(Day 4) Your Parents

wow me and fat butt actually fell asleep together for a couple of hours. Something woke me up, probably a noise or the like (this is a loud house.) Anyway I was about to just roll over and fall back to sleep when...

HOLY SHITTY BUTTPLUGS BATMAN! I HAVEN'T MADE A BLOG POST YET!!!


And this thought was enough to make me bolt up and jump on the computer like someone had stuck a hot poker to my ass!

I had contemplated just typing up some quick thing with one hand, because I really was tired, and my daughter was all snuggly on top of me and the pillows were hugging me, and .... and...

doesn't matter though, because the main thing that made me sit upright with this strange sense of urgency was the fact that this post is a rather important one. It is for that very reason that I actually put off writing it all day, because I was either nervous, or... you know nervous isn't the exact right word I'm looking for... Actually I knew this post would possibly emotionally drain me in some ways, good and bad... No, all good, all emotions are neutral, be it happiness or anger, it is our reactions to these emotions that sheds a negative or positive light on them. I understand that the way I'm sort of rambling right now may lead you to believe I'm building up to some sort of dramatic story of a family under tremendous strains and broken ties or whatever... But let me go ahead and disappoint you early by just saying out right... That simply is not the case here.


(Day 4: Your Parents)


In fact, I would dare say that my parental situation is almost 'typical' in many respects; certainly nothing out of the ordinary. And that's just where that anger sets in I guess... Why is it so damn typical that a mother bring up a child with a father not ever around? Why is it so fucking 'run of the mill' for the father to be absent, that any time you're talking to your child's doctor, nurse, or whomever it may be, there's the slight but obvious knowing look to their expression when they ask about her father, then there is immediate and profound surprise when I tell them he's still very much in our lives?

And I find myself surprised now at how easily these words flow from me in some kind of twisted indignant anger at society at large, but mostly at my own father, because honestly, I never have told him the way I felt about it, and it's only become apparent to me in recent years that... YES! I really do feel pretty fucked up about you not being around dad! I've always said it's okay and I forgive you and love you, in those few times between jail sentences we have met. But the truth is, some, small part of me, (not the adult I am now, but the vulnerable little girl who needed you I once was) some very tiny black piece of me buried deep has floated to the surface at the thought of you when I look at my baby.

You've robbed more than just whomever you've stolen cars from or committed your petty crimes for a quick thrill. You've robbed your mother of a son, my sisters and I of a father, and my child of a grandfather. YOU did that... no one else, And some part of me that I've silenced for a long time is not okay with that, and I'm going to let her scream in rage here and now, probably because I'm just too tired of sweeping it under a rug, and lying to you about it. I've always lied about it because in some way without knowing it I felt it cruel to kick a man while he's down, it was clear you regretted not being there, and I couldn't bring myself to tell you just how shitty it's been without you... The problem is, you're always fucking down, and you being down was of your own making, you made your bed but whined when it was time to lie in it.

And yet with all this boiling anger and sudden vitriol, I still feel forgiveness and pity for you. But the Pity to forgiveness ratio has definitely tipped towards me finding you strangely sad and pitiful in many ways... Because you had a chance to be something and finally do right this last time out, and you've thrown it away. There's really nothing more I can say to you. I'm tired of being strung along, I would tell you to stop writing me but I can't even do that much to you. I'll humor you with the illusion that I'm reading them, and indulge your rare calls, and tell you I'm doing fine and I miss you, when all the while I'm squirming to just get off the phone and end this awkward exchange that is limited to the short amount of time they're allowing you.

Even though these words may seem potent in some way to you should you ever somehow find them, I want just repeat myself and just say that this anger I'm showing is just a small part of me, a very tiny dark little kernel. It only sounds so bad because she's been repressed for so long, but that's how it goes, you gotta bleed out the venom sometimes for things to heal. Funny, because upon starting this post I thought I would immediately write about mom first since for nearly my whole life she's been my universe, but I had to just go ahead and just get that out of the way. Wow, how sad, my father the other half of my existence is reduced to something I just have to get out of the way.... Like a disclaimer.


Which brings me to my universe. Which if my father is little more than a dead star floating through the cosmos, then my mother is the cosmos itself, the ever expanding universe with wonders beyond. As I've become a mother and have grown up a little, I have realized she may have her limits, I finally realized that 'wow so she is human after all.' But I have to admit, growing up I thought there was nothing she couldn't do, there was an almost inhuman quality to her life's wisdom and her heart's love. I thought, for a very long time that I actually didn't want to become a mother, because there was no way I'd ever be able to do it as well as she did.

Sometimes, not very often but every now and again, I still feel that way.

In as little words as possible I just want to say that my mother is now and always have been my champion, my hero, my first and best friend. She's said this before and I agree with her too, we've grown up together, in the most profound ways. Yes she had me at a rather young age...18, which hey by today's standards isn't so terribly young. But you know what's funny about that if unrelated. I used to (in my own morbid curiosity) look at obituaries of people, and I found to my surprise that way back in the day, people used to friggen get married at like 14! So just how far from tradition are 'the kids these days' anyway? Of course that's in no way some sort of endorsement for teenage pregnancy, i'm just stating some facts...

Anyway, can you just sense the shift in tones when talking about mom? Seriously, while I can pretty much sum up what I feel for my father in a few scraggly paragraphs, what I feel for mom, is almost too much for words. Seriously I feel like it's cheapened by words and truly offensive to her and to my soul to even try to capture everything that she is to me in this meager language that is English. The Eskimo probably have far better words for love than 'love' itself.

I guess that's why poets are so exalted when it comes to English, because they can dig deep and extract little nuggets of emotion through written word. Here's a particularly potent quote from a movie

" Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children."


And my baby just woke up! So, once again I am 'ever so blessedly' granted yet another chance to attempt being as good a mother as the one I was given. And here's to hoping I'm up to snuff.


I can't post all the storms we've weathered together here, but I love you mom! if reincarnation is real, I hope to win the lottery and land you as my mom again in the next life.