Aidan's Day Chap. 1

The Original Biography-Manuscript-Thing Of Aidan Finch

Sep. 24th. 2007
5:00 P.M.
Monday

So. I've never written a biography before-well, that's not true, I wrote one on Lincoln in the third grade just like everyone else. Just never one about me. Which would technically be an autobiography. But still. God, this beginning sucks. Probably get an F just for this.

My name is Aidan Michael Finch; I was born January 15th 1987, right in this very spot. I'll be twenty-one in a little less than five months.

Okay, so I wasn't born in the desk chair I got at a garage sale two years ago, but isn't that how biographies are supposed to start? I was born in this town, though. I've lived in the same house my entire life. It even used to belong to my grandparents, if you can believe that.

I was born to Ronald Michael Finch and Jessica Ashley Reynolds-Finch. Plenty of family, but we never really saw any of them. What I got instead were brothers and sisters. I'm swimming in them; sometimes it seems like all I have are brothers and sisters, now more than ever.

Anyways, we're supposed to talk about why we decided to take this program, "What led us here. I suppose I could just give some crap answer about self-improvement, but considering I bet that's what half of every class you've ever taught has said, you're probably pretty tired of it.

It's kind of funny, actually. It's all my baby sister's fault. When I started thinking about coming back to school I had just planned to get an associate's degree in some kind of mechanics, I hadn't decided between diesel or auto mechanics. (Yes, there is a difference. I'm not going to explain it, but a diesel engine and a petroleum engine are as different as night and day. Diesel pays more, but I like working with actual cars better. More fun. )

The main reason I hadn't decided was because I really want to do planes, but not only is there no place nearby with the proper training, it's expensive, plus a three year course instead of two. I have my family to think about.

Before you start clucking to yourself about that poor, earnest boy, trying to support his children and get an education, what a champ sticking around, blah, blah, blah, blah, he's just a kid crap, it's not like that. I get that way too often when I mention something the twins have done, or going to Ady's (pronounced A.D not Add-e.) parent-teacher conferences. I swear, nobody's even listening to what I say since they are mistaking teenagers for little children. They're my siblings, not my kids.

Besides, what's so special about somebody that sticks around? It's kind of like everyone's forgotten that's what you're supposed to do.

Anyways, back to how I ended up here. I dropped out of school when I was sixteen; decided I was done with it. Stupid, I know. My mom was furious, but what was she supposed to do? I wasn't going to graduate on time anyway.

When I decided to go back to school, Ady, my littlest sister, wouldn't shut-up about how I needed to take the program to get my diploma. Said it was my job to help her with her math homework next year. She's starting high school. So here I am.

Right, this is getting confusing; I should really start from the beginning.

There are five of us kids (See, I wasn't exaggerating.), Jasper, he's a freshman in college now, won himself a whole bunch of scholarships, has pretty much a free ride to U of W.

He's staying in the dorms there, took the summer term so he could get away, comes home once in a while for weekends and stuff. Unlike what I predicted he hasn't gone completely wild with his new freedom, he's been doing very well, not too much partying. He's already changed his major twice, only halfway through the year, when most kids haven't even decided on their first one yet. He's a good kid, he'll figure out what's right for him soon.

He just has to figure out what he likes-he's always let himself be guided by what the other kids were doing. My fault, really. When we were kids I always spoke for him, dragged him with me on whatever my current adventure/obsession was.

Whenever I wasn't dragging him around he was the perfect little boy, a little too good, so maybe I was doing him a favor, declaring him my constant companion. Either way, he's always been a follower. I think it was easier for him that way, let him feel less different-well, I'll get into that more later.

Next in line are the twins, Kaley and Jaden. They turn 17 in about a month now, on October 21. They seem to alternate between being the little parents of the family, more responsible than me sometimes-I don't know what I'd do without them, especially Kaley, playing momma to Ady-and just being incredibly hyperactive and immature. Their teachers always thought they had ADHD but all the tests came back negative. I think it's just the effect they have on each other.

The house is always filled with their friends and their laughter, doing things I have to pretend to disapprove of, cause, you know; I never smoked pot till three A.M. when I was a teenager. I certainly never went to the city when I was supposed to be spending the night at a friend's house. Actually, that one kind of ticked me off, but I figure, what they were caught doing, going to an underaged club, isn't that big a deal. They still got grounded for lying, though.

I am trying to be a good parent. I just don't know what to do sometimes; I sympathize too much with them. Most teenage parents get at least thirteen years to distance themselves from being a kid before they are stuck with a teen. I didn't get one.

That's not the only reason I'm easy on them; their grades are almost always decent if not good, Jaden's had a job doing something, even if it was just mowing lawns, for years, and Kaley's been working at Safeway for about a year now. They help out around the house without being asked, and they're just nice.

Not always, Jaden tends to go into long term sulks a few times a year and is utterly impossible; he seems to be entering one now ("Whyyyy? I cleaned the kitchen last time. Well, the time before¦ It's not faiiirrr! " You get the picture.) and Kaley can be quite snotty if she doesn't like you or is in a bad mood. The not so cool kid's version of the ice queen, I'm told.

Honestly, though, they're probably my best friends, cept for the guys (Petey, Ryan, and Ernie), in the entire world at this point. Which is pretty sad, considering I'm nearly 21 and they're only in their junior year of high school.

Kaley says, "Yeah, that's pretty pathetic. " They both want me to tell you that they are outsiders at school, the kids who make friends with the security guards, but still sneak off campus, and occasionally smoke weed in the parking lot, who the teachers like but disapprove of and while they aren't "punks", they're far more likely to hang out with them then the "preps". They left very quickly when I asked them whether they were serious about the weed in the parking lot thing. So glad I'm out of high school.

Then there's Ady. Little Ady. She was always my favorite growing up, sweet and smart and always eager to play, but generally not annoying or demanding. She's grown up to be a pretty good kid, though she is a little wild. Although, really, that's probably my fault anyway.

Ady was a sweet surprise after the whirlwind that was the twins; ignoring all but each other and giggling as they ran around like a pair of destructive imps. Effectively, Ady liked to color, and the twins liked to break things. They could be awful.

I remember once, when Ady was just a baby, Jasper and I had spent at least an hour cleaning our room so a friend of ours could come over. Can't remember his name. I can remember the great feeling of having done it, proud of myself, as we ran to tell mom we were done.

By the time we got back to our room, not more than ten minutes later, the twins had destroyed it. The top-bed was unmade and they had somehow managed to pull the trundle out and wreck that too, books were pulled off the shelves, toys were spilling everywhere. I was devastated, and almost started crying, even. I was sure that not only would Ricky (that was his name!) not be able to come over, but that my mother would think I was a liar and never believe a word I said again. I should have known better, it was pretty obvious what had happened, considering Jaden was half-buried in the toy box, but I was only about seven or eight. She just gave the twins a time-out and helped us re-tidy the room.

My mom was always the sort of parent who never yelled. Pretty amazing considering she had five of us under ten for a good three years. Sometimes, I think things would have been better if she had let some steam off. It's got to do things to a person, holding all that in.

You're probably wondering where my parents are by now, aren't you? Who in their right mind would entrust their children to an immature twenty year old? The funny thing is, I was only nineteen then.

Dad¦Dad's just gone. For years now. He sends support regularly and all, but half the time it's a different place one month to the next. He works construction, and in the off season he drives truck, so he just migrates with the work. At least he pays, he doesn't know how to be a father but he loves us; in a rather strange way, but he does. He always sends Christmas and birthday cards. That's more than a lot of guys bother to do.

Mom held it together for a good seven years after he left. We had our problems, all families do, but things were okay.

Then Jasper came out. None of what happened after that was his fault. None of it. He was just a kid who was tired of keeping secrets, tired of worrying. He was dating some kid then, they've broken up since, but he just wanted to be able to bring his boyfriend home to meet his mom.

Mom flipped. She asked him whether he had been molested, and started talking about therapy and treatments-I had been more then a little shocked by what Jasper said, freaked the fuck out actually, but when I saw the look on his face as she was railing, well, I'd never hit my mother or any other woman, but when he was standing there so hurt, and she wasn't stopping, was just attacking him again and again, well, I came closer to it then I hope I ever will again. He started trying to explain that he wouldn't be able to change, and that he didn't want to. He liked who he was, there was nothing wrong with him, and he hoped she could accept him eventually.

I was in shock at the time, but looking back on it, I don't think I've ever been prouder of my brother. Here was his mother, acting like a crazy person, shrieking and stomping, and he just stood there, tall and proud, saying his piece. Yes, there were tears in his eyes, but his voice didn't quaver once. Yes, he pleaded, but he didn't give in, didn't back down. It's ironic; my mother was accusing him of not being a real man, but in that moment, my little brother was showing me what being a man meant. He was all grown-up.

Then my mother-my mother, who never spanked, never even yelled-hit him. Didn't slap him, but punched him, hard enough to leave a bruise. I don't even remember doing it, but I was there in between them, telling her to leave, telling her that she had no right to hit him, that if she didn't leave I was calling the police. I would have, too. There was blood on my brother's face.

I told her not to come back.

It's been not quite a year since then, she left last October, right before Halloween. She moved in with her sister, my Aunt Melissa, for a few months and now she's traveling trying to "find herself". I'm not sure when, but sometime during those first few days it went from me making her leave, to her choosing to go-it's not as though I could have kept her from her own house.

It makes sense really; she'd been acting weirder and weirder for a while, more distant-like she just didn't want to deal with us anymore. Like she was done. In a way, it's like she used it as an excuse to leave. Course, who knows what she was really thinking.

There's been a lot of stuff come out since then, things that I guess everyone in the family knew about except her own children. Words and phrases like "mental health" and "abuse issues", and "she's never been quite right since". So really, I don't know what was going on. The worst part is, no one will tell me anything, even though I'm the one stuck cleaning up the mess she left behind, even though we were the ones watching her fall apart in the first place.

She's apologized to Jasper a million times over, and she writes us and visits once in a while. Sends presents, things she's found while traveling. She calls at least once every two weeks and talks to everyone. She's happier this way. I don't know what we are.

At first-well, once we were willing to talk to her-the calls lasted hours; she went through phone cards like none other, even got a cell-phone, but then it started tapering down. Kids have a hard enough time going to their parents with their problems ordinarily, so when you don't see them everyday what do you have to talk about?

She still wants to change him.

It's hard. I thought it would be harder for the younger kids, Ady and the twins, and at first it was; there was more than one occasion when Ady would wake me up in the middle of the night, crying, and generally the twins would join us. Jasper didn't need to; for about a week or two he pretty much bunked in with me. You might think it's weird, but on that first night she was gone, he walked into my room clutching this ratty old blanket I didn't even know he had anymore, and all I could do was lift up the covers and tell him to hop in. Yeah, I held him that night, and I'm not ashamed of it. He's my baby brother, he was only 17, and his mom had just abandoned him. After that he slept in a sleeping bag on the floor, though.

Some nights all of them crowded into my room. I was raised to believe that when family needs you nothing else matters. There were a lot of nights spent huddled up on the couch at two a.m. drinking hot chocolate and watching old movies those first few months, when even being together couldn't help us sleep. For a while, I got sick of hot chocolate.

Now, at least the little ones seem to be handling it okay. I know it hurts them, but I honestly think it's for the best. It's Jasper and me, especially me, honestly, who are having the hardest time dealing with it. I think Jasper still thinks it's his fault. We've talked about it but he seems determined to suffer. Sometimes I just want to shake him, but I don't know what good it would do.

I'm just really angry that she left us like this, dumping them all on me. I think I'm doing a better job than she had been; honestly-but it's not right. It's like Dad all over again. She was supposed to be the parent, the whole situation never should have happened in the first place, you know? She hurt us even if she didn't mean to, even if she's sorry. Enough of that, though.

Things are good, financially, the house was paid off years ago, it belonged to my grandparents, and while there isn't a lot of, or really any, money for extras we do all right. I had a lot of money saved from working over/fulltime until I went back to school, plus we have Dad's support money, my paycheck, and Mom gave me access to some of her savings. It's getting a little low now, but I've figured out a budget where, as long as nothing big happens, we can make due. Not to mention, making what I make, with four dependants makes taxes a snap.

It's art night at Ady's school, she's in the choir and then there's a play she wants to see. Something about Lady Pirates. Excuse me, I have to explain to Jaden why it is not okay to throw a fit like a five year old when I tell him he is expected to keep his promises to Ady, instead of going out with his friends. He could have said he didn't want to go last week when she asked him. Something is going on. He's been bitching all day; all week really, though today is the worst. I swear, it doesn't stop soon the boy is going to end up sleeping on his stomach. Mom might not have believed in spanking, but Dad did, and I'm beginning to understand why.

Later.