My parents also divorced when I was a kid. My sister went with my mother and I went with my dad.
Coming from a poorer area of Chicago and then moving to a quiet suburb of northwest Indiana (through a deal between my father and the devil I’m sure) it always felt like my dad’s aloofness to my little kid needs were validated through the mere fact that at least our neighbourhood was safe and I was going to school with white people.
Daaaaad I’m hungry! Shut up boy, I moved us out here, you figure out the rest.
That rhetoric pretty much set the tone for the rest of my life. I was the black Maltilda before I even knew it was a thing.
Growing up independent has it’s plus sides, as far as being self reliant and able to think things all the way through like a game of chess, but in my experience it’s mostly caused me to be a late bloomer mentally.
I’m 26 and it wasn’t until I spoke with a friend about a pretty rough cough that I’ve been having that not only do I not have a primary care physician, I didn’t even know what one was. I didn’t even know health insurance was mandatory which spiralled me into a whole world of what the fuckery.
I’ve been so busy taking care of things in my immediate life: paying bills, brushing my teeth, maintaining, that I hardly noticed an entire world updating itself around me.
Hm… Perhaps that’s what happened with my dad?