I've
had parenthood discussions with most of my friends off and on over the
years.
We agree that we just did the best we could with the information
we had at the time.
None
of us know what we're doing. It doesn't matter how many parenting books
or articles we've read. It doesn't matter what we've seen from 'crazy
people who are doing it wrong' based on our brief observations of them
in the grocery store or the local library.
We get the kid and we start muddling through.
We get the kid and we start muddling through.
I
think back on occasion to my own upbringing. My parents didn't know any
better than to do the things they did. They loved me. I was clean and
fed and allowed to go places much more than my kids were... I was four
years old when they began sending me out to the alley to take out the
trash at night. In the dark. Down a flight of stairs, out around the end
and then along the whole back of our apartment building and back.
Alone.
I
was allowed to roam the neighborhood, too. To go to people's houses to
play or to gather in a big group under the lilacs down at the end of the
building and feed dirt to each other. Yep, made me puke.
I forget sometimes that they were 20 and 21 when I was born. Not even really grown up, although it was 1960 and that's how things were done. You got out of high school, went to college and met someone and got married as soon as you could.
My
dad was a wonderful father until I had the nerve to become a woman.
Then our relationship changed. He became a different man. About the time
I turned 15, he decided I was out doing drugs and having sex with just
about everyone in town.
I wasn't doing either one of those things.
I was afraid to experiment.
I could die from drugs!
I could get pregnant!
I wasn't doing either one of those things.
I was afraid to experiment.
I could die from drugs!
I could get pregnant!
Also,
I still thought there was some guy in the sky watching everything I
did. I behaved in a god-approved manner until I was about 17.
No, I did not go out and do drugs, but I did have sex.
I still remember wondering if there was going to be a retributory bolt of lightning next time I went outside. Also being sort of bummed out, because the guy I had sex with didn't know anything more about it than I did and it was over really fast and I didn't like it much.
No, I did not go out and do drugs, but I did have sex.
I still remember wondering if there was going to be a retributory bolt of lightning next time I went outside. Also being sort of bummed out, because the guy I had sex with didn't know anything more about it than I did and it was over really fast and I didn't like it much.
My
dad did a lot of things right. And I know he did the best he could. A
large part of my own being a parent story is trying to do better for my
kids than what was done for me. And I had a conversation once with Mom
where she said basically the same thing.
They tried to do their best.
I never felt like they didn't love me.
But man, my dad was nutty. And mean-spirited. Petulant and paranoid and angry all the time.
His mom was abusive toward him and his twin when they were growing up.
She thought nothing of slapping him in the side of the head from the back seat of the car until the week before she died. She was a nice grandma, I never doubted her love for me, but she was one mean mom. And a bitch of a mother in law, too. Treated my mom like shit and my dad never, not once, stood up to her.
They tried to do their best.
I never felt like they didn't love me.
But man, my dad was nutty. And mean-spirited. Petulant and paranoid and angry all the time.
His mom was abusive toward him and his twin when they were growing up.
She thought nothing of slapping him in the side of the head from the back seat of the car until the week before she died. She was a nice grandma, I never doubted her love for me, but she was one mean mom. And a bitch of a mother in law, too. Treated my mom like shit and my dad never, not once, stood up to her.
And
my mom was a godly woman. Meaning doormat. She allowed my dad to run
everything. When the mama bear uniforms were being handed out, she was
over in the other line where they were handing out house dresses and aprons
and little bibles with the words of our LORD! In RED!!
She wasn't able to stand up for me.
And I didn't know how to stand up for myself.
She wasn't able to stand up for me.
And I didn't know how to stand up for myself.
Ah, ancient history.
Dad has dementia now, although Mom isn't ready to admit it.
That paranoia he's always had is now a creature in its own right. It's bigger than he is, I think. Sits with him all the time, scaly tail wrapped around his neck. Makes him angry and irrational and meaner than shit.
Mom's slipping quite a bit, too. Partially because the stream of invective and hatred that pours from my dad 24/7 has worn her out over the past 64 years and partially because she's going to turn 84 in a little over a month and never has been all that strong a personality.
They want me to come over and see them and I could spend two hours writing about that and still not get to the point. I tell myself I'm an asshole for putting my own sanity and instinct for self-preservation ahead of daughterly duties, but even that isn't enough to convince me to go.
That paranoia he's always had is now a creature in its own right. It's bigger than he is, I think. Sits with him all the time, scaly tail wrapped around his neck. Makes him angry and irrational and meaner than shit.
Mom's slipping quite a bit, too. Partially because the stream of invective and hatred that pours from my dad 24/7 has worn her out over the past 64 years and partially because she's going to turn 84 in a little over a month and never has been all that strong a personality.
They want me to come over and see them and I could spend two hours writing about that and still not get to the point. I tell myself I'm an asshole for putting my own sanity and instinct for self-preservation ahead of daughterly duties, but even that isn't enough to convince me to go.
So I guess I'll sit here and call myself an asshole and feel guilty that I didn't go see them when they pass away.
And even that isn't strong enough to get me moving.
I
called to talk to Dad on the 13th (his 83rd birthday) and ended up
listening to him ramble and rant for 4 hours instead. Although I think
there's something wrong with my phone, it told me that only 35 minutes
had elapsed during that... um, not a conversation. Monologue? Yeah,
let's go with that.I *do* have to work. Or rather, I have agreed to show up for summer camp and that keeps me from making a 5 hour drive on a Saturday only to have to make the same drive the other direction on a Sunday.
There's more.
Not sure if I can allow myself to put it out there, though.
But for now, at least, I'm a bad daughter.
My parents were children of the Great Depression and grew up in wretched poverty. They overcome that and, while not wealthy by any means, didn't have the wolf at their door. My problem was I never felt they had my back (probably wrong) and it was me against the world.
ReplyDeleteMy Dad died of undiagnosed obstuctive sleep apenia at 64. My mother, dementia, lived in a near vegetative state in a care center from 70 to 93.
Simplistically, parent get the adult children they deserve IMO. I accept that from my sons. They don't owe me anything they are not willing to give.
I feel that way about my kids, too. I am pleased that the humans I helped manufacture are kind people with good hearts and integrity. They don't have to visit me to prove it. Although of course Lyssa and her hubby are still with us. So I see her a lot. But she's a pretty great person, so there's that.
DeleteLMAO, the Humans I helped Manufacture... that's brilliant as a description! I don't feel our Kids or Grandkids owe us anything either, I think they are Kind and Good people with flaws, just like we are... I Love Unconditionally.
DeleteThis week both my attempts at creation had birthdays. Lyssa turned 30 and Matt is 36 today. Can't even believe it.
DeleteI think, like you said, we all just did the best we could. A big part of growing up is accepting our parents were human, with all the faults that humans have. Not wanting to subject yourself to that doesn't make you a bad daughter.
ReplyDeleteI just don't have the ability to do it right now. There's a whole lot more to the story that isn't here. It may even show up here. Or not.
DeleteAnd either way that's okay. With everything that's happened in the last three years, I am a HORRIBLE mother by my standards. But it was what I needed to do. We all have our boundaries.
DeleteI think you're a wonderful mom. The thought you put into everything you do and your huge love for your kids puts you solidly in the WOW category.
DeleteI've finally (mostly) realized that the boundaries are mine, I own them and I get to decide what they look like. Still not great at the not feeling guilty part... years and years of religion contributed to that.
My mother had a personality disorder. My father was complicit in her abuse in a passive way. What you don't see or acknowledge didn't happen, right? I had been groomed to be her tender, the one who tried, in vain, to make her happy, to make her be normal. My brother left the family 30 years ago. I never could, until late 2019. She finally broke this camels back and I told her I was done with her. She said so what. She died in 2020 and it was a relief. Don't feel guilty. It's never too late, nor is it wrong, to save yourself.
ReplyDeleteIt's funny. If I were reading this post from a friend, I would respond in much the same way you have. My brothers were much younger and they're boys... so they never had the nerve to become women. It was about 20 years ago when I tried to talk with Dad about what had happened. (I left home early on the advice of a counselor who told me, "There's nothing wrong with you, you simply need to get away from your dad. He's sick.")
DeleteI tried to talk with him and got nowhere.
He told my brothers and everyone else he knew that HE decided I needed to leave for my own good, that John Day was bad for me and I was in with a bad crowd. Which is bullshit, but there it is.
My husband says, "None of this will matter. We'll all be dead someday and no one will remember any of it."
Which is also true.
I'm sorry you grew up with that hurt. It stays forever, doesn't it?
Ami, it does, but I have learned to reckon with it. I've also foundling the way that I am not alone. It's rather shocking how many demented parents are out there in the world. I really am amazed I came out of it as well as I did. She really was a monster. Obviously I don't know what happened in your family, I don't need, I know what parental trauma is and what it does. ❤️
DeleteI wish my dad had been mentally healthy. I wish he had gotten some help but when we went as a family, he told the counselor that there was something wrong with everyone...and that we were persecuting him.
DeleteIt doesn't sound like you're a Bad Daughter, you're Coping with how difficult it can be sometimes to be an Adult and dealing with Aging Parents and a lot of History. I think I had Awesome Parents, and they were, to the best of their abilities to be, as you said, most Parents do it that way. My Mom had Serious Mental Illness and was physically Sick chronically as well, so, that's all I knew from the time I can recall and probably why I do so well managing people with Mental Health Issues, had lots of practice. My Dad was stoic, Wise and worked a lot to make a good Life for us. He'd grown up very hard on the Rez, with a Mom who had been Married Off at 13 to a much Older Man, and Raised 10-11 Kiddos as mostly a Single Parent. She lost a Son who died in the Indian Schools from the neglect Native Kids endured. It made her a hardened Woman who was scary to me, but she made us the most beautiful Toys out of Grainsack and mailed them to us our whole Childhood, she was Poor her entire Life. My Welsh Grandparents were stellar, but my Gran-Gran really didn't speak or understand much English and was illiterate, so couldn't read or Write, I didn't know that until I was 16 and my Nanna quietly told me why he was pretending to read what I had Written to him, whilst holding it upside down, Bless him. He had been of Welsh Gypsy ancestry and I don't think they sent their Kids to School, plus, he mostly got raised by a Chinese Family when his Dad was killed in the first World War. That said, my Parent's different Cultures made us very different growing up in Retro America, where a lot of Families looked more like Ozzy and Harriet and mine, didn't at all. Interracial Intercultural and Dad was a Two Spirit Male, which Non-Natives didn't understand that whole thing at all, and most still don't. I'm glad I was Raised by unconventional yet Loving flawed people, it sounds like you appreciate that you did too. I had to smile what you said about taking the Trash out at Four, when I think of what I was allowed to do so Young, it's a wonder we Survived huh? *LOL* My Parents turned me loose in the Paris Flea Market at Age Two, without Supervision. At the time I spoke several languages fluently and haggled Deals for goods without any Money... the French and Algerians Loved Kids so I'd always have a Haul and they wouldn't let my Parents pay either when they'd retrieve me. They once Lost me in a Chicago Bus Station, I was probably a Toddler at the time too, and it's one of my first Memories of actually being scared since I knew they probably Lost me. Not that I haven't Lost a Kid mind you... so, no Judgment. *Winks*
ReplyDeleteYour life has never been boring has it?
DeleteAmi, you aren’t a bad daughter. I don’t know many adults that had a great relationship with their parents. And that’s impossible when there is mental instability. Don’t feel guilty about avoiding them. I know a few people that don’t visit their parents at all. Love is one thing, putting yourself in a bad situation is another.
ReplyDeleteI do love them, and I know they love me. But if we weren't family, we'd all have nothing in common.
DeleteI did better than my parents did, my daughter didn't turn out to be a cereal killer so I think I did okay as a parent.
ReplyDeleteI know we all just do what we can. I know it. But my feelings and my heart were crushed, there was 100% refusal to ever discuss it or try to make things better. Not even to make things right, as it's too long ago... but at least TALK about it!! My mom (who has ostriches in her ancestry) gets all prissy and says, "Oh, that's in the past!" It's a jesus thing with her... been forgiven, blah blah. But of course never asked forgiveness from those she wronged or allowed to be wronged through her inaction. I have apologized to my own children for everything I got wrong. I wanted to do it all perfectly and fell very short of that.
DeleteOh I get that, my mom at least apologized when we got older and she stopped drinking and realized just how bad things were when we were kids. My dad on the other hand said that it never happened. He said nothing that me and my brother wanted to talk to him about ever happened. So I really get it, it's sad but there's not much we can do about it.
DeleteI am so sorry that you were not able to tell your story and have it believed by your father.
DeleteMy dad knew when I left home why I had to do it, but he spent the next 45 years inventing a new version of what really happened. He believes that he sent me away rather than me giving him the ultimatum... "I won't live here anymore."
My mom knows, but doesn't want to talk about it. "It's in the past." Never addressing the hurt means it never really goes away, or at least it hasn't for me.
I'm glad your mom told you she was sorry. Having your pain acknowledged is a very comforting thing, or it is for me.