go, but since my sister got married, they'd both stopped coming. This year, I got a ride with a total stranger and camped with friends, determined to avoid my dad. It had been less than two weeks since I was kicked out.

It poured, as it did every year. My tent, set at the bottom of a hill, was filled with water. I got off my volunteer shift, walked back to my camp area, and found my dad and brother carrying my belongings out of the tent to their camp spot, a few hundred feet away, and mopping up water with my dad's little super-absorbent camping towel. We hadn't spoken at all, but there he was.

That night, he came by to make sure I had blankets and was set up ok. Someone had an extra air mattress, so I was off the ground. I didn't want to talk to him. He told me I could come back home. I said there was no way in hell I would go back. They opened my mail, they were too nosy, they didn't understand me. Everything someone who just graduated from high school feels entitled to say. I think I broke my dad's heart, but he's not the type to say. He said they'd fed me, clothed me, taken care of me. "Well you know what, that's your job. That's what you sign up for when you have a kid. Don't try to make me feel guilty because you were legally obliged to provide your minor child with food and shelter. But if it means that much to you, I will never burden you by living with you or asking for money again."

I never did ask for money, although there have been times when they gave it. And I never moved back in. But we have to move by the end of November and we don't have a place to go yet. Because we still have to pay rent at the old place for December and January, we need to save up to move into a new place. And it's looking fairly likely that we will have to ask my parents if we can stay with them for a while. It takes a lot for me to swallow my pride and admit that there are times when I need help, when I can't do it all by myself. I couldn't really then, either, and they'll probably never know the half of it. But now there's a baby, and I have to think of him.

It shouldn't matter, but it feels like my big, triumphant failure. But that's what you do, I guess.