;)
Wednesday
Jul282010
Circles
Wednesday, July 28, 2010 at 11:12AM
I've rambled on endlessly in this space about trying to break the circles that surround my family's history...of mental illness, of abuse, of neglect, of just generally being really shitty people. My brother and I both have struggled with this since before we had kids, more-so after. We both have days when we lay in bed at night, taking our searching moral inventories, balancing what we did that day against what was done to us and hoping the plus goes in our columns.
More often than not, however, those moments happen on the hour, on the half-hour, minute-by-minute. When something like what is ingrained in not just our memory but our flesh and our DNA becomes so wrapped into every minute of your life, it's a battle of epic proportions to rise above it. You blink, you forget for just one second what you know you should do, and you're throwing a child across a room because that's what you know to do. That's what you learned. That's the kind of person you were born to be
Except, if you're really really on top of it, it's not the kind of person you are at all. We are really, really on top of it, and more importantly, we're really afraid that we're not. There are no better motivating factors in the world than fear and love.
As so we fight every day to make sure that our kids lives don't even bear a vague resemblance to the lives we had. And you know what? We're doing it. I've had kids for 12 1/2 years, he's had kids for 9, and so far we've managed to raise kids who couldn't comprehend our lives if they tried. They'll never know anything we knew (except Douglas Adams, of course) and they'll never see anything we saw (except Labyrinth).
Well, at least, not by our doing.
The truth of the matter is that somethings are just out of your control, maybe destined to be, maybe just sickeningly predictable because kids are kids.
A few weeks ago my brother called me to tell me that his oldest almost-but-not-quite broke his middle son's arm. I laughed and asked if I should get the jump rope ready. He laughed, too, but only a little, because what he knows and I know but they don't know and that you don't know is that when I was four, he broke my arm with nothing more than a jump rope, a set of bunkbeds, an astonishing-for-six-years-old understanding of basic physics and a strong desire to again be an only child.
Like,' bone sticking out at an angle bones don't stick' broke my arm. Like, 'a night at the ER and a splint and a sling on the arm that I wrote with, right before I started kindergarten' broke my arm.
This is why I can kick your ass at pool today, because I can shoot with both hands. Everything has a silver lining.
But his kids did not succeed in reenacting one of the more traumatic events of our childhood (what happened after isn't exactly fit for discussion in polite society, if you know what I mean) but they did remind us how fragile the line we walk on is, the one between what is in our control and what is not.
And then, of course, last week, the phone rings at way too early for the phone to be ringing and it's my brother, who just says, "So..." and sits there on the line, breathing. I went through the Rolodex of people in our lives with whom I have not yet found closure with, and picked which one I was prepared to tuck into a casket with my unresolved issues before I asked what happened.
He said, "So, 2of4..."
And I said, "Oh no he didn't..."
And he said, "Yup, going into surgery. Best case scenario, 3 pins. Worst case scenario, 3 pins and a metal plate holding the bones in his arm together for life."
And I said, "Bunk beds?"
And he said, "Better. Dog pile."
And I said, "Do I need to get out the jump rope?"
And we had a really good, long, nervous as all fuck laugh because we are learning that, though we can't stop the timeline of history from repeating itself, we can stop the way the story plays out. Now we have the excuse, and quite possibly the responsibility, to share a little bit of our story with our kids, albeit re-written slightly, and that is a really exciting prospect. The idea of being able to look at our kids and say, "Yeah, that happened to us, too, this one time that we were really bored and testing the laws of gravity..." is foreign to us, and so is letting go of all that old shit we lug around with us every day.
But not every circle has to be a scary thing. Not every pattern needs to be broken. Neither do any more arms, children. You've made your point. Now get with wrapping each other in bubble wrap and staying in one piece forever, because you're giving my brother and me nervous disorders.
Not at all unrelated aside: I have a new post up at Polite Fictions, if you're into that sort of thing.
More often than not, however, those moments happen on the hour, on the half-hour, minute-by-minute. When something like what is ingrained in not just our memory but our flesh and our DNA becomes so wrapped into every minute of your life, it's a battle of epic proportions to rise above it. You blink, you forget for just one second what you know you should do, and you're throwing a child across a room because that's what you know to do. That's what you learned. That's the kind of person you were born to be
Except, if you're really really on top of it, it's not the kind of person you are at all. We are really, really on top of it, and more importantly, we're really afraid that we're not. There are no better motivating factors in the world than fear and love.
As so we fight every day to make sure that our kids lives don't even bear a vague resemblance to the lives we had. And you know what? We're doing it. I've had kids for 12 1/2 years, he's had kids for 9, and so far we've managed to raise kids who couldn't comprehend our lives if they tried. They'll never know anything we knew (except Douglas Adams, of course) and they'll never see anything we saw (except Labyrinth).
Well, at least, not by our doing.
The truth of the matter is that somethings are just out of your control, maybe destined to be, maybe just sickeningly predictable because kids are kids.
A few weeks ago my brother called me to tell me that his oldest almost-but-not-quite broke his middle son's arm. I laughed and asked if I should get the jump rope ready. He laughed, too, but only a little, because what he knows and I know but they don't know and that you don't know is that when I was four, he broke my arm with nothing more than a jump rope, a set of bunkbeds, an astonishing-for-six-years-old understanding of basic physics and a strong desire to again be an only child.
Like,' bone sticking out at an angle bones don't stick' broke my arm. Like, 'a night at the ER and a splint and a sling on the arm that I wrote with, right before I started kindergarten' broke my arm.
This is why I can kick your ass at pool today, because I can shoot with both hands. Everything has a silver lining.
But his kids did not succeed in reenacting one of the more traumatic events of our childhood (what happened after isn't exactly fit for discussion in polite society, if you know what I mean) but they did remind us how fragile the line we walk on is, the one between what is in our control and what is not.
And then, of course, last week, the phone rings at way too early for the phone to be ringing and it's my brother, who just says, "So..." and sits there on the line, breathing. I went through the Rolodex of people in our lives with whom I have not yet found closure with, and picked which one I was prepared to tuck into a casket with my unresolved issues before I asked what happened.
He said, "So, 2of4..."
And I said, "Oh no he didn't..."
And he said, "Yup, going into surgery. Best case scenario, 3 pins. Worst case scenario, 3 pins and a metal plate holding the bones in his arm together for life."
And I said, "Bunk beds?"
And he said, "Better. Dog pile."
And I said, "Do I need to get out the jump rope?"
And we had a really good, long, nervous as all fuck laugh because we are learning that, though we can't stop the timeline of history from repeating itself, we can stop the way the story plays out. Now we have the excuse, and quite possibly the responsibility, to share a little bit of our story with our kids, albeit re-written slightly, and that is a really exciting prospect. The idea of being able to look at our kids and say, "Yeah, that happened to us, too, this one time that we were really bored and testing the laws of gravity..." is foreign to us, and so is letting go of all that old shit we lug around with us every day.
But not every circle has to be a scary thing. Not every pattern needs to be broken. Neither do any more arms, children. You've made your point. Now get with wrapping each other in bubble wrap and staying in one piece forever, because you're giving my brother and me nervous disorders.
Not at all unrelated aside: I have a new post up at Polite Fictions, if you're into that sort of thing.
Reader Comments (32)
I have an idea of how it feels. I just had to have 'the talk' with my youngest about why she has never and will never meet her Grandma Nancy (my mom).
All we can do is the best we can do and hope that the little voice that says "I will not be like my mom" reminds us of that when we are at our wit's end.
Love you.
Jo
Ok, so I really answered the question about the unladen swallow at the end and it screwed up my website link so here it is: www.minnesotajo.com
When you talk about the things you survived, I am reminded again about how strong and powerful you are. And I am reminded that people can be better than, rise above and move beyond their history. I didn't deal with nearly the level of abuse and neglect you did, I had, HAVE, two loving parents who are still with us, married to each other and are good grandparents. But there was anger in the house, and not such great anger management techniques. Now that I have a child, I can TOTALLY see how things played out the way they did in my childhood. I understand the split second desire to hit or yell or whatever. But like you, I work very hard to stop for that moment, and breathe, and make a different choice. Thank you for always being brave enough to share your story.
Every time I read stuff like this, I feel thankful for my boring, white-bread suburban life. Peace and love, Mr. Lady.
I don't have words. You always leave me speechless.
Just...
Yes.
I suppose one of the best ways to bring our memories from out of the shadows is to expose them to a little sunshine.
Good stuff my friend. I can relate. I have a younger brother and we used to beat the snot out of each other. My parents were divorced when I was 7 and he was 3. We both held on to a ton of resentment and dealt with it in different ways. None of it was healthy but it got us to where we are today. Someone once told me, "You aren't always responsible for the cause, but you're absolutely, 100% responsible for the resentment." When you get rid of the baggage, you are able to do things for the right reasons. For instance, I used to think I needed to be a great Dad and stay married because I didn't want my kids to have to suffer like I did. But now, I know I can just be a good Dad and a good husband because... Well because I want to... Peace.
It's an amazingly healing thing to realize that we're giving our kids a childhood SO unlike the one we had.
Too true that there are a LOT of things-most things-in our kids' lives that we can't control. Here's to staying semi-sane through most of them.
I had a counselor once who told me I can't raise my kids based on doing the opposite of my parents. I called bullshit.
The temptation to re-write history is strong. Maybe, as adults, our kids should hear everything so they can understand (and feel guilty for sometimes being jerks to us). Maybe they shouldn't. I guess you learn along the way, but it sounds like you've (and your brother) learned all the right things.
Fascinating and terrifying and inspiring, all at once. What Kevin said? Seconded.
It's all just a little bit of history repeating: http://www.whiskeyinmysippycup.com/2010/07/28/circles/
Mine was different...but I still get this. Each day I hope and pray that I somehow manage to break the cycles. God I hope I can.
Maybe that's what makes us better parents already? That we are trying our damdest to change it for our kids?
I know the feeling. I've had the talk with my therpist that I may never have a healthy relationship with my family and may have to walk away from them all, but my have my husband supervise my kids trying to have one. I don't want to poision my kids with what has happened to me and my opinions, but want them to come to their own conclusions on my family. They will not physically harm my kids, but I also don't think the level of neglect I survived in childhood will ever cross their path. My in-laws would not look the other way and say we didn't know what was going on at home when my kids are adults and ask some questions to their aunts and uncles. It's a diffcult path and you are a strong woman.
You know I hear this, loud and clear. Minus the multiple children part. I just tend to do the opposite. Of everything. Just to be safe.
You are unbelievable. I think I love you... don't even know you but... oh my god... you seriously ruin me! Thank you.
Okay... so I already left a comment this evening but I can't stop thinking about everything... absolutely everything you write! How is it that I wish I were you.. wish I could write like you.. have your life... be all that you are... especially after everything you write about WHO you are... why would I wish for that? Why? Deep down I feel like I am you.. have lived your life... but why do I want to be you??!!! Your life has not been ideal... nor perfect... now anything that anyone would wish for... so why??? I ask myself and I don't know why? Or do I??? Is it that I wish I had the ability to let out the demons as you have. You do have a gift... you truly do... I have tried... I have a different gift but I have not yet reached the level of release that you have.. and I long for it... crave it... need it... one day... I wish... to have the words to set me free... you seem to have found such freedom and I try to find a way in.. out...
I had this somewhat equivalent epiphany the other night when the Beave was saying "...well this is how my life was growing up" and I initially panicked until I realized, um, he's the Beave. My last thought before going to bed that night was that all I ever wanted was not necessarily to give my girls a life completely opposite of mine growing up, but at the very least a much BETTER one. Don't know how I'm doing at the moment. They've endured some traumas I hadn't at yet, but they're being spared far more than I wasn't. Does that make a lick of sense? No? Fuck.
In my 20s, my childhood was something I had "moved past", something I could tuck away and ignore. Then I had kids. And it has all started rushing back in flash floods. Kinda sucky!
Your post puts me back into my 8 yr old shoes on a late spring evening, searching all over the neighborhood for my 11 yr old brother...we had to get home! We were going to be late! Finally he came out of hiding and allowed me to find him because he was confident I would save him (again). Lying on the ground,
parallel to the curb, with his hand in the street palm down, he begged me "Please, Jenn? Just jump. It will only take a second! PLEASE. JUMP!" Because see, if he had a broken arm, then no one could be angry that we were late and we'd all rush to the hospital and the chaos would be the perfect distraction and our stepfather couldn't beat up my brother for the trouble he got into at school, passing that note in class. That "discipline" would have to wait. And that was my brother's driving goal.
This post made me feel IN THAT MOMENT again... my deep love for my brother, anguish for hurting him, distracted by the dirt and grass he was getting on his clothes, worried the pain would be worse than he thought, wondering if we'd get blood in the street and if our friends would see it tomorrow... and always, always the terror of my stepfather's wrath. It was getting LATER. The sun was now down and the streetlights were ON. We had to GO. I can feel familiar amazement at my brother's persuasive powers, his ability to talk me into it anything, terrified I would actually do it even though I really really really didn't want to, knowing that he always won.
I'm so glad I had a furlough from these feelings and memories for those years before kids. But they need to be faced now, aired out, and sent away. I'm grateful that you share your stories, and your readers comment, so I know I'm not the only one who struggles with being a different parent than the ones I had. THANKS
I still have the video (on DVD now) of you running and playing... seconds later *edit* cast ridden child ("You mean that happy child?", "that aignt no happy child")
Always happy to share the best of my worse... (Mostly cause people couldn't handle the average or worse of our worse... things better off left in dark, locked sections of our id)
I still think you could have got my jumprope... with a couple of more trys... lol wink
You remind me to take that breath before I say something that may hurt far more that intended. Also I just realized my own daughter is going to have trauma memories about her father and what happened to me at his hands (sounds through walls can sometimes be so much worse than the visual). Thanks for the reminder to keep her cuddled and safe as long as she needs.
I love you though I don't know you.
I think we should try again. Except, this time, the shear weight of my fat ass would rip your arms from their sockets. And then we could try to SEW THEM BACK ON. How fun would that be???
My childhood is the reason I have no kids. I'm glad it's possible for people like us to NOT unleash the beast within to create holy hell on our kids. You've proven that. That's awesome!
Wow. Just wow. I know your past is...well...your past...this ugly, heavy, dark thing you carry with you. And yet...you express it and what it means now so beautifully. Really. So yeah. Wow.
Perfect timing. For me.
Mine is different, but I am breaking the circle one day at a time.
i don't get by here as often as i'd like, but every time i do i'm inspired. thanks. :-)
I love this. Love you. It's not so easy, what you've done. I know you know that. I'm just letting you know I know. xo
I get that...i struggle with the same thing. How to raise my kids, so they don't have to deal with the same crap my parents left me with...
sometimes I fail...but more often I succeed...I am gratful for that every single moment.
Fortunatly/unfortunatly...my kids have had the privilage of geting a small taste of what i grew up with from my mother herself...Someday, I think they will appreciate how hard I work to NOT be like her.
You are doing good...I know it!
you are amazing.
You're just a hell of a writer. And a good person.
Ya know whats awesome? That you and your brother decided to take your past, give it the finger and be amazing parents to your kids. You rock!