IT WAS ALL FUN AND GAMES

IT’S ALL FUN AND GAMES

Until it wasn’t

! ! !

We were playing checkers. What a fun game. At least I thought so when I was eight years old. My older brother (by three years) taught me how to play and, being the older and often compassionate sibling, allowed me to win – at least until I fully understood how to play.

Then the vicious, ruthless competitor came out. It was another side of my brother I wasn’t used to seeing. But he taught me well.

It was fun for a while, then it wasn’t.

For his thirteenth birthday, our parents surprised him with a chess set. Our older cousin would often bring his when the family visited, and my brother was quick to learn. Now, he felt it was his job to teach me.

What a fun game! I loved the anticipation of concentrating and capturing his pieces. Yes, there was an abundant amount of concentration but, well, I may have been only ten, but I was completely enthralled. I learned the game and became quite good at it. At least I thought so but again, while teaching me, he allowed me to win.

Then the vicious, ruthless competitor came out, once again. It was another side of my brother I wasn’t used to seeing. But he taught me well.

It was fun for a while, then it wasn’t.

What I was too young and immature to realize was that my older and wiser brother was preparing me for what I would probably face as I got older. I would find out quickly enough.

At my tender age of thirteen, I developed a crush on a boy in my class. I thought he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen. My friends knew how I felt and tried to make sure Steven noticed me as often as possible. There I was, my first teenage crush and I was as giddy as any normal newly appointed teenager. It was so much fun trying to get Steven’s attention. What a thrill when he looked in my direction.

My friends and I were having so much fun when we plotted and planned new ways to get Steven to notice me.

He never looked AT me and wouldn’t even speak to me – until my brother was rushed to the hospital with a sudden ruptured appendix. The first and only thing Steven said was, “It couldn’t have happened to a better guy!”

What I didn’t know was that his sister had a crush on my brother, but my brother liked their cousin, and therefore, Steven took it out on me. Oh well!

Well, it was fun for a while.

Then it wasn’t.

High school was impressive. My grades were great (well, except for Algebra. I never could figure out how to add a number AND a letter). I joined the chorus (in my school it wasn’t called the Glee Club), the orchestra (I played the violin), and volunteered my time at a local orphanage a few blocks away from school.

There were many girls who’d become my friends and together, every Wednesday, we’d attend the boys’ basketball games. Were we interested in basketball? Most of us were not but we surely enjoyed the dances that followed.

It was so much fun.

Then it wasn’t.

Graduation came and some of my friends moved away to attend college. Many of us immediately joined the work force. Because of our different paths, even though a few of us stayed close, too many of us lost touch.

While working, I met a man who’d become my husband. He was tall, with dark hair, blue eyes that could remind you of a clean, calm ocean. We began dating, and oh! What fun we had. On weekends, there was so much to do: fishing (my favorite thing to do), dinners with dancing, movies. In the autumn months, we’d take long drives in the country where we’d picnic and enjoy the color change of the leaves on the trees.

We planned our wedding for the following spring. After the ceremony, we moved into a small house in the country I’d grown to love. It didn’t long before I was thrilled to announce that we’d be bringing a new little life into the world. Life couldn’t have been better.

Life was great and it was so much fun.

Then it wasn’t.

It happened slowly, the spark was losing its glow, and I didn’t understand why but I thought that having a child was a dramatic change and perhaps, he was more nervous than I was at being a young parent.

After a while, things seemed to settle but I continued to pay attention to his moods. I noticed he began to drink a bit more while out with his friends.

I also noticed that he began to do his best to ignore our son. Huh! Didn’t make sense to me. Yet, I was so wrapped up in our family life, I put all my concerns aside and continued to try and keep out home a happy one.

Everything seemed to settle and while the original enthusiasm from him wasn’t there, life wasn’t that bad. Things were beginning to look up again.

Our son was growing up and becoming for fun to have around. At the same time, I found out I was once again pregnant.

Yes, life was fun once again.

Then it wasn’t.

One day a few years later, my husband called from work. “Don’t cook dinner for me. I won’t be home.”

That was a bit odd since I knew (or thought) he’d been working a lot of overtime. “Okay, hon, I’ll just heat up dinner when you get home.”

What he said could have knocked me over with a feather. “You don’t understand. I’m not coming home. I’ll be back on Saturday to pick up my things.”

Huh, again! Our life began being fun again.

Then it wasn’t.

After the divorce, my boys and I made a new life. They were in their preteen years and old enough to get into all sorts of dilemmas, some of which were hilarious, others not so funny, but we made it. We carved out our little niche in the world and made our lives wonderful.

As they were approaching the latter part of their teen years, I met a man who was what I had though my ex-husband should have been but wasn’t. Rich was a widower with children around the same ages as mine. We began dating. My sons and my new “dating-partner” formed a wonderful relationship, and all our children formed a new family.

Two years later, with the approval and acceptance of our children, we married.

Life was fun, once again.

And all these years later, it still is.