After Four Years, I Ran Into My Brother, And It Wasn't What I Was Expecting

As some of you know from my frantic Facebook post a couple months ago, I ran into my brother at a restaurant. I was out with a couple of girlfriends for a ladies’ night, and we were chatting at a table, enjoying dinner, when I looked up and realized that I was sitting about fifteen feet from my brother, who was drinking at the bar.

Oddly enough, even though my entire family doesn’t live that far from me, in four years I have only ever run into one person, and that was the time I saw my mother at the grocery store.

Now suddenly, there I was, looking at the brother that I have not laid eyes upon in years.

Panic does not even begin to describe the feeling that ripped through me, because although I don’t care about him enough to be emotionally uncomfortable by his presence, physically he scares the shit out of me due to his hulk-like temper.

Goodbye Dad, I Love You

“Mommy, will you always love me?” The Girl Child asked, seemingly at random.

“Always,” I answered.

“Will you always like me?” she asked next.

“Maybe not” I said.

Harsh, I know.

As she stared back at me with a shocked expression on her sweet, seven year old face, I began to explain.

“I will always, always, love you, and nothing that you will ever do is going to change that. You will always be my baby, and I will always be your momma. But, there will probably be times when you make choices that I don’t like, and during those times, I will always love you, but I might not like the things you are doing, or the choices you are making. I might be angry with you, or upset with you, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”

She sat there for a minute and as I watched a look of understanding flash behind her eyes, she said “Ohhhh, so that’s what you mean when you always say ‘Girl Child, I want you to go to your room because I am not happy with you. I love you, but I don’t like the way you are acting'." "Yep!" I exclaimed. “That is exactly what I mean. Sometimes people do things that we don’t like, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t love them.”

And when it comes to my children, that will never, ever change. There is nothing that they will ever be able to do, that stops me from loving them with every fiber of my being. That doesn’t mean that I will always be happy with them, or that I will approve of the choices they make, but nothing they can do is ever going to lessen the love that I have for them, and nothing will ever stop me from wanting to protect them.

Because I am their mother, and my love for them runs deeper than the beat of my heart.

**********

I miss my dad.

And I almost hate to say that, but if I denied it, I would be lying.

I'd Like To Officially Welcome My Parents And My Extended Family To My Readership Base (Yep, they are here)

So…. I’ve gotten a lot of emails asking me how the party went for my grandmother. You guys remember what I’m talking about, right? The 90th birthday party that was being thrown for my grandmother, the one I wanted to attend because I wanted to be there for her, but it was going to be incredibly awkward because I hadn’t seen much of my family in years?

Well, I didn’t go.

I was planning to go, but I literally couldn’t go because I was uninvited and told not to come.

Yep, that happened.

Why did that happen you may ask?

Because just days before the party, my family found this blog.

Yep, that happened too.

*GASP*

I know.

I'm Going To See My Family (Yep, You Read That Right)

I thought it was a Christmas card when I opened it.

If I had known, I would have prepared myself a bit more.

It wasn't a Christmas card, but rather an invite to my grandmother's 90th birthday party.

I know that a birthday party invitation doesn't seem all that scary, but when I haven't seen much of my family in nearly 3 years, the thought of seeing any of them  — let alone all of them at once — was enough to suck the air directly from my lungs and leave me gasping for breath, hoping that I didn't pass out.

I don't want to go to the party.

But I think I should.

I Found My Mother's Family

My grandmother died five months ago.

I just found out a few days ago when I stumbled across her obituary online.

Well, stumbled may be a little misleading since I was in fact looking for her, but I wasn't expecting to find out that she was dead.

Actually, I wasn't even expecting to find her at all.

Now before I go any further I should probably clarify a few things, the first being that this is not the grandmother that I used to live with. Nope, that grandmother is alive and about as well as you can be when you are nearly 90, and I'm happy to say that despite the distance that I have put between myself and 99% of my family, she is one of the few people that I am still in contact with.

So the grandmother that I found online, she is the other one. My step-grandmother to be exact, but I never knew my real grandmother because she killed herself when my mother was three. This woman married my mother's father when my mom was still very young, and then several decades later she murdered him (or so the tale goes). After the murder my mother disowned my step-grandmother (a family tradition I guess?). I was roughly 12 years old when she did that and very much like what went on in my family when I disowned my mother, the rest of my mother's family turned around and disowned her.

I guess I do have something in common with my mother.

On Losing My Anonymity

We were in the car, all six of us, a few girls that I knew and a couple that I didn’t. We had been in the car for a while when somehow the topic of Botox came up, which immediately segwayed into the topic of plastic surgery. As the girls were commenting on what they considered would be "going to far," eventually the conversation turned to me. I laughed and then said “well hell, I don’t know what kind of judge I would be, I’ve already had a nose job!”

I then braced myself because I knew exactly what was coming next.

Every single head in the car, with the exception of the driver, turned around in their seat to get a better view of my nose.

They all do it, every single time; anyone who has just learned that I had a nose job. They want to see exactly what it looks like — judge the work if you will — and in doing that they most often judge me. I can see it in their eyes before the words even start to stumble out of their mouths. It usually starts with something along the lines of “…..oh… well… wow. I mean it looks great! You can’t even tell… I never would have guessed. I mean no one would ever know.”

And that is just it.

When it comes to nose jobs, people assume that you would never want anyone to know. They assume that having plastic surgery on your face is something that you would be ashamed to admit, that maybe you don’t want anyone to know that you are now “fake pretty” — that you paid to look like this.

There seems to just be something inherently shameful about admitting that what people see might not be the “real” you.

Plus, there’s something culturally shameful about admitting to being vain and that’s the only reason people have “nose jobs,” right?

I get it. I 100% get it.

If you remember, I had the surgery done to correct a nose that was first broken when I took a knee to the nose as a child — a break that literally shoved my entire nose upwards and instantly created a large bump. It was broken several more times over the course of my lifetime and eventually settled leaning off to the left side of my face.

My Mother Texted Me

My mother texted me.

I deleted it so fast that later that night I actually sat back and wondered if I had imagined the whole thing.

But I hadn't.

The screen shot is burned into my brain like artwork that you despise hanging above your bed.

I can't not look at it, and yet it bothers me every time I give it any attention.

"Eden, we would like to sit down with you and give you a chance to talk. We want to really listen and hear what you have to say. We care about you."

To really listen to me and hear what I have to say. We care about you.

It's what I've always wanted.

It's what I've always needed.

It's what I always should have had.

But it's too late now.

I Didn't Even See It Coming

Two days after a catastrophic break-up with my boyfriend of two years, I wandered into a pet store looking to purchase a larger cage for the bunny my now ex-boyfriend had bought me for my birthday.

I asked to speak with the manager, telling the store employee that I was in need of a larger cage and that I expected them to deduct the price of the smaller cage I had already purchased, a cage that I had been talked into buying only a month before, a cage that the employee should have known would be way too small.

The manager came out, I argued my case, he offered me a job, and then I asked him out on a date.

It was the chance meeting of a lifetime, the chance meeting that changed my lifetime.

It was an explosive combination of a girl with daddy issues and a guy with an affinity for underage girls.

It was the night I met my ex.

On our first date he asked if our age difference bothered me, if I was ok with the fact that when I had been in fifth grade, he was already in his second year of college. He wanted to know if I was ok that now, being barely out of high school, he had been living in his own apartment for 8 years.

I thought about what he said, but only momentarily because he was quick to tell me how much he admired me. To tell me that he knew I had lived so much in my short lifetime that I had the maturity it took to be with someone nearly a decade older than myself.

He told me that he knew I was mature enough to handle all of this. 

I, being too young to see what was going on, felt very "adult-like" under the praises he was bestowing upon me. I thought that maybe for the first time, someone really saw me.

I look back now and realize I was being groomed.

My Aunt Wants My Mother To See My Children

My aunt called me last night.

"Eden. I'm going to ask you something and I just want to ask, so just listen for a minute and I'm just asking."

That sentence structure right there was a big fat warning that I wasn't going to like whatever she was about to "just ask me."

".........uh.......oooooooooookkkkkaaaaayyyyyy" was what slowly and cautiously crept out of my mouth.

"I was thinking you should drop the kids off at my house so that your parents can see them. It would be a safe and neutral location where I would be supervising them and you wouldn't even have to see your parents."

I know it was just an honest question but even hearing those words enraged me to a point where I was actually gripping the side of my counter top in an effort to not turn around and run my head into a wall.

She just doesn't get it!

There was a long pause. A pause so long that after what honestly must have been a full minute or two she finally got up the nerve to ask me a question that she already knew the answer to. "Eden, did you hear me?"

YES I DID HEAR YOU. I'M JUST THINKING ABOUT HOW I CAN WORD ALL OF THIS ANGER INTO SOMETHING APPROPRIATE AND GROWN-UP LIKE THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

I'm Afraid Of Me

We were on our way to another state to visit some friends of hers when it happened.

The next thing I knew we were pulled over on the highway, the car parked up against a concrete barrier, and she was screaming something to the effect of "WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE." I sat in the backseat, terrified as I watched her hyperventilate and shake uncontrollably.

Seeing the fear in her face I understood that surely we were all going to die.

For several hours I sat in the back seat of my mother's van, my two brothers next to me, while my mother repeatedly proclaimed that this was the day we were going to meet our fate.

The traffic, the speed, the roads, "this is where you come to die."

Eventually we made it to our destination. I can't remember how, which I find strange because of how prominent the memory is in my life, but I really can't remember. I kind of think maybe my father came and got us, but even then I don't know if I just fabricated that memory over time.

Take A Deep Breath

It’s been awhile since I generally updated you on my life, hasn’t it? Sometimes life just sort of snowballs on me and then suddenly I realize that I haven’t updated you on certain things in a while. So, I guess it’s about time that I catch you up on a few things!

The Boy Child has been out of his intensive therapy program since June and he is doing wonderfully. He is right on target developmentally with all the other kids his age. Never in my life did I think I would be so happy to have a three year old boy tearing my house apart, but there is nothing that I love more than the normalcy of a destructive toddler. He has some residual sensory processing issues that we are dealing with, but I am nothing but optimistic about his future.

He is currently in preschool and already has a girlfriend. Yikes that boy, I’m going to need to keep my eye on him! Because we live in farmland he has become enthralled with tractors. Being harvest season, we spend much of our time outside watching them harvest the fields. Before you have kids you hear phrases such as "falling in love with it through a child's eyes," but until I had kids of my own I never really grasped how deep that concept runs. I now find myself squealing with joy when I hear the tractor engines roaring, knowing that my Boy Child is going to be thrilled, and I am going to be thrilled watching him be so happy.

***************************

The Girl Child is the one that I am the most astounded with though. I’ve only briefly talked about her medical issues on this blog, but she had a REALLY rough start in life. She has a genetic disorder that truly threatened to derail her future and just like my Boy Child, I really never thought she would get to the point in which she is at now. Before she was even two weeks old she was readmitted back into the hospital and for a while, I really wasn't sure what the outcome would be.

Four months old and even her father was getting nervous.

They Came Softly

I know, the title, but come on, it wouldn't really be my blog without at least one slightly inappropriate innuendo, now would it?

Ok, now GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER.

I saw my mother at the grocery store the other day. 

I needed to go to the health food store and I drove 12 minutes out of my way just to avoid having to drive near her neighborhood, because that is how much I did not want to see the woman; the woman who I haven't seen since I had essentially burglarized her house. I figured it was worth adding an extra twelve minutes to my drive just for the peace of mind that I might not accidentally pull up to a stoplight next to her; as if we are that much alike to plan our schedules accordingly.

Except that OH NO HA HA HA apparently we are because I ran into her at the grocery store. Now when I say I ran into her, I literally mean I RAN INTO HER. Actually, she backed into me, shopping cart and all, but nonetheless,

NO. Just NO.

That is much too close, STEP AWAY FROM EDEN.

How dare this former family member of mine SHOP at the GROCERY STORE for things that people eat EVERYDAY!?

Actually, I would have been less surprised if she had showed up on my doorstep, seeing as how I was in a health food store....but that's another story for another time....

I digress.

So, the woman backs into me and it was all....

Nothing.

It was nothing. I was all "Hi mother" and she was all "oh!!! Eden!!! Whatever in the world are you DOING here!? How are the kids!? What are you up too!? You look wonderful! How is work!?"

and I was all "......yea, I'm fine, take care."

Then I simply walked away and that was it.

That was really fucking weird and also, who was that woman?

Because No One Ever Told Me

The first time I found myself standing in a courtroom was when I was 18 years old. 

Several months earlier I had broken up with a guy that I had been dating for two years. The break up was bad; so bad in fact that the next morning when the police showed up at my parent’s house looking for me, I realized how bad it had really been.

The night prior I had kicked my way out of the boyfriend’s locked car and run into a Walgreens for help. I left before the police showed up and then ran all the way home.

Standing there that morning with the police at my parent’s front door, I remember looking to my parents for help. I was terrified and embarrassed. I desperately wanted them to step in and save me.

The officer went on to explain that they had received a call that morning from the mother of the boy I had broken up with, stating that her son’s car was damaged. The now ex boyfriend had told his mother that I had damaged it during our break-up and the mother wanted to press charges. The police were suspicious because all the damage to the vehicle was on the inside of the car and in their words “typically the damage done in a nasty break-up is to the outside of a vehicle.”

I Saw My Mother

"Eden, whatever happened to your mother? Did you end up going to see her?" says all the emails in my inbox.

Well....sort of. Yes, I "saw" her...I "saw" her as I pushed my way past her and entered her house.

Yep, that happened.

Now you see, if you remember from the post "I realized that I am the ugliest person at the gym"  I had asked my mother if she could sit down and talk with me about my plans for the nonprofit; her response being to go completely ballistic and via text tear me into a million tiny little pieces that she used to ignite the fire that was my brother. Basically I got bitch slapped via text for a few days by both of them. Amidst the bitch slapping though, there were several texts that pertained to some items that I had left at their house when I moved out thirteen years ago.

When I disowned my family nineteen months ago, it wasn't planned. Don't get me wrong, it was absolutely necessary and should have been done a long time before that, I just didn't know that I was living our "final moments" until in retrospect I realized that they were.

When I was permanently kicked out of my house thirteen years ago I didn't have a new home to move into. I wasn't moving to my own apartment or in with my ex, I was moving into someones fully furnished guest room; complete with their out of season clothes hanging in the closet. I packed a couple of suitcases and the rest of my stuff I left behind. When I left her house a short while later and moved in with my ex, I went back to my parents house, retrieved a few more of my things, and the rest I moved into their basement; a basement owned by literal hoarders.

A basement that houses everything from thousands of empty medication bottles that "might be needed someday" to a TV from the 70's that only plays a picture in shades of yellow and green but "will work when we get it fixed," to nearly everything my brothers and I have ever owned in the entire existence of our creation. The basement is like some dim and dusty museum of memories that look a lot happier than they actually were.

Thirteen years later and for no reason other than the fact that I had not yet retrieved them and that my hoarding parents only ever descent into the basement so that they can cram more stuff in there, my things were still in the place where I had packed them away. Now though, after going nineteen months without any real contact with my family, I was starting to think that I might never see those things again. Of those things, there were really only two that I wanted back.

Two things that since the moment I found out I was pregnant with a girl, I had dreamt of passing down to her.

Those two things being the doll that had been my best friend and a dollhouse that had housed the loving family that I had always wanted to be a part of; the family that lived out the memories that I longed to be mine.

After the text bitch slapping I didn't hear from them for several weeks until my father texted me late one afternoon and told me that the items would be at his office and that I needed to pick them up the very next day.

I was pretty angry. This to me just seemed like another ploy to get me to talk to them on their terms; like "hey, we know that we have absolutely no bargaining chips left with you except for the fact that we have a couple of items that we know meant a lot to you, so if you don't come get them this instant, you will never get that cherished moment that we know you have always dreamt about having with your daughter."

I took the bait.

I Realized That I Am The Ugliest Person At The Gym

Last week I had one day in particular that was a little bit crazier than my normal crazy days. It started off as a fairly routine day. I had a meeting scheduled with a domestic abuse shelter, then I was supposed to head over to Mr. Attorney Man’s office for a quick conversation, and then I needed to get a few other things done before I picked up the kids from daycare.

I started out the day feeling pretty chipper, as I usually do, but then I pulled out of my driveway and noticed something; piles of moving boxes sitting at the curb.

WHAT THE FUCK.

I called my friend and was all “OMGOSH guess what I just saw!? The two nutcases have been hoarding boxes in their garage for weeks and now they are all at the curb!! THEY HAD BETTER STILL BE FREAKING MOVING.” I was so disturbed by this sight that I actually backed back into my driveway and then ran around to the front yard hoping that I was still going to be able to see my most favorite sight in the world. Nope, the for sale sign was gone.

DAMMIT.

I got back into my car and continued driving to the shelter, albeit a bit grouchier than I was before, when my phone started chiming with text message alerts.

It was my mother.

When it rains it pours, am I right?

She was finally getting back to me in regards to the “can we meet and talk” text that I had sent her several weeks ago. Her text read “we have nothing to talk about,” which is funny, because she has been texting, calling, and emailing me for months on end, near begging me to hear her out, and now suddenly, we have nothing to talk about?

What It Means When Your Parents Find Out They Aren't Legally Married

Do you guys want to hear the funniest story ever? Of course you do! After I told the story about the time I got a chance to give my ex a taste of his own medicine, I thought maybe you guys might like to hear about the time I got to give my mother a big old spoonful of hers. Sound interesting?

I thought so.

Now my brothers and I, as different as we may be, were all cut from the same cloth of "very twisted humor." Anytime you get the three of us in a room together it's a never ending slap stick comedy show.

Brother

For example, my father owns an accounting firm and every year when tax time rolls around, they throw a huge tax party for our entire extended family. We would all sit around, eat, joke, and one by one make our way into my father's home office to get our taxes done. A couple of years ago, I think probably the last one that I attended, roughly forty of us are sitting around a Tetris style creation of tables that made one large table, and we are about to eat. My mother announces that we are going to say a prayer and everyone quiets down. Everyone that is, except for one of my brother's who is loudly talking on his phone. He is looking at his shoes and carrying on and on with his conversation until I kick him under the table. He looks up, realizes that everyone is looking at him, looks slightly embarrassed, and in an attempt to save face, says "Oh...I gotta go. I just realized that I am talking very loudly on the phone and everyone is looking at me. Just put some cream on it and try not to scratch it."

While In My Underwear, I Punched A Girl In The Face

I've really only ever punched one person. It was in the locker room in high school. I was in my underwear. I got suspended for it.

Yup, that happened.

We had gone running that day in gym class and when we got back to the locker room the teacher ordered all of us to get in line and wash our faces. I was a freshman, a waif of a thing at 14 years old, and patiently waiting in line when a 19 year old senior in front of me turned around, nodded her head at me, and said to her friends "don't let that girl in, she's too ugly."

Me, despite being only a waif of a girl, opened my big mouth and shot back "well if you weren't so fat there would be room for both of us."

Wrong choice.

She didn't say a word, She just turned back around, washed her face, and walked away.

Or so I thought.

I was washing my face when all of a sudden I felt my head get slammed into the wall next to the sink. I flung around and without even thinking landed one solid punch square in the middle of her face.

Then her and her friends jumped on me and completely kicked my ass.

We were both suspended but under pressure from the dean her friends all ratted her out. I was let back in, my participation being deemed "self defense," and my record expunged. Because of the school's strict "no fighting" policy though, she remained suspended. The suspension just happened to be during finals week and she missed all her finals, which caused her to fail a good majority of her classes. She had to come back next year as a super senior (2nd yr senior) and I positively avoided her like the plague.

After that fun little incident, I decided violence probably wasn't for me.

I tried a few times to defend myself against my husband, but I learned real fast that me fighting him wasn't really an option. I'd barely get an arm raised before I'd be tackled to the ground or completely restrained with his suprisingly well muscled arm. After the first few futile attempts I made, I never raised my hand in violence towards him again.

That is until one fateful trip to Florida.

I'm Going To See My Mother

I run on a near daily basis. Miles upon miles fly by under my feet and while I run for exercise, I also run for a deeper purpose. I run because it is a very controlled way to deal with the anxieties of my past. For a long time, running was the only coping mechanism I had for the horrors that were forced upon me. Did you know that the most basic instinct we have as living creatures is our fight or flight response? Dating back to the creation of our existence, we as human beings have been programmed to protect our survival. Our brains are hardwired to tell us that if our very existence is being threatened we need to either fight or flight (escape, run, flee). Whether I was a child or a wife smaller than her husband, I always knew that fighting back wasn't an option, so I had better get as far away from the situation as quickly as I could, and so I ran. I chose flight.

As I was growing up, when I could tell that the level of safety in my home was becoming unfavorable to my survival, I would run. I literally ran and I didn't look back. I figuratively ran from my childhood into the arms of my abusive husband and then I literally ran from him on the many nights I escaped his grip and made my way out the door. Not to mention, if you spend any time living on the streets you will not only learn how to run, but you will learn how to run fast.

I can recall several times when I'm pretty sure running saved my life. My memories are littered with recollections of climbing out of my bedroom window, jumping down to the ground below, and slipping silently into the dark of night. I remember one time when I jumped from my ex's moving car and after stumbling, I took off running as fast as my legs could carry me.

Giving into my "flight" mode has been a big part of what has kept me alive.

Obviously I am thankful for that, but what about now? Recently I've found myself in situations where I have literally run from things that brought up emotions similar to the one's I felt during an assault. Last September after the first assault from the guy that my ex sent after me, I found myself sitting in the office of one of Mr. Attorney Man's colleague's. The colleague was asking me questions about the assault so quickly and with such directness that the emotions and fear I felt during the assault came exploding to the surface. The next thing I knew I found myself running to my car. You guys, I literally stood up in the middle of this man talking and RAN out of this guys office, down the stairs, and out of the building.

That is a perfect example of a flight or fight response going haywire.

Nothing More Than A Burden

These last two years have put me through so many life changing emotions that when I sit back and think about it, it feels unreal.

The biggest emotion that I have been struggling with, as you guys have seen here in previous posts, has been making myself a priority. I've still really been struggling with that one, even more so since the surgery. My friends are awesome, can I just say that? They rock my world. After the surgery when I finally told everyone that "surprise, I let a doctor break my face," they came through big time. They came with groceries and meals, they came over to help out with the after the kids came back, they brought balloons, books, stuffed animals, and even sent a fruit basket from Florida!

As much as it made my heart swell with feeling loved, it also made my heart feel very heavy.

When I wrote the post about not making myself a priority, all of you had amazing insight into how allowing others to help me, not only helped me, but how it was also good for the "helper" as well. I totally understand that, because on all of the missions trips I have been on, I know how soothing it is for the soul to be able to help someone else. I've never once thought "Oh this is great, look at me, I'm being so helpful and Christian like." No, I've always been grateful that I was given the opportunity to help someone. It felt good that I was able to give someone what they needed. Yet even now, I still have a hard time applying that to my own life when other's try and help me. Even now, when I finally understand and accept that I do deserve help, it still doesn't feel right.

So with all the time I had to sit around being trapped in my head after surgery, I decided to explore that feeling a bit. You see, I do have a healthy sense of self esteem, and it has honestly been one of the biggest blessings in my life. I do think I am a good person. I do think I am funny. I do think I am pretty. I do think I am smart. I do think that the world is a better place because I am here. As self inflating as that sounds, it's really not. It's healthy. I'm not saying that I am funnier, prettier, or smarter than anyone else, I'm just saying that I believe I am funny, pretty, and smart enough for myself. I am all of those things in quantities that are enough to make me happy, and I am happy that I can see that coming from what I have. On top of that, like I said, I have finally accepted that I do deserve good things in life.

So why then, if I feel good about who I am, and I love myself enough to understand that its ok to be a priority, is it still so hard for me to accept help?

It finally dawned on me, that it when it comes to other people, I'm afraid that if I let myself become a priority to them, that I will also become a burden, and that they will leave me because of it.

That Post Where I Finally Talk About My Brothers

If you have been reading the comments sections on here and over at XOJane, you might have seen how many people ask me the question "are you still in contact with your brothers?"

With that being said, don't expect a riveting or humorous post today. Just a little back story.

So....without further ado, I bring you....

No, I am not still in contact with my brothers.

They didn't grow up the way that I did. From the start, they were prized children. A boy was born and the daughter they never wanted was locked away. It's no coincidence that my years locked away started the year my first brother was born. A boy had been brought forth and the girl was thrown away.

The boys. The precious boys were born. So wanted and truly loved. Three and five years younger than I am, they were never abused the way that I was. For all intents and purposes, they lived an idyllic childhood. From the start they both excelled in certain things, which my parents latched right on to. One was an outright music prodigy. The other quickly rose to a Pan American karate champion and eventually qualified for the Olympic tryouts. My parents were proud, these boys were the apples of their eye.