Walking on Eggshells: Discovering Strength and Courage Amid Chaos Read Online Free PDF

who had been our rock, was becoming irresponsible.
    Toward the end of my second-grade year I was thrilled to be part of a talent show at school. I was going to dance to one of my favorite songs, “Dream Lover.” I wasn’t part of much of anything in the schoolroom, so the talent show was a rare opportunity for me to fit in.
    Dad promised me he wouldn’t miss this event for anything, and I couldn’t wait to show off onstage for him. But during the performance, which was held during a daytime school assembly, I looked at every single person in the room and scanned every singleface. I couldn’t believe my dad was not there, but he wasn’t. I was so disappointed. Later, at home, I asked Dad how he liked my performance—just to be sure I hadn’t missed seeing him. His vague answer only confirmed my suspicion that he did not see me dance.
    Second grade finally ended, and for my eighth birthday, Dad hired a clown. I excitedly sent out invitations to everyone in my class and to several neighbor children. When the big day arrived I was jumping up and down with anticipation, but my exhilaration soon turned into a black pit of anxiety that settled in the center of my stomach. Other than the clown, my friend, Emma, was the only one who showed up for the party. Dad was in his bedroom with the nanny du jour, and only came out of his room for a few minutes on my special day. I wish I had understood how badly Dad was hurting, and that the nannies and the drugs were his way of self-medicating his pain.
    On my eighth birthday I felt terribly alone. I am not sure why the other invited children did not come to my party, although I can think of several reasons. Some parents might not have wanted their children to associate with me because they suspected that my dad used drugs. It might also have been that parents didn’t want their kids associating with a “white girl.” With Emma as my friend the racist attacks on me had lessened, but I still had to watch my back. It could also have been that kids still thought I was weird. I talked differently, I looked different, and I liked different foods. The gap just may have been too big for eight-year-olds to bridge. The result, however, was that I was devastated.
    I entered third grade at yet another new school, Honuanua Elementary, which sat on top of a hill in the Big Island town of Captain Cook. When I was young, Dad had a habit of not renewing his rental agreements, so we moved a lot. This was my fourth school in four years and something like my fourth house in two years. I was getting good at adapting but did not have any more luck making friends in this school than I had at the previous one. Plus, I had lost Emma, my friend and protector, in the move so in some ways third grade was even worse than second grade had been.
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    In writing this book I found I had to make a choice. I could choose to skip over the really bad parts of my life, or I could be honest and share them. Not mentioning the bad experiences might keep a few readers from becoming offended, but it also would eliminate segments of my life that impacted me profoundly. After significant thought I decided I had to share; otherwise this account would not be honest. Not sharing might also make a few readers confused as to my behavior in my early teens, which were right around the corner. Here’s the first of several really bad events in my life.
    While Dad was otherwise occupied, my siblings were dealing in their own ways with the losses our family had endured. Leland was old enough that he could go out on his own and make his own life, but Barbara and Tucker were stuck at home with me. Theirway of coping was to get into the Goth lifestyle. For my brother and sister, this meant dressing in black, wearing ghostly white makeup, dying their hair jet-black, experimenting with drugs, and hooking up with people of the opposite sex.
    Barbara was only five years older than I was, which would put her at about thirteen. The age gap