Tuesday, July 01, 2014
11th - My Family
My family history began on April 8, 1978. That's the day that my parents, Teresa Metts and Grayson Peck, said their wedding vows in the presence of God, family, and friends in the sanctuary of Villa Heights Baptist Church. I wasn't there, but I'm sure it was a magical night, culminating in a bunch of people decorating a Pinto wagon in the tackiest way imaginable. Not that a Pinto wagon needed much help in looking tacky. I know these things because I once perused the wedding album that sat on our coffee table throughout my childhood.
Speaking of which... I came along on March 6, 1980. My sister, April, was born a little more than two years later on November 10. We lived on Reece Road in Salem, Virginia. I was a great big brother until I developed my trademark sarcastic personality. From then on I tormented my sister, usually without her really getting that I was tormenting her.
Around the time I was due to begin the 1st grade, we moved to an apartment complex in Roanoke. We were there until the early 90s, at which point my parents bought their first house on Denniston Avenue. It was kind of a fixer-upper. Looking back, I'm not sure that both of my parents were on the same page when it came to their ability to fix-up a fixer-upper.
Not long after I left for college, things began to fall apart. Financial difficulties forced my parents to leave the only home they ever owned. They moved to a rented duplex on Oakland Blvd., still in Roanoke. It wasn't long after that the marriage itself fell apart. After 24 years together, my parents divorced. Something, obviously, was missing.
12 years later, I still don't understand. Before Dad passed away, I discussed the situation with him. I've also discussed it with Mom. There is no possible explanation that can be given to make me understand. I'm sure I could speculate, but a blog really isn't a good forum for such a thing. I'll save that for the therapist that I'm sure I should see to deal with my decades of baggage.
For a long time I've allowed my parents' failed marriage to keep me from opening my heart to others. Often, I question, "What's the point?" So many times, falling in love, making oneself vulnerable, leads to pain. Confusion. Heartache. But it's also kept me from experiencing all the positives that come with exploring new friendships and relationships. They're positives that I can't even list here because I'm not entirely sure what they are. I'm sure joy is in there somewhere. Laughter, maybe?
God is changing me. He's changing my heart. And He's using my past to help with that process. He's helping me to see that nobody is perfect. People make mistakes. He's helping me to choose to look past those mistakes and to learn from them in order to make my life a better one.
I'm single. Have been all my adult life. Maybe that's the path that God has me on from here to eternity. But maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, He's got a new family history for me, waiting to begin in a time and place of His choosing. Either way, it's a story I'm looking forward to living.