In this effort to finish this homework for my T....

People, don't read this if you are sensitive about expressing anger towards parents. I am expressing a lot of anger here, so caution. I don't mean to harm anyone.

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When I was 16, my mom announced to my brother and I that she was getting separated from dad. She was crying and all. She said she found a lil 3 bedroom apartment and arrangement would be made for us to move there, well if we wanted to, she said. My bro and I were sitting at the kitchen table. I was very happy to hear this. But at the same time I was angry. Angry that she waited all this time, angry at her! My mom, my sweet little mom. It's the first time I think I was feeling angry at her. I know I had felt a lot of anger before, a lot of frustration. But until then, I never allowed, or noticed even that I was angry at her. Instead, I ignored it before. I was angry at my dad a lot by then. I was angry at me, for being a weak, stupid child. Anyway. I didn't say a word at first. But more and more, I wanted to say something. Even if I could clearly see that she was suffering. I would never want to hurt her, not consciously anyway, but I felt this overwhelming need to say: "Well, it's about time! As if that wasn't something we all knew was coming." I looked at my brother. He was examining his hands carefully.

She stopped crying. Well, she said, I tried to give you the best home I possibly could. I know it wasn't always the best, but your dad always been there, he doesn't drink, he never cheated on me, he works and make sure we all have a good home and food on the table. He's a good man, even if he has difficulties expressing his love correctly. Next to me, my brother was silent, as always. It's like he was somewhere else and had no feelings. He had no expression on his face. He just stared into the distance, outside, sighing, almost looking bored. Maybe she noticed the grim look on my face. She added, distressed, I couldn't get out of here before, I had no money, your dad has complete control over all the money. I was trying to take care of you guys, this is what I wanted, all my life, to be a happy mom at home, I wanted to have 5 children you know. But I realized that it would be impossible after a while. I understood that your dad never wanted children. It was a sad thing for me. I thought he did. He never said he didn't. She was getting more agitated: "I wanted a great home to raise my children, and this is why I chose your dad. I didn't know it would turn out this way. But when I started to see it wouldn't work out, when it started to go bad between your father and I, I didn't want you to endure our fights, so I went back to school and then got myself a job. Now I can do it".

In the weeks that followed, it was like hell turned lose in the house. My mom wasn't there, still figuring out the apartment arrangements. It was kind of like this dull tension. No one yelled anymore. My dad looked miserable, unshaved. He played this 'don't leave me' song by Jacques Brel so loud in the house, over and over. The victim. Everytime I crossed his eye sight, he would ask: "what have I ever done to you? You're leaving with your mom. I've always been good to you. Why are you leaving?" No response. Then he would get angry and throw stuff, dishes, whatever... You just want it easy huh? After all I've done for you? You think it's a smart move to go with her? huh? You wait and see!"

By this time, my brother had already told mom that he would stay with dad. That he didn't want to leave him alone. My mom was devastated. She talked and talked to him, and he still wanted to stay there. I was going with my mom. It was clear. Not even a question.

Then we moved to the lil apartment. In this desiccated part of town. Dangerous at night. Drug addicts and social assistance people kind of place. There was a lot of noise at night. Cars screeching their tires, loud music, beer bottles breaking. I was happy. Or relieved to be sure. Finally. Peace. But I also was sad. It's like my mom didn't care that I moved with her. She wanted my brother. She didn't talked to me. I was the weak, bad kid. The one that went for facility. The one that didn't support, but wanted to be supported. I was a burden and my brother was a hero. My things stayed unpacked in my empty room for months.

[see part tow, if you are still with me. A lot of words. But they needed to get out. sorry.]