With July 4th coming up, I knew I had to make a choice. Be at Mom’s big summer bash, or head over to Dad’s first annual barbeque. Either way, I was toast.

It started with the divorce late last year. At first it was a few slammed doors. Then long shouting matches with them using words you’re not supposed to say around eleven year olds. Then there were court appearances where I was supposed to play judge in the parental popularity contest. After that came the tears. The long silences. The hurt looks.

Now they’re throwing parties. Big, stupid parties with too much food, too many people and piles of gifts, which I don’t need or want. They say the parties are just so we can have fun. But they know, and I know, the parties are not fun. The parties are really just bait. The parent who has the biggest, juiciest bait should be able to catch the big fish. He or she who captures the big fish wins.

The big fish is me.

© 2007 Kathleen Dougherty. Original for CCF (Dougherty grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).