In the year 1989, I was a year old. My parents, were the typical Nantucket family: stay at home mother, working father. We lived above this plumbing place, called RB Corcoran. Dad was the manager there, and his transition to civilian life was going smoothly, or so we thought. My grandmother really began to be an influence on my life at this point, teaching me things. Thanksgiving that year was white, with 14" of snow. Christmas that year was alright from what I've been told.


By 1990, there was apperently still no strain on my parents marriage. By July, my mother was pregnant. This pregnancy however, was not a good one. The baby didn't kick, and only moved when she had to. That December, we as a family, went to Edaville Railroad, in South Carver. After Edaville, we went to Wakefield to see my grandfather. This was only the second time he saw me. Christmas of 1990 was my first real memory.


In February, 1991 my sister Josephine Burgess Creedon was born. However, she was sickly, and was diagnosed with Smith Lemli Opitz Syndrome. During the first of March, my parents went to Boston, leaving me on Nantucket with grandma. She lived to the end of April, when she died peacefully at the Nantucket cottage Hospital. After this, my parents never looked the same way. There were more fights, although none were physical. Luckily for me, I didn't have to put up with the scorn that the whole town gave my father.

My sister was buried on May 1st, 1991 at Prospect Hill Cemetery, next to my great grandmother and great grandfather. The next biggest event for me in my life, was of a tropical nature. On August 19, Hurricane Bob made landfall west of Nantucket. We were on the dangerous side, the right side. We hunkered down in our apartment, until it passed; 6 hours later. I got stung by a bee the next day, and almost died. All was quiet, at least until October, when the "No name storm" battered the island. My dad took me out into the storm, and we drove through downtown, or at least we avoided the flooded areas.



The year of 1992 was quiet in my family. Towards the end though, is when it started to get rough. The arguments were increasing, and my dad delved into the bottle. My mother recalls a time when she went to St. Louis, and came back to find my father had built a castle from beer cans. Then, he wanted to be alone. What was it that I had done? Or better yet, my mother? what did she do to him? He was not taking his transition well. He developed a bad attitude, and became an ass. That Christmas, there was a bit of a solemn attitude from both sides.

By late 1993, my family entered what you'd call "The times of war and attrition." On September 21, my parents although still married, split and lived in seperate houses. My father, was evicted from the apartment on Old South Road. We moved to 5 Salros Road, and lived there until 1996, when my mother left the island, leaving me with my grandmother. My father, moved to a place called Waydale Road. His house was small, and cramped. Our new place was small, but not as cramped as his.

By the time I started kindergarten in 1994, my parents had finalized the divorce, and it became effective. The island then viewed my father with suspicion, and treated him rather unfairly. Today, I resent being named after him, because of my relations, although most people have forgiven both him and I.