;)
Tuesday
Dec222009
Little White Maybes
Tuesday, December 22, 2009 at 12:02AM
I've found that, as a parent, there are days when it becomes very important to be able to plainly, sincerely and most of all honestly lie my ass off to my kids.
Today was one of those days.
It wasn't so much that Christmas is four days away, and it wasn't so much that my grandfather died before I was born and I never knew him, just like my kids' grandfather did. It wasn't just that my other grandfather had some twisted, weird relationship with my father, and didn't really have all that much of an interest in us, his grandchildren, and he died with that being the only thing I ever really knew about him. It isn't exactly that my father and I have that same, weird relationship, or that he hasn't seen or spoken to me or my kids in four years and three weeks. It isn't even that he's had, I'm pretty sure, four open heart surgeries in a decade, and I don't know how many times the human heart will let you look at it before it melts your face off all Raiders-style.
What it is, I think, is that I have this thing for birthdays.
I didn't care that I never had Christmas. I rather enjoyed laying under our car, waiting for the kids in the neighborhood to come egg our house because we didn't give out trick-or-tricks, and grabbed their ankles right before they could toss their eggs at our windows, which scared the holy fuck out of them and made the whole lack of candy thing totally worth it for us. I always cared about the birthday thing, though. I always wanted to celebrate everyone's birthday. It seemed like something that should be a big deal, something note-worthy at the very least. When I stopped being Insane Fundamentalist Judeo-Christian Girl, which is so totally a superpower, birthdays were my first indulgence in pure, unadulterated sin.
Turns out, there were funner sins to be had, most of them adulterated, but I still enjoy a nice birthday. And today was my father's 60th.
Thirty years from now, when he's long gone and I am the 60 year old, when I have grandchildren of my own and am staring down the business end of a life-span, what is ultimately going to matter to me? That I was right? That I made my point? More importantly, what is going to matter to my kids? What story will they carry with them of their grandfather, who is, in his own right, just maybe not so much as a parent but still, an amazing slice of human being? Will they tell their children that their mom's dad just wasn't that into her after all, and that he died before they could know him?
Do I want to pass on these cycles in my family, in my babies, or not?
These are things easier said than done. I preach about breaking cycles of abuse, of perpetuated victimization, but here I sit creating the exact same story that shades my past. I can say I'm "protecting" my kids from some mythical man who lives 3,000 miles away and never saw them much anyway, and I can create the memory of him that fits that, or I can realize that either way, it's a created memory. Either way, your grandparents are not the people they are in real life. Grandparents are superheros. They wear big, red capes with G on them and they fly into your life and heal wounds with tea and beat off monsters with books and build bridges to your past out of the ether.
So today, I knelt down in my kitchen and I lied to my kids.
I told them that my issues with my father have nothing to do with them, that we're both stubborn and old and dumb and that's why he hasn't called in four years, but that he's 60 and there really couldn't be any better gift to give their grandfather than them. That is was the right thing to do. That they didn't need to stick up for me, because I'm just being an asshole anyway and this is all going to work itself out soon. And then I dialed his number and handed them the phone.
And then I smoked a pack of cigarettes outside while they talked to him inside.
The boys talked to him for almost an hour. They talked to him about what hot copy of what movie he's got his hands on this week, about girls at school and the weather, about video games and new bands, and as I listened from the other room, I was 12 years old, sitting on my living room floor, talking to that same man from 3,000 different miles away about those exact same things all over again. He hung up without asking to talk to me, which stung, but he hung up with two very happy grandsons who smiled the entire night and planned what they were going to text him tomorrow, and bragged about his band, and giggled over his jokes, just like I remember doing some lifetime ago.
Today, I gave my father the greatest gift I could ever give anyone, the most precious thing to me in the whole world, for his 60th birthday present. Today, I gave my children permission to create their own stories and their own memories of their grandfather. Today, I gave our family a maybe. We'll see where it goes.
Today was one of those days.
It wasn't so much that Christmas is four days away, and it wasn't so much that my grandfather died before I was born and I never knew him, just like my kids' grandfather did. It wasn't just that my other grandfather had some twisted, weird relationship with my father, and didn't really have all that much of an interest in us, his grandchildren, and he died with that being the only thing I ever really knew about him. It isn't exactly that my father and I have that same, weird relationship, or that he hasn't seen or spoken to me or my kids in four years and three weeks. It isn't even that he's had, I'm pretty sure, four open heart surgeries in a decade, and I don't know how many times the human heart will let you look at it before it melts your face off all Raiders-style.
What it is, I think, is that I have this thing for birthdays.
I didn't care that I never had Christmas. I rather enjoyed laying under our car, waiting for the kids in the neighborhood to come egg our house because we didn't give out trick-or-tricks, and grabbed their ankles right before they could toss their eggs at our windows, which scared the holy fuck out of them and made the whole lack of candy thing totally worth it for us. I always cared about the birthday thing, though. I always wanted to celebrate everyone's birthday. It seemed like something that should be a big deal, something note-worthy at the very least. When I stopped being Insane Fundamentalist Judeo-Christian Girl, which is so totally a superpower, birthdays were my first indulgence in pure, unadulterated sin.
Turns out, there were funner sins to be had, most of them adulterated, but I still enjoy a nice birthday. And today was my father's 60th.
Thirty years from now, when he's long gone and I am the 60 year old, when I have grandchildren of my own and am staring down the business end of a life-span, what is ultimately going to matter to me? That I was right? That I made my point? More importantly, what is going to matter to my kids? What story will they carry with them of their grandfather, who is, in his own right, just maybe not so much as a parent but still, an amazing slice of human being? Will they tell their children that their mom's dad just wasn't that into her after all, and that he died before they could know him?
Do I want to pass on these cycles in my family, in my babies, or not?
These are things easier said than done. I preach about breaking cycles of abuse, of perpetuated victimization, but here I sit creating the exact same story that shades my past. I can say I'm "protecting" my kids from some mythical man who lives 3,000 miles away and never saw them much anyway, and I can create the memory of him that fits that, or I can realize that either way, it's a created memory. Either way, your grandparents are not the people they are in real life. Grandparents are superheros. They wear big, red capes with G on them and they fly into your life and heal wounds with tea and beat off monsters with books and build bridges to your past out of the ether.
So today, I knelt down in my kitchen and I lied to my kids.
I told them that my issues with my father have nothing to do with them, that we're both stubborn and old and dumb and that's why he hasn't called in four years, but that he's 60 and there really couldn't be any better gift to give their grandfather than them. That is was the right thing to do. That they didn't need to stick up for me, because I'm just being an asshole anyway and this is all going to work itself out soon. And then I dialed his number and handed them the phone.
And then I smoked a pack of cigarettes outside while they talked to him inside.
The boys talked to him for almost an hour. They talked to him about what hot copy of what movie he's got his hands on this week, about girls at school and the weather, about video games and new bands, and as I listened from the other room, I was 12 years old, sitting on my living room floor, talking to that same man from 3,000 different miles away about those exact same things all over again. He hung up without asking to talk to me, which stung, but he hung up with two very happy grandsons who smiled the entire night and planned what they were going to text him tomorrow, and bragged about his band, and giggled over his jokes, just like I remember doing some lifetime ago.
Today, I gave my father the greatest gift I could ever give anyone, the most precious thing to me in the whole world, for his 60th birthday present. Today, I gave my children permission to create their own stories and their own memories of their grandfather. Today, I gave our family a maybe. We'll see where it goes.
Reader Comments (67)
They say that karma can be a bitch. I don't think this will be one of those times. You look really really tall today.
Oh, Lady, I think you did just the right thing. What a wonderful gift for him, and a chance for them to know their grandfather in their own way. Peace.
You are a good mom.
My dad would have been 60 in July and I would give anything to ring him up.
Wow. I don't even know you and I am so proud of you. What a hard thing to do, and such a gift, not just to your dad, but to your kids. I'd say you broke the cycle, for good and forever. Amazing.
I am crying my eyes out over here after reading that. You are a great mother, a strong, kind, giving mother and a fucking great daughter too. Best wishes to you.
WOW! That must have been SO hard for you. You should be proud of yourself though. What an amazing gift to both your kids and him.
Kudos to you.
That was such a special thing to do... hope he appreciated it in some way.
Wow! I'm speechless! You're amazing!
This is my most favorite post of yours.
You are the man.
I'm glad for you and for your kids. Mine never got to know my father, twisted bastard that he was so I just couldn't let him be around them. Or me. I feel sad for my kids sometimes that they really haven't known a grandfather on my side of the family.
I haven't spoken to my mother in 10 years and 2 months. You raise some amazing/painful points. Will be mulling them over for a long time. Thanks for this.
Now off for a wretching cry...!
Damn. Our stories are different, but the emotions are very, very similar. After reading this, I'm in deep space.
You did a good & selfless thing. That IS breaking the cycle.
I struggle with the same things myself. As much bitterness as I have towards my dad, my kids love him - and don't know any different. And it's hard for me sometimes, but it's better for them if I lie to them about who he really was years ago. I want them to think he's a superhero in a cape. *HUGS*
I am SO damned proud of you. I know how... everything... this was. Seriously, so proud.
My hardest hugs and kisses to you my dear. Abso-freakin'-lutely.
I am proud of you.
We tried this with my dh's dad a few years ago for the sake of our kids. Well, I won't bore you with the details, but I wish I would've spared my kids the pain. That's all I'm gonna say.
Good Luck!
That was amazing.
I wish, so very much, that my in-laws did that with their sons.
Sadly, my husband grew up thinking that family was expandable. If they hurt you, you write them off. Whatevah.
Rebuilding relationships with people in his past has been a long, hard, 15+ year road. Thankfully my kids don't know about it - and I hope they never have to.
Sometimes doing the right thing is even better than being right. You rock.
That took a lot of guts, Mr. Lady. I'd be stung too if my father opted out of speaking to me, whether he thought he had a good reason or not. You're stronger than I am!
I just love you and send you hugs. And hey, at least smokes are cheaper here than in Canada, right? You can afford to let them call him. :)
@madge, in two weeks, I hit the 18 year mark with my mother. It gets easier, I swear. Some fences are too broken to mend.
De-lurking because I liked this post so much :)
By the time I was born 3/4 of my grandparents had passed away. But my mom's mom was still around (although about 500 miles away). My Gramma was a sort of kooky lady, who resisted getting hearing aids for years even though we had to scream at her, who would hold the towel in front of her when getting out of the bath- leaving her whole butt exposed as she walked to the bedroom, who criticized food while shoveling it into her mouth. She loved to take long walks, always had the radio on, would say embarrassing things loudly in public. Every Christmas and Easter she sent me and my sister new dresses and sometimes Easter bonnets to wear. She passed away when I was 13, but these are the memories I have of her.
It was only as I got older and my mom talked more openly about her childhood and adolescence that I learned about how my Gramma wasn't just kooky, but actually pretty crazy for quite a long time, that my mother left her house when she was 17 because she couldn't stand living there anymore, that when my grandmother was told that my aunt was pregnant, she tried to punch her in the stomach to induce miscarriage. And even now, I can only guess and read between the lines of these stories about the pain that my mother and her sisters felt.
I don't know about my mother's decision to let our Gramma in our lives or to keep many parts of their past from us. I do know that I loved my Gramma and am glad I got to know her while she was still around.
So I applaud your decision to give your children their grandfather. I hope that they are able to create lots of happy memories of him. It is a selfless act, an act of love that your children may never know the full extent of, but will appreciate.
An awesome move on your part, but also really awesome of your boys. I'm so sad to say that neither of my children like to talk to their grandparents, who are truly wonderful and fully loved members of our family. They're just older, and they don't speak my children's first language, and they live 3000 miles away so don't get seen very often.
I know my mother would love to receive a phone call like that. I don't make it because I fear and know that when I pass the phone to the children, they will flat out refuse to take it. So that yours did, and enjoyed it, revelled in it? Well, that's just a million kinds of cool.
Congrats.
Oh honey. brave & true & good & the absolutely right thing to do.
(um? I might just turn out the lights next year at Halloween so I can try that trick.)
I love you, chicka. Keep on.
You rock.
I regret not transcending the dysfunctionality my parents created when my maternal grandparents got divorced.
My grandfather became persona-non-grata and I only got a few altzheimer-inflicted moments with him in the last twenty years of his life.
I wish I would have been brave enough to have powered through that.
I wish my parents hadn't been dorks about it.
I'm thankful that my kids have great relationships with four of their six grandparents and at least know who the other two are. They've also spent time with two great-grandparents - one of whom is still with us - and we'll try to visit her annually if possible, as well. At seven and five, my kids aren't solidly at the point where they'll have vivid life-long memories of these times, but I look at anything we do in this space as positive.
Have a jolly holly...
Well done, Mr. Lady. Well done.
Merry Christmas!
Can't stop crying. I only wish my father would take such an interest. (Not my mother though, it's too far gone)
You are such an amazing mother. Merry Christmas to you and your family.
Mr. Lady, I lost my 78 year old grandfather last week. He was a mean, alcoholic, hateful father who treated his children terribly. But my mom was strong enough to do as you did and let him be a grandfather. And he was loving, gentle, indulgent, tolerant, and attentive. I will always be grateful she did that for us. Your children will one day see the truth and realize your grace at this moment. Congratulations on your strength.
You are AMAZING! Your kids will one day realize how amazing and will love you for the sacrifice you just made for them.
I'm at a loss for words because this is hitting really close to home today, but I wanted to smother you in love and hugs.
I struggle everyday with the relationship that I have with my father, it's so hard to put into words. sometimes I know it's him, sometimes I think it's me. I've tried my hardest to put things aside to allow him to have a relationship with my girls. My oldest sees his bad points and lets me know how she feels about it. It sucks. it's a tough position, but I admire you for giving them that opportunity. Huge sacrifice.
Whiskey in My Sippy Cup : Surviving Parenting. Kinda. » Little ... http://bit.ly/7gmiIt
Some chances are worth taking. I'm glad you leaped. Proud of you.
What a wonderful thing you did! For everyone, you included!
You are very brave to do this. Even if your kids don't understand now why the rift happened, they will someday. And I hope they will also see that you chose to facilitate a relationship that you couldn't be a part of. What a generous gift.
And I would say the cycle is breaking. Good job!
Heh, we need a beer sometime.
You're bigger than I am, that's for sure.
You are a bigger man than I, Mr. Lady. I still haven't told my dad about the existence of my youngest, who just turned 1. Every day it gets less likely that I ever will. Last night, I saved the Christmas cards from the mail for Brynna to open and when she asked who his was from, I lied and told her some guy I used to know. Some day she'll think it strange that "some guy" has my maiden name and sends gift cards, but today, today, I don't want to get into it. I don't want to explain what pathological liar means and that he says he loves you but he doesn't. I don't want to tell her that he'll make her promises he won't keep and that I won't let her talk to him because I won't let him hurt her the way he hurt me.
I applaud you. I just can't do it. (Also, it sounds like I need a blog post on this.)
first of all..... i TOTALLY know what im doing next year on halloween.
second of all, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, good for you. that is an amazing step you took. you are a much stronger person than I.
Here's to new beginnings! I'm so proud of you for taking that leap. I hope for many more *maybes* for you and your family.
All the best and Merry Christmas, Lady!
xox
@mrlady just killed me dead with tears. http://www.whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2009/12/22/maybes/
This is a fantastic post. Merry Christmas.
Shannon,
I'm really proud of you
love you.
RT @karensugarpants: @mrlady just killed me dead with tears. http://www.whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2009/12/22/maybes/
oh lady. you made me cry, like a baby, yet again. you are the best mom and daughter ever.
You are a gracious and loving mother.
duuuuuude...
I am shocked, astounded and in awe.
My daughter received a package in the mail today from my father - with whom I haven't had a real relationship in 20 years - but who I am trying to ensure my kiddo can have a relationship with, via phone calls and emails. I figure that she won't blame me (as much) in her therapy down the road if I at least open the path for her to know him. She's so flippin' happy about that damn package (yes, the one with no note, no message, mailed from an online store), it almost makes my mental angst over all of this worth it. Way to rock being a good example for the rest of us who are struggling with this same murky family dynamic.
Having brass balls is hard. It requires that you do things that you don't want to for the greater good of your family. It takes courage, nerve and the ability to look fear in the eye. You inspire others. Kudos.