A New Beginning: My Journey with Addy

I stare at the page in front of me, but I still can’t believe it. I failed my social studies test. I’ve never failed a test before, and I don’t know what Mom and Dad are going to say. I should have studied more, but I can’t keep my mind on schoolwork when everything in our family feels so unsettled.

Mom went back to school last year to become a teacher. She works all day, then goes to class or a study group almost every night. Dad started a new job a month ago, hundreds of miles away in another state, and he can only come home one weekend a month. That’s why my grandparents moved in, to help around the house and take care of my little brother and me. I love my grandparents, but everything feels different without my parents around.

Gran pulls into the school parking lot right now. I shove the test into my backpack before she stops the car. She doesn’t need to know yet.

Gran smiles and asks how the test went. Of course she remembers it, she and Grandpa offered to help me study every night this week. I stall for a minute, then admit it was bad. I wish it had been a math test. It’s my best subject, so I would’ve aced it if it was math. I don’t really even mind studying, especially when Dad sat with me at the kitchen table. He used to help me really get it on my own, and he made it fun. Studying is harder when he’s not here.

Gran looks at me and tells it must be hard for me to focus on schoolwork when I’m missing my parents so much. I ask how she knows that. Gran says that grandmothers know things. I tell her I don’t want to disappoint Mom and Dad, especially Dad. But social studies feels so boring, I tell her. Who cares about old dates and distant places?

Gran says there are reasons to care, and doing well in school isn’t only for my parents, it matters for me, too. She asks if I remember a television program we watched about girls in some countries who aren’t even allowed to go to school. I remember being shocked. I love so much about school, the reading, the art, and seeing my friends. Gran tells me I have a wonderful chance to learn and I shouldn’t waste it.

We pull into the driveway. My backpack feels heavy as I carry it inside, like the bad grade weighs it down.

Grandpa opens the kitchen door as Gran and I walk in. My little brother, Danny, stands beside him with cookies and milk, wide-eyed and nosy at five years old. He asks what happened, but I don’t answer. Grandpa looks from me to Gran and asks what the problem is. I mumble that I sort of didn’t do well on the test. Failed it, actually.

Grandpa is quiet for a minute. Then he says there have to be consequences for every choice. No after-school visits, video games, television, or cell phone for a week. I’m grounded. I didn’t expect this at all.

I beg to at least walk to the ice cream shop Friday to meet my friends Nikki and Jordan, since Mom finally agreed to let me go before any of this happened. Grandpa looks at Gran, but neither will budge. He says I can talk to Mom about it tomorrow. He tells me freedom and responsibility go together, and I need to show I’m responsible enough to make good choices about schoolwork before I earn mine back.

I don’t really get it. My grandparents used to be so much fun when they visited. Now that they live with us full time, they’re so much stricter. I miss Dad, and I wish Mom wasn’t so busy. This is so unfair!

I drag my backpack to my room without saying another word. I can’t believe I’m going to miss Friday night with my friends.

Going out on my own is a big deal anyway, because Mom is really protective. Whenever we go to the mall or the grocery store, she points out a meeting spot in case we get separated, then waits nearby to make sure I’m safe. Now that Dad is away, she’s even more cautious.

Safe from what? We live in a medium-size town in Tennessee. I know everyone in our neighborhood, and it isn’t as if I’m surrounded by strangers. I even have a cell phone for emergencies, but I won’t get to use it if I don’t get to go anywhere.

I’m just about to start crying when Danny knocks on my door. Gran calls for me to come help with dinner. Danny asks if being grounded means I can’t go anywhere at all. Nowhere interesting, I say with a shrug. Despite my glum mood, I have to admit the kitchen smells fantastic.

Grandpa is a great cook, and everything he makes tastes wonderful, even food I’ve never tried before. He and Gran are making dinner together tonight, and it reminds me of my parents.

When Dad worked in town, he was always home in time to start cooking. Mom would come in, kick off her shoes, and join him. Dad called me his assistant and had me wash vegetables while he and Mom moved around the stove like they were dancing. Even Danny helped shake up the salad dressing, and Dad always had a funny story while Mom asked about my day.

Remembering our good times somehow doesn’t make me feel happy. Something isn’t right, and it’s not just the failed test. It’s the fact that Dad is gone, and I can’t explain that feeling to anybody. My friends think I’m acting like a baby because I miss him so much.

Gran asks if I want to help make the salad. I tell her no, still blinking back tears. Danny hurries to wash his hands so he can tear the lettuce instead, and Gran starts slicing tomatoes.

Gran asks me to set the table, please. With all the drama over my test, I forgot to unload the dishwasher when I got home from school, one of my regular chores. I won’t be going anywhere to spend my allowance anyway, I think as I move in slow motion, taking out plates, forks, and knives without paying attention to where I put them.

Danny shouts about what I did, and Gran and Grandpa both turn to me. I ask grumpily what he’s talking about. Danny points at the table, where I’ve set six places instead of four, with spots for Mom and Dad included. I forgot, I mumble, grabbing the extra plates and blinking back tears.

Grandpa puts his arm around my shoulder. He tells me Mom and Dad won’t always be gone for dinner, and this change is only temporary. Even though we’re apart, we’re still a strong family. Gran wipes a tear from my cheek and tells me to keep hope in my heart, that we’re going to get through this.

I nod and reset the table, correctly this time, but the empty feeling in my chest doesn’t go away so easily.