A personal narrative by Kyle Baldwin-Langrehr
The following is the story of a lesson learned by a younger version of myself.
My name is Kyle. When I was eight years old, I got the chance to experience a thing that more and more lucky children get to see and live each day. This thing is known to many as divorce.
Let’s back up a bit further, shall we? I was born on a warm California night on June seventeenth, in the year of nineteen-hundred and ninety-four. Right around the time they were chasing O.J. down the highway in his pretty white Bronco. I suppose I am what you would consider a Navy-baby; though, not the unexpected type. Don’t worry, though. We shall get to that kind of Navy-baby in due time.
Speaking of the Navy, guess who was enlisted. Go on, guess……….. Well, if you refuse to guess, I presume I shall have to tell you, shan’t I? My father was enlisted. Actually, if one were to get technical, one would have to state that my father is enlisted. But you get the point.
Nevertheless, growing up with an enlisted parent is an experience in itself; both for the child as well as for the person to whom the enlisted parent is married. It’s a tough thing living without a father for months at a time. Who would have assumed, however, that it would have been ideal preparation for a time later in my life?
Anyway, I grew up with this and so it became ordinary and rather unnoticeable. For eight years, my life was happy and innocent and 99.9% worry-free (the .1% representing time-outs and the bogeyman). Then, disaster struck. I’m not sure I will ever forget the setting of that particular day…
‘Twas a warm, sunny afternoon. Yellow is a nice way to describe it. This is mis-leading, however, as yellow traditionally represents happiness and delight. Quite a con-undrum, if you ask me. Even so, this day happened to be yellow, and I was outside en-gaging in standard eight-year-old-boy activities when I was called inside by my mother.