I realized about half way through the day that today is the 20th anniversary of the day that my dad moved out of our house. I’m not in meltdown phase at all (and I’m not saying that as I bravely bite my lip and hold back tears, either), it was just one of those “Oh. Yeah. Right….” moments that hit me suddenly. The 20th anniversary of anything in my life seems like a big deal. It definitely puts things in perspective. Well, in this case, sort-of perspective. I mean, it’s hard to compare my life at age 12 to now….or my parents’ lives then to how they are now…and make sense of it. I mean, whodathunk? Could I have envisioned then the way my life would be now? Did I see myself one day living in Seattle, working in high tech PR? Hell, no. I probably couldn’t have envisioned myself in high school yet, let alone 20 years down the road.
I don’t’ even remember much about that day. It wasn’t particularly dramatic for me. I got to stay home from school. My mom and I went to see “Pretty in Pink” at the mall while my dad packed up. (*Which means, as an aside, that that movie is also twenty years old, which is just too much for my little brain to comprehend today.) And so that was 20 years ago. Huh.
Sorry, not a very articulate posting here. Huh. That’s all I got, I guess.