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If you read the last post, you might think, “you called your childhood normal, but things sound a little fucked up!” And you’re right.

The greatest and scariest part about becoming an adult is realizing your parents didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. Mine are no different. Well, my mom is the most solid, committed-to-her-one-true-self person I know. In fact, and again throwing it back to the last post, is the most eligible human for divorce on the planet, yet stuck it out for 50 unfathomable years. She’s God-fearing, generous, communicative, healthy, and frankly, her love knows no bounds. That’s her flaw. She stayed married to a man who put her through several bankruptcies, DUI’s, affairs, and lies. All the while, she attended church and bible studies weekly, and he sat at home getting drunk and arguing the age of humanity with his DirecTV remote.

As kids we were disciplined and high-achieving. Which was potentially a self-evasive technique we didn’t realize we’d learned. With my science project in hand I would step over my father’s lifeless, hungover body in the hallway, aspiring for A’s and a better life than his.

We also went on seemingly decent vacations, mostly by van across the national parks and such. If we flew somewhere, someone else was paying for it – either a wealthy uncle or a casino luring my dad into deeper gambling debt.

One summer we went to the Bahamas because the Atlantis put my dad in a “free” suite to the tune of probably $10,000 at the tables.

Childhood is the greatest illusion of our lives. I wish I could go back.

By the time I reached my independence, I packed up and moved as far away as possible, LA! I rolled into town in my Jeep Wrangler with a duffle bag, a flip phone, and my latest paycheck of $1,300. I slept on a stranger’s couch for 3 months, but this little maniac is scrappy.

In no time I was working on the 55th floor of the tallest building in downtown. I found a shitty place of my own. I was meeting amazing new people. I even ran face first into Owen Wilson on 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica and ordered coffee in a Venice Beach Starbucks alongside Joshua Jackson. Life was good!

Then I joined a cult on accident.

Following in my mother’s footsteps, I always left space in my heart for religion. I believe in God, I think he loves me, and I think I disappoint him on the daily. Still… I went to a church in Rancho Palos Verdes, CA, where love and faith seemed to flourish. Turns out the love was lust, and the faith was financial. These people were embezzling millions and sexually abusing young women and writing it all off as tax-free brainwashing. But wouldn’t ya’ know, I met my first husband under their watch. We were kids. We didn’t know better. Or did we?

The day of my wedding, before I knew he sucked as a human, my dad asked me as we waked down the aisle…

“Do you know what you’re doing”

“Yes, but I also know that I’m doing it with the wrong person.”

“Just get through today, we’ll figure the rest out.”

Perhaps that was a redeeming sentiment, given my father’s reputation.

The first year of marriage was fun. My job kept me busy, I traveled all over the country for work, I have endless stories and adventures to tell of. Life as a couple was boisterous and exciting. We got a dog. He got a mistress.

The day I signed my divorce papers, he told me his twins were due in 2 months. I wasn’t the pregnant one. But I kept the dog.

The takeaway, or the comparison, is that I walked away. My sweet mom, she didn’t. And I hate to say it, but I wish she did. Because she wouldn’t have thrown away 50 valuable years. Well, 40ish, if you take into account my and my sister’s birth BUT before the bankruptcies and DUI’s started flowing in!

See you next time…

Being my first post, here’s the intro: I’m 43, about to marry for the second time, I live in Atlanta, I have a corporate Marketing job, I feel like I have already lived 5 lives, and I’m here to tell stories about it so that I feel less insane. I write a lot of stuff down in the moment that I never share. So now I’m sharing. Sherri is Sharing. Ugh, kicking myself for the lameness of that and the URL. Anyway…

A Family Cruise to End All Cruises

I figured I’d come in hot so you know what you’re getting into… let’s talk about some family shit.

In November of 2024 I went on a cruise to celebrate my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. Before we unpack the family stuff, can we talk about how fucking awful cruises are?!? Sorry if you’re a “habitual cruiser,” but if someone can explain WHY, I’d be eternally grateful. I have not uncovered the hook. There’s so much carpet. There are so many weirdly happy, yet terribly unfortunate employees. There are so many scams. There is so much bad liquor, blended with so much sugar. And OMG the carbs!

That said, we found ourselves, a family of 9, on a 7-day voyage around the Caribbean. My parents’ back story is actually sweet. Spoiler alert, the current state is salty as fuck! They met dancing together at the Fred Astaire Ballroom Studio in Atlanta in the 1970’s, both having fled their small-town origins. They married fast, had a couple kids, and here we are… blogging about the trauma. Childhood was normal. Sports, good grades, all the suburban shit. My sister and I both went to great colleges, started out on the seemingly well-laid adulthood path. But when my dad called me up last year and said, “I want to do one of two things for our 50th anniversary, either file for divorce or go on a cruise,” I laughed and went into vacation planning mode.

Fast forward 4 months post-cruise and my parents are getting divorced! Well, not legally, but that’s really neither here nor there at age 73. Turns out, my dad’s options weren’t options. He tricked us all into financing one last hoorah before actually deciding to peace the fuck out.

My Dad, Ladies and Gentlemen

On the day he dies, these will be my words…

Everyone loved him, he gave everyone a million reasons to hate him. Welcome, all you Suckers, to his final charade.

Alcoholic. Gambling Addict. Liar. My Mentor.

Can you imagine your father being blacked-out drunk at his own sister’s funeral telling you he doesn’t love your mother anymore? Then proceeding to tell you he thinks your kids are brainwashed cult spawns? Then saying he’s going to flee to (albeit fitting) Florida to live out the rest of his days on a stinky fishing boat always looking over his shoulder for a debt-collecting bookie?

My own sister, everyone meet April, certainly can! April is the balanced one of the bunch. She probable wouldn’t sit down and air all her family’s shit in a public forum. That’s what I’m for. Anyway, that’s how it all unfolded, the funeral episode. There was no going back now, pops! In the months to come, the separation deepened. He was digging his own grave.

BUT, the strong, amazing, empowered women of the family united. No longer was I going to let my mom sit alone in the disparaging words of her degenerate husband. No longer would April and I live in FEAR of what he might say or do after 16 beers. This is a 73 year old man with a breathalyzer on his car. This is a 73 year old man who has gambled away his retirement and ask his wife for $50 to eat. This is a man who has left an indelible impression on his grandchildren that I’m afraid will haunt them for the rest of their lives.

You might think, because I haven’t shared enough proof, that we’re over-reacting. We are Italian, so that’s fair. But I’m not going to waste time blabbing about his DUI, his time in jail, the alleged affairs, how he taught my nephew to gamble at the age of 6, the demoralizing things he spews at my mother because of her faith in Christ, the time I almost died because of the amount of alcohol he fed me as a minor… nah, those stories are for a later post.

Ok, so why are we here? Y’all… I said in the intro that I’m about to get married. The man I love, and am super excited to wed, asked my dad on that wretched cruise for his approval. My dad said, “she’s an adult, she makes her own decisions, but you’re my favorite one so far…” Keep me honest, is that good or bad? But we all agree that it’s insensitive, right?

More to Come…