(via come correct)
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
My great-grandmother passed away last week. I took an impromptu trip to Savannah on Sunday and Monday for the viewing and funeral.
It was great seeing some family members I hadn't seen in nearly a decade, as well as some I'd just met for the first time about two months ago at my aunt's family reunion. My cousin who is the same age as me has a three year old daughter, and it was great to meet her and see them interact. My cousin who is two years younger than me and I interacted in a way that was just the same but different than when we were kids--we played a game together and watched a movie. When we were 14 and 12 (the last time we saw each other), this was Grand Theft Auto and Harry Potter. This time around it was chess on his iPhone and The Hunger Games. He didn't mention anything about it, but I heard through the family grapevine that he is going to be a father soon. This blows my mind.
But I think the most fascinating part of this whole experience is this:
Things I did not cry at: my great-grandmother's funeral.
Things I cried at: the sympathy card some of my coworkers got me because she passed.
...I'm not sure what this says about me as a person.
It was great seeing some family members I hadn't seen in nearly a decade, as well as some I'd just met for the first time about two months ago at my aunt's family reunion. My cousin who is the same age as me has a three year old daughter, and it was great to meet her and see them interact. My cousin who is two years younger than me and I interacted in a way that was just the same but different than when we were kids--we played a game together and watched a movie. When we were 14 and 12 (the last time we saw each other), this was Grand Theft Auto and Harry Potter. This time around it was chess on his iPhone and The Hunger Games. He didn't mention anything about it, but I heard through the family grapevine that he is going to be a father soon. This blows my mind.
But I think the most fascinating part of this whole experience is this:
Things I did not cry at: my great-grandmother's funeral.
Things I cried at: the sympathy card some of my coworkers got me because she passed.
...I'm not sure what this says about me as a person.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
"Cousin Maya"
Black folks call everybody "cousin". Haha okay, I'm exaggerating, but I've had such an interesting past two days that it's time for another post about what exactly constitutes family.
My uncle's wife and her parents came up to Maryland from Savannah, GA for a reunion on her mom's side of the family. My uncle wasn't able to come up with her, but she'd bought two tickets for everything, so she invited me to come out there with them and, not having any other plans for my Friday and Saturday, I agreed, though I wasn't exactly sure what I was getting myself into.
They picked me up after work on Friday and we went to...I'm not sure whose house, actually, to a fish fry. My aunt isn't even particularly close to this side of her family, because most of them live in the MD or NJ area and she was born and raised in the Savannah area. Of course, she didn't tell me this until we were getting out of the car and walking up to the house. So I quickly prepared myself for some awkwardness, but that was foolish--these people were the type to hug first, ask questions later. I lost count of how many people embraced me BEFORE stepping back to ask, "Do I know you?" I would smile and explain that they didn't, that Gwen's husband was my mom's brother and I live in DC so she invited me to come with her to the reunion. That generally prompted something along the lines of, "See? I knew we were related somehow!" or "I bet you didn't know you had so much family nearby!" It always prompted something (over)legitimizing the barely extant tie.
I didn't feel as awkwardly out of place in terms of age as I generally do with my own family. My 38-year-old aunt was the person I knew the best, so I spent a bit of time hanging out with her and the grown folks, talking jobs and cities and whatnot, but I spent some time hanging out with a bunch of adolescent girls and even some little kids too. There were games of musical chairs and numbers that people in every age bracket played.
On Saturday we went to Six Flags America. I began my day with my aunt, her brother, and his wife, and rode the log flume with her brother's wife, but at lunch I met up with the teenage girls. There were a bunch of them, aged 16 to 20, with one possibly being older. We rode a bunch of roller coasters together and split a funnel cake. As I was getting ready to leave, one of the girls who lives in MD stopped me to get my number, and saved it in her phone as "Cousin Maya". She'd known me for all of 18 hours, but already I was family. I was family to these people before they knew my name.
This reminds me of going to RG's aunt's house on the 4th of July and being told I was "family now," that I was welcome to come back whenever. That I was going to be invited to this upcoming event she was hosting...and the feeling of surprise when that invitation came shortly. He repeated that word when inviting me to dinner at his house sometime in the near future (an invitation his parents made earlier this month). And my surprise gave way to a feeling of humility and like I was being honored when I got another invitation from his aunt this evening, this time to attend his cousin's going-away-to-college party next weekend. That *feels* like a family event. I...feel like she meant it.
Family is the people who take you in, plain and simple. And you can find it in the most unexpected of situations. #lessonsIkeeplearningoverandoveragain
My uncle's wife and her parents came up to Maryland from Savannah, GA for a reunion on her mom's side of the family. My uncle wasn't able to come up with her, but she'd bought two tickets for everything, so she invited me to come out there with them and, not having any other plans for my Friday and Saturday, I agreed, though I wasn't exactly sure what I was getting myself into.
They picked me up after work on Friday and we went to...I'm not sure whose house, actually, to a fish fry. My aunt isn't even particularly close to this side of her family, because most of them live in the MD or NJ area and she was born and raised in the Savannah area. Of course, she didn't tell me this until we were getting out of the car and walking up to the house. So I quickly prepared myself for some awkwardness, but that was foolish--these people were the type to hug first, ask questions later. I lost count of how many people embraced me BEFORE stepping back to ask, "Do I know you?" I would smile and explain that they didn't, that Gwen's husband was my mom's brother and I live in DC so she invited me to come with her to the reunion. That generally prompted something along the lines of, "See? I knew we were related somehow!" or "I bet you didn't know you had so much family nearby!" It always prompted something (over)legitimizing the barely extant tie.
I didn't feel as awkwardly out of place in terms of age as I generally do with my own family. My 38-year-old aunt was the person I knew the best, so I spent a bit of time hanging out with her and the grown folks, talking jobs and cities and whatnot, but I spent some time hanging out with a bunch of adolescent girls and even some little kids too. There were games of musical chairs and numbers that people in every age bracket played.
On Saturday we went to Six Flags America. I began my day with my aunt, her brother, and his wife, and rode the log flume with her brother's wife, but at lunch I met up with the teenage girls. There were a bunch of them, aged 16 to 20, with one possibly being older. We rode a bunch of roller coasters together and split a funnel cake. As I was getting ready to leave, one of the girls who lives in MD stopped me to get my number, and saved it in her phone as "Cousin Maya". She'd known me for all of 18 hours, but already I was family. I was family to these people before they knew my name.
This reminds me of going to RG's aunt's house on the 4th of July and being told I was "family now," that I was welcome to come back whenever. That I was going to be invited to this upcoming event she was hosting...and the feeling of surprise when that invitation came shortly. He repeated that word when inviting me to dinner at his house sometime in the near future (an invitation his parents made earlier this month). And my surprise gave way to a feeling of humility and like I was being honored when I got another invitation from his aunt this evening, this time to attend his cousin's going-away-to-college party next weekend. That *feels* like a family event. I...feel like she meant it.
Family is the people who take you in, plain and simple. And you can find it in the most unexpected of situations. #lessonsIkeeplearningoverandoveragain
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Our first Mother's Day with cancer.
I'm glad that this post isn't called "Mother's Day from Room 302B" or something to that effect. My mother has been home from the hospital since Thursday, after going in for a planned stay on April 23rd.
Still, I was dreading calling her yesterday morning. As much as I miss(ed) her and want(ed) to talk to her, I knew that hearing her voice would hurt as much as it helped. Her voice...isn't hers. My mother's voice is strong and sassy. This is one of those times when Spanish makes more sense to me than English, because for 22 years of my life I've thought of the "is" in that sentence as a permanent kind of is, a this is how it always has been and this is how it always will be kind of is. A "ser" kind of is. Cancer taught me that "estar" can sneak up on you. La voz de mi mama estaba fuerte. Now, her voice is barely above a whisper. It is characterized only by its hoarseness. I feel bad asking her to repeat herself, because I know that the shortest of conversations is draining to her. It's draining to me too, because I don't know who this frail person on the other end of the phone is. Mi mama es una mujer de fuerza.
But the woman on the other end of the phone, who can barely muster the strength to thank me and ask about my exams, is my mother. I guess doing the impossible for 22 years can catch up to you. She's not invincible. (She's too young to not be invincible.) Forty-two and fragile just isn't fair.
On your first Mother's Day with cancer, tears spill out of your eyes after approximately two minutes of hearing your mother labor to speak with you, and you try with all of your might to keep her from hearing them. You use every bit of strength you have to keep your voice steady. When that strength begins to falter, you quickly tell her that she should get some rest and you'll talk to her soon. The heaving sobs come as soon as you push "End". You feel like a woman of despicable priorities for not being there, despite the impending deadlines, despite her telling you not to worry. You are ashamed of yourself. You are six years old and having a nightmare again, only this time it doesn't go away when you wake up. Before you can stop yourself, you wonder how many more Mother's Days you'll get to wish her. And the rest of the day feels impossible as you move your sobs from the bed to the shower. On your first Mother's Day with cancer, you wish you were sick one. You feel like being your mother took everything out of her. You wonder if anything will ever feel right again.
Still, I was dreading calling her yesterday morning. As much as I miss(ed) her and want(ed) to talk to her, I knew that hearing her voice would hurt as much as it helped. Her voice...isn't hers. My mother's voice is strong and sassy. This is one of those times when Spanish makes more sense to me than English, because for 22 years of my life I've thought of the "is" in that sentence as a permanent kind of is, a this is how it always has been and this is how it always will be kind of is. A "ser" kind of is. Cancer taught me that "estar" can sneak up on you. La voz de mi mama estaba fuerte. Now, her voice is barely above a whisper. It is characterized only by its hoarseness. I feel bad asking her to repeat herself, because I know that the shortest of conversations is draining to her. It's draining to me too, because I don't know who this frail person on the other end of the phone is. Mi mama es una mujer de fuerza.
But the woman on the other end of the phone, who can barely muster the strength to thank me and ask about my exams, is my mother. I guess doing the impossible for 22 years can catch up to you. She's not invincible. (She's too young to not be invincible.) Forty-two and fragile just isn't fair.
On your first Mother's Day with cancer, tears spill out of your eyes after approximately two minutes of hearing your mother labor to speak with you, and you try with all of your might to keep her from hearing them. You use every bit of strength you have to keep your voice steady. When that strength begins to falter, you quickly tell her that she should get some rest and you'll talk to her soon. The heaving sobs come as soon as you push "End". You feel like a woman of despicable priorities for not being there, despite the impending deadlines, despite her telling you not to worry. You are ashamed of yourself. You are six years old and having a nightmare again, only this time it doesn't go away when you wake up. Before you can stop yourself, you wonder how many more Mother's Days you'll get to wish her. And the rest of the day feels impossible as you move your sobs from the bed to the shower. On your first Mother's Day with cancer, you wish you were sick one. You feel like being your mother took everything out of her. You wonder if anything will ever feel right again.
Friday, April 27, 2012
My little sister turned 18 yesterday.
And I feel ancient. One of the weird things about going to college, or leaving home in general, I guess, is how while you're off growing and changing, it's really easy to forget that everyone you left back home is growing and changing too. When I started my freshman year, my brother and sister were 13 and 14, respectively. They were practically still little kids in my head: W was in 8th grade and A's first day of high school was about a week before I moved in. But now A's high school graduation is two days after my graduation from Princeton, and they're 17 and 18 as of a few hours ago.
Is it weird that knowing that I can remember all 18 years of A's life makes me feel older than simply being 22? Is it weird that her graduating high school almost feels weirder than me graduating college? I'm not ready for me to be an adult--how can she be one?
Is it weird that knowing that I can remember all 18 years of A's life makes me feel older than simply being 22? Is it weird that her graduating high school almost feels weirder than me graduating college? I'm not ready for me to be an adult--how can she be one?
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| Reblogged from Indie. Radiant. |
Friday, April 20, 2012
The hardest sound for me to stomach hearing
is that of my mother crying. Her voice starting to break into a sob while she's on the phone with me, asking for help in ways that I can tell make her feel inadequate. I was going to the bank to get money to pay for her gas so she could come see me today, because earlier in the week she'd said she didn't have the funds to make it to up this way and I wanted to see her before she went to the hospital. I didn't know how much it cost to fill her tank, so I called her this morning on the way to the ATM to ask, and she hesitantly asked if I had an abundance of cash in my account. I asked her what she needed, and she started to break down as she said she wanted to borrow some money to get groceries. I asked again, how much she needed. $100 if you have it. I just, all I have is $100 and I was sitting here looking in the kitchen and there's no food in the house and *voice breaks here* I didn't know how they we going to eat while I'm gone. Is $100 enough? Do you need more? She hesitates more, before saying that $150 would be even better. I shouldn't have to ask you for money, she says. I'll get it right back to you when I get paid on the 30th. I'll have Nana or somebody put it right back in your account. It's okay, I say. No, it's not, she counters.
I don't know how to tell her that it is okay. I don't know how to convey that I am disgusted by this life where I stood in front of my closet last night rifling through dresses I haven't worn yet to see which one I wanted to wear to a semiformal this weekend when my mother doesn't know how to put food on the table. I don't know how to convey that (even though I know this is why individual Black people can make money without ever generating wealth) I am willing to put the basic necessities of my family above most luxuries for myself if only they let me know. I don't want to be that person who gets grown and moves up and forgets about the struggle at home, but it's so easy to be out of sight out of mind when they don't tell me how bad it is until they can't handle it anymore.
...I don't know how to feel like a good person when I do things like drop $600 on a class ring and look for $1000+/month apartments in DC when my very ill mother doesn't know how to feed my brother and sister. I don't know if any of my own financial woes can be valid in the face of my struggling family. I don't want to feel like they're depending on me, but I want them to know and use the fact that they can count on me to help when I can. She loves the netbook I bought her, but when I compare purchases like that to purchases like these groceries, I feel like I'm showing my support wrong. I don't know how to listen to her voice break without wanting to give up every single extra thing I have so that she never has to feel like that again.
...I don't know if daughters are supposed to feel this way about their parents, like it's my job to make sure everything doesn't fall apart, but then again I suppose that's always been my job, so I should just accept it as it grows and develops as I move further into adulthood.
I don't know how to tell her that it is okay. I don't know how to convey that I am disgusted by this life where I stood in front of my closet last night rifling through dresses I haven't worn yet to see which one I wanted to wear to a semiformal this weekend when my mother doesn't know how to put food on the table. I don't know how to convey that (even though I know this is why individual Black people can make money without ever generating wealth) I am willing to put the basic necessities of my family above most luxuries for myself if only they let me know. I don't want to be that person who gets grown and moves up and forgets about the struggle at home, but it's so easy to be out of sight out of mind when they don't tell me how bad it is until they can't handle it anymore.
...I don't know how to feel like a good person when I do things like drop $600 on a class ring and look for $1000+/month apartments in DC when my very ill mother doesn't know how to feed my brother and sister. I don't know if any of my own financial woes can be valid in the face of my struggling family. I don't want to feel like they're depending on me, but I want them to know and use the fact that they can count on me to help when I can. She loves the netbook I bought her, but when I compare purchases like that to purchases like these groceries, I feel like I'm showing my support wrong. I don't know how to listen to her voice break without wanting to give up every single extra thing I have so that she never has to feel like that again.
...I don't know if daughters are supposed to feel this way about their parents, like it's my job to make sure everything doesn't fall apart, but then again I suppose that's always been my job, so I should just accept it as it grows and develops as I move further into adulthood.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Things that make me feel old:
My little sister's boyfriend coming over to meet the family. I'm no longer the only one whose relationships are subject to my mother's scrutiny.
This morning, my little sister needing help filling out her FAFSA. Realizing that I don't need to file a FAFSA this year because I won't be in school next year. (Graduation is imminent.)
Things that make me feel poor: mentioning the above sentiment to a friend over dinner, and him not sympathizing because he's never had to apply for financial aid.
Things that make me feel privileged: Being able to take things like financial aid for granted.
This morning, my little sister needing help filling out her FAFSA. Realizing that I don't need to file a FAFSA this year because I won't be in school next year. (Graduation is imminent.)
Things that make me feel poor: mentioning the above sentiment to a friend over dinner, and him not sympathizing because he's never had to apply for financial aid.
Things that make me feel privileged: Being able to take things like financial aid for granted.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
A conversation with my little brother:
who is 16, after he learned my Twitter handle:
W: Your Twitter name is @SuchanAFROholic?!?
Me: Yeah...so it matches my blog.
W: You have a BLOG?! My sister is a ...blogger?
Me: Yup! It'll be my two year blogging anniversary next week!
W: *looks at me quizzically* You've changed a lot since you started wearing your hair like that. (By "like that" he means in its 3c/4a kinky-curly natural texture, rather than fighting losing battles with flat irons and humidity on the daily.)
Me: This is me. I just finally started letting it show.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Decorating Alone, Or How Father Time Stole Christmas
I've been fighting them on this for a few years now, but ever since I left for college, my family has slowly but surely been boycotting Christmas. Well, "boycotting" may be a strong word...at the very least, they're rather disinterested. My mom dragged the dusty boxes of decorations up from the basement, but has left them sitting in the living room for weeks, bothering only to put a wreath on the front door. Her excuse is that I love putting decorations up, so they were "waiting for me." (Feel free to roll your eyes.) When I told my siblings I wanted to put the decorations up, their response was, "Why?!" My brother and sister also adamantly refuse to get a tree this year. They say there's no point. They didn't want one last year either, but I wore my mom down. As it's mere minutes from being December 21st, however, I think this year will be the first year of my life we don't journey to the Christmas tree farm to pick out and cut down our tree. The tradition is dead. My brother asked me what I wanted for Christmas via text, and my dad and I have lost all forms of surprise. I want to sneak out to Walmart tomorrow to get the ingredients to make Christmas cookies surprise the family when they come home from school on Friday, but somehow I just don't think they'd appreciate the time I took to mold each little piece. It seems there's no point in even hooking up the DVD player to watch Rudolph, Frosty, and The Year Without a Santa Claus; I'll watch them on my computer.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that my entire household is void of Christmas spirit, and no one cares but me. I went away to school and my family became Grinches! It's the middle of the night, and I'm sitting in my living room surrounded by garland that I wanted to wrap around the banisters, but I can't find the staple gun, and I'm a little PMSy, so I'm just wallowing in how useless it seems to decorate if I'm only decorating for myself.
What happened to my family? Once upon a time we started decorating the very first weekend of December. Christmas music was always playing throughout the house, and the tree was the featured object in the living room. It was always so big that we couldn't put the angel on the top because the top bent over against the ceiling already, and decorating it was an EVENT that the whole family had to be present for. We made what seemed like more cookies than we could possibly eat (though that never proved to be an issue). We left cookies and milk out for Santa, and reindeer treats for Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. Our lights outside were never particularly fancy, but they were bright, and made me feel warm and fuzzy inside when I came home at night. We all sat down to watch our Christmas movies together on VHS--the old Claymation Rudolph and The Year Without a Santa Claus movies, the animated Frosty, Charlie Brown Christmas, classics like The Preacher's Wife. Once upon a time, we were jolly.
And then we grew up and apart. My little sister is graduating from high school this year. My brother is a year younger than her. They're working on Christmas eve, for goodness sake! I can't speak for certain, but to the best of my understanding, after I left for college, there were individual rooms on individual floors of the house for every member of my family (we have a split-level house), and my family basically stopped regularly interacting throughout the day. We're not close anymore. No one has come out and directly said this, but it seems to me like everyone feels like the whole Christmas thing is too family-y for us to engage in. Like we outgrew it or something. WHO OUTGROWS CHRISTMAS?! It's the most wonderful time of the year!
I will admit that it gets harder to think of things to ask for for Christmas as I get older. Well, even when I was a kid, I was never the kind to have a Christmas list that went on for miles and miles. I never really asked for big things; I'd much prefer a collection of little things. I was the oldest, and I feel like I always knew Christmas was a struggle for my mom [and my ex-stepfather of whom I don't like to speak], so tried to not be much of a burden. My dad has always half-criticized and half-condemned me for never asking for anything, and not much has changed. Now, generally speaking, when I want/need something, I just buy it. But I do generally keep a wishlist, or more accurately, a list of things I haven't gotten around to purchasing for myself yet, that can be picked and chosen from for gift-giving occasions. I understand that maybe not everyone does this, but it can't be too hard to wrack your brain and go 'Oh, I could use...' or 'What would make my living space/wardrobe/morning routine/study habits/any-other-aspect-of-my-life better?'
And I love GIVING presents so much! I love scouring the internet for hours on end while I should be reading / doing my damn thesis, clicking the next button thoooouuuusands of times until I find THE PERFECT PRESENT when I'm surprising someone, or the best-rated-and-coolest-featured-in-a-particular-price-range of a specific thing I was asked for. I love wrapping it and that feeling of anticipation you get before the exchange. I love the shininess and the colors and the warmth in the midst of the cold that the season brings. I love getting to be a kid and an adult at the same time. I. love. Christmas. And I don't care what my family thinks; I WILL BE JOLLY!
...But what's the point of coming home for the holidays if you're the only person celebrating? What's Christmas without traditions, without joy, without spirit? No one ever wishes anyone an apathetic Christmas...
I guess what I'm trying to say is that my entire household is void of Christmas spirit, and no one cares but me. I went away to school and my family became Grinches! It's the middle of the night, and I'm sitting in my living room surrounded by garland that I wanted to wrap around the banisters, but I can't find the staple gun, and I'm a little PMSy, so I'm just wallowing in how useless it seems to decorate if I'm only decorating for myself.
What happened to my family? Once upon a time we started decorating the very first weekend of December. Christmas music was always playing throughout the house, and the tree was the featured object in the living room. It was always so big that we couldn't put the angel on the top because the top bent over against the ceiling already, and decorating it was an EVENT that the whole family had to be present for. We made what seemed like more cookies than we could possibly eat (though that never proved to be an issue). We left cookies and milk out for Santa, and reindeer treats for Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. Our lights outside were never particularly fancy, but they were bright, and made me feel warm and fuzzy inside when I came home at night. We all sat down to watch our Christmas movies together on VHS--the old Claymation Rudolph and The Year Without a Santa Claus movies, the animated Frosty, Charlie Brown Christmas, classics like The Preacher's Wife. Once upon a time, we were jolly.
And then we grew up and apart. My little sister is graduating from high school this year. My brother is a year younger than her. They're working on Christmas eve, for goodness sake! I can't speak for certain, but to the best of my understanding, after I left for college, there were individual rooms on individual floors of the house for every member of my family (we have a split-level house), and my family basically stopped regularly interacting throughout the day. We're not close anymore. No one has come out and directly said this, but it seems to me like everyone feels like the whole Christmas thing is too family-y for us to engage in. Like we outgrew it or something. WHO OUTGROWS CHRISTMAS?! It's the most wonderful time of the year!
I will admit that it gets harder to think of things to ask for for Christmas as I get older. Well, even when I was a kid, I was never the kind to have a Christmas list that went on for miles and miles. I never really asked for big things; I'd much prefer a collection of little things. I was the oldest, and I feel like I always knew Christmas was a struggle for my mom [and my ex-stepfather of whom I don't like to speak], so tried to not be much of a burden. My dad has always half-criticized and half-condemned me for never asking for anything, and not much has changed. Now, generally speaking, when I want/need something, I just buy it. But I do generally keep a wishlist, or more accurately, a list of things I haven't gotten around to purchasing for myself yet, that can be picked and chosen from for gift-giving occasions. I understand that maybe not everyone does this, but it can't be too hard to wrack your brain and go 'Oh, I could use...' or 'What would make my living space/wardrobe/morning routine/study habits/any-other-aspect-of-my-life better?'
And I love GIVING presents so much! I love scouring the internet for hours on end while I should be reading / doing my damn thesis, clicking the next button thoooouuuusands of times until I find THE PERFECT PRESENT when I'm surprising someone, or the best-rated-and-coolest-featured-in-a-particular-price-range of a specific thing I was asked for. I love wrapping it and that feeling of anticipation you get before the exchange. I love the shininess and the colors and the warmth in the midst of the cold that the season brings. I love getting to be a kid and an adult at the same time. I. love. Christmas. And I don't care what my family thinks; I WILL BE JOLLY!
...But what's the point of coming home for the holidays if you're the only person celebrating? What's Christmas without traditions, without joy, without spirit? No one ever wishes anyone an apathetic Christmas...
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Fish and Grits
I love fish. I love grits. I have for as long as I can remember. And for as long as I can remember, I have been conceptually aware of the fact that Black Southern people tend to eat these two beloved foods of mine together as a meal of sorts, but I had never actually witnessed or experienced it. Mayyyyyybe once when I was a kid and too young to appreciate the diversity of food experiences I had in Georgia, but that's besides the point. To the best of my knowledge and understanding, yesterday morning I had fish, grits, and homemade biscuits for breakfast for the first time.
And I think fish and grits and homemade biscuits is a good place from which to start examining my relationship with my extended family. I know that they exist. I know things about them. I have encountered them in bits and pieces over the years without any strongly averse reactions. But generally, I have a tendency to be...ambivalent about my family most of the time, though that can shift to downright negative whenever my mom/brother/sister is getting on my nerves. But the truth of the matter is I just don't really KNOW my family. I have always lived with my mom and my younger [half-] brother and sister, but sometimes I still struggle to feel...intimate with them. And my extended family? I don't really feel like I have personal connections with them at all most of the time.
Okay. Slight interruption for some backstory: my close family (i.e. mom, brother, sister, Nana, my mom's younger sister, and cousin) took a whirlwind roadtrip to Georgia this weekend because my mom's oldest sister was in the hospital having non-invasive but still pretty damn serious surgery. Despite being the oldest of the three girls my grandmother had and living in Savannah and not really seeing us but once every other year or so, she's somehow the sibling of my mother's to whom I feel the closest, and so I changed all of my plans about when I was coming home for break and what work I was doing when and the additional hours I wanted to make at work to get some extra holiday cash and came home early to make this gargantuan trek with my family. It was a 54-hour trip, in total, and we spent at least 37 hours of it on the road, but I think all of the adults involved would say it was worth it.
I'm just trying to figure out whether I count myself among that crowd. I'm really glad we got to be there to get my aunt back home and settled in after her operation. I'm sure that she knew she was loved, which is a wonderful feeling at any time. It was good to see my other uncle and aunt, who I hadn't seen in a good 7 years, and they fed us well. I got to see my (not-really-) great-grandmother, who had a stroke earlier this year but is doing incredibly well for 91, and I know that she was incredibly pleased to see us. Then we visited a paternal cousin of my mom's who evidently hadn't seen me since I was a toddler and didn't know my brother and sister at all, and then we trekked to the BACKWOODS to see my grandmother's sister, her family, and my actual great-grandmother, whom I hadn't seen since I was 9. After praising Jesus three times in the first five minutes of our visit and openly complaining about his son who recently married his fourth wife, an "ugly, look like she got rolled around in the mud cracker"--I kid you not--my great-uncle asked about school and he and my great aunt both separately said how proud they were of me, and maybe this is rude to say, but it all just felt like such a facade.
I don't know my extended family. We are strangers to one another, strangers who were raised with enough common decency to be polite to one another when we meet, but strangers nonetheless. I was unnaturally quiet around my extended family this weekend, because I just have no idea who they expect me to be. But it has come to my attention that I never quite give "myself" the chance to be who they expect. I kind of give them no one instead, and that just isn't quite fair to anyone.
And I think fish and grits and homemade biscuits is a good place from which to start examining my relationship with my extended family. I know that they exist. I know things about them. I have encountered them in bits and pieces over the years without any strongly averse reactions. But generally, I have a tendency to be...ambivalent about my family most of the time, though that can shift to downright negative whenever my mom/brother/sister is getting on my nerves. But the truth of the matter is I just don't really KNOW my family. I have always lived with my mom and my younger [half-] brother and sister, but sometimes I still struggle to feel...intimate with them. And my extended family? I don't really feel like I have personal connections with them at all most of the time.
Okay. Slight interruption for some backstory: my close family (i.e. mom, brother, sister, Nana, my mom's younger sister, and cousin) took a whirlwind roadtrip to Georgia this weekend because my mom's oldest sister was in the hospital having non-invasive but still pretty damn serious surgery. Despite being the oldest of the three girls my grandmother had and living in Savannah and not really seeing us but once every other year or so, she's somehow the sibling of my mother's to whom I feel the closest, and so I changed all of my plans about when I was coming home for break and what work I was doing when and the additional hours I wanted to make at work to get some extra holiday cash and came home early to make this gargantuan trek with my family. It was a 54-hour trip, in total, and we spent at least 37 hours of it on the road, but I think all of the adults involved would say it was worth it.
I'm just trying to figure out whether I count myself among that crowd. I'm really glad we got to be there to get my aunt back home and settled in after her operation. I'm sure that she knew she was loved, which is a wonderful feeling at any time. It was good to see my other uncle and aunt, who I hadn't seen in a good 7 years, and they fed us well. I got to see my (not-really-) great-grandmother, who had a stroke earlier this year but is doing incredibly well for 91, and I know that she was incredibly pleased to see us. Then we visited a paternal cousin of my mom's who evidently hadn't seen me since I was a toddler and didn't know my brother and sister at all, and then we trekked to the BACKWOODS to see my grandmother's sister, her family, and my actual great-grandmother, whom I hadn't seen since I was 9. After praising Jesus three times in the first five minutes of our visit and openly complaining about his son who recently married his fourth wife, an "ugly, look like she got rolled around in the mud cracker"--I kid you not--my great-uncle asked about school and he and my great aunt both separately said how proud they were of me, and maybe this is rude to say, but it all just felt like such a facade.
I don't know my extended family. We are strangers to one another, strangers who were raised with enough common decency to be polite to one another when we meet, but strangers nonetheless. I was unnaturally quiet around my extended family this weekend, because I just have no idea who they expect me to be. But it has come to my attention that I never quite give "myself" the chance to be who they expect. I kind of give them no one instead, and that just isn't quite fair to anyone.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The most ominous words your mother can say...
...change as we get older. When we are children, "No" is the most ominous word that can come out of your mother's mouth. As we get slightly older, "We'll see," takes on that connotation (because it means your-ass-knows-the-answer-is-no-and-now-I'm-annoyed-that-you-put-me-in-this-situation-where-I-can't-tell-you-no-publicly-because-of-the-company-we're-in). Then comes "I need you to...", which is quickly followed by "How much money do you have?"
I thought I was going to stay somewhat begrudgingly in that last stage for a good long while. I was wrong. All of a sudden, I have entered the worst of stages, that I wasn't expecting to hit for years and years, given the fact that my mother is 10 days shy of her 42nd birthday. If The Most Ominous Words Your Mother Can Say was a video game, this would be the final boss battle.
To the best of my memory, today was only the third time I have ever seen my mother cry outside of the context of a sad movie. It is the second time I can remember her voice cracking while she was speaking to me because of the overwhelming emotion. It is the only time I can remember her admitting she is afraid. It is the only time since I was small enough to need to hold someone's hand when crossing the street that she has allowed me to touch her and hold on.
This conversation began with her asking me to get in the car. I could tell something was up by the tone of her voice, so as I was opening the car door, I started asking what was wrong. When she says the next thing she says, you think the most ominous words your mother can say are, "I'm sick." Then she gets more specific, and you learn you are wrong again.
The not talking may drive me crazy, but she didn't need to ask me to not speak of this for me to know I can't. I can't tell my best friends. I can't even tell my dad. She has asked me not to spend more time at home than I was planning to. She has asked me not to call her everyday or do anything out of the ordinary. She considered not even telling me because she didn't want to taint my senior year, and has asked me to party tonight and carve pumpkins tomorrow and live my life without being constantly overwhelmed by fear and worry. This is a tall order. I am more afraid than I have ever been of anything in the entirety of my life.
After she left, she texted me with one simple word. Smile.
And so I'm going to try to, because my mother told me to. I'm going to try to smile as much as when I first started dating my ex and everyone told me how happy I looked. I'm going to test the black-don't-crack theory with the potential for laugh lines I'm going to create. People are going to think I'm on some shit when thesis gets real and I'm just beaming away.
But don't hold your breath waiting for me to say I'm surviving without any tears.
I thought I was going to stay somewhat begrudgingly in that last stage for a good long while. I was wrong. All of a sudden, I have entered the worst of stages, that I wasn't expecting to hit for years and years, given the fact that my mother is 10 days shy of her 42nd birthday. If The Most Ominous Words Your Mother Can Say was a video game, this would be the final boss battle.
To the best of my memory, today was only the third time I have ever seen my mother cry outside of the context of a sad movie. It is the second time I can remember her voice cracking while she was speaking to me because of the overwhelming emotion. It is the only time I can remember her admitting she is afraid. It is the only time since I was small enough to need to hold someone's hand when crossing the street that she has allowed me to touch her and hold on.
This conversation began with her asking me to get in the car. I could tell something was up by the tone of her voice, so as I was opening the car door, I started asking what was wrong. When she says the next thing she says, you think the most ominous words your mother can say are, "I'm sick." Then she gets more specific, and you learn you are wrong again.
The not talking may drive me crazy, but she didn't need to ask me to not speak of this for me to know I can't. I can't tell my best friends. I can't even tell my dad. She has asked me not to spend more time at home than I was planning to. She has asked me not to call her everyday or do anything out of the ordinary. She considered not even telling me because she didn't want to taint my senior year, and has asked me to party tonight and carve pumpkins tomorrow and live my life without being constantly overwhelmed by fear and worry. This is a tall order. I am more afraid than I have ever been of anything in the entirety of my life.
After she left, she texted me with one simple word. Smile.
And so I'm going to try to, because my mother told me to. I'm going to try to smile as much as when I first started dating my ex and everyone told me how happy I looked. I'm going to test the black-don't-crack theory with the potential for laugh lines I'm going to create. People are going to think I'm on some shit when thesis gets real and I'm just beaming away.
But don't hold your breath waiting for me to say I'm surviving without any tears.
Friday, September 2, 2011
MY FUTURE LIFE
IS THIS RIGHT HERE. (I'm sure you can guess which one I'm talking about.)
They say a child is the best million dollars you'll ever spend. I can think of a lot more fun things to do with a million dollars...
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| Reblogged from xkcd |
Saturday, August 27, 2011
It's weird how certain situations can bring your family back together again
And make you feel like, well, a family again, as opposed to two teenagers, a twenty-something, and a somewhat responsible for the rest of us woman who can't believe she's going so grey already at 41.
Two such incidents have happened in as many days. First: I went to the beach yesterday morning with my grandmother, my cousin, my mom, and my sister (my brother was volunteering at the high school for freshman orientation because evidently he's a mentor? my brother? my brother who failed a marking period of honors bio? *is confused but pleased*). I hadn't seen my grandmother in quite some time, since January in fact--she was out of town when I came home for two days of Spring Break, and I somehow didn't make it out to see her when I was home at the beginning of the summer. She pulled me into the tightest, longest hug and I was reminded that I am missed. Then I walked into her house to discover that my 13 year old cousin had grown quite a few inches, and his voice had changed, and I felt like I'd been gone for too long. Then I got into the water at the beach, and called out for my sister to join me, and she did. All the fussing and fighting that A and I do was eradicated. There was splashing and swimming and floating and piggy-back-riding. I remembered what it felt like to have a sister.
And then right now, Greg is asleep upstairs in my mom's bed. He had barely opened the door when I ran down the stairs and spread my arms wide and we shared a hug just as tight as that between my grandmother and I yesterday. I'm pretty sure our hug was longer than my mom's. Then he put his hands in my hair and called me "Afro Thunder". And my brother and sister came downstairs from their rooms and spent nearly three hours with us, the whole family together in the living room talking and laughing and reminiscing about the good times the five of us have shared over the years. Disregarding all the "Wowwwwwww x-thing has changed in y-way" statements, it was like the last two years never happened. Him being here feels so right. My anxiety has been [temporarily] replaced by the simplest of joys--I am surrounded by people I love and who love me.
Two such incidents have happened in as many days. First: I went to the beach yesterday morning with my grandmother, my cousin, my mom, and my sister (my brother was volunteering at the high school for freshman orientation because evidently he's a mentor? my brother? my brother who failed a marking period of honors bio? *is confused but pleased*). I hadn't seen my grandmother in quite some time, since January in fact--she was out of town when I came home for two days of Spring Break, and I somehow didn't make it out to see her when I was home at the beginning of the summer. She pulled me into the tightest, longest hug and I was reminded that I am missed. Then I walked into her house to discover that my 13 year old cousin had grown quite a few inches, and his voice had changed, and I felt like I'd been gone for too long. Then I got into the water at the beach, and called out for my sister to join me, and she did. All the fussing and fighting that A and I do was eradicated. There was splashing and swimming and floating and piggy-back-riding. I remembered what it felt like to have a sister.
And then right now, Greg is asleep upstairs in my mom's bed. He had barely opened the door when I ran down the stairs and spread my arms wide and we shared a hug just as tight as that between my grandmother and I yesterday. I'm pretty sure our hug was longer than my mom's. Then he put his hands in my hair and called me "Afro Thunder". And my brother and sister came downstairs from their rooms and spent nearly three hours with us, the whole family together in the living room talking and laughing and reminiscing about the good times the five of us have shared over the years. Disregarding all the "Wowwwwwww x-thing has changed in y-way" statements, it was like the last two years never happened. Him being here feels so right. My anxiety has been [temporarily] replaced by the simplest of joys--I am surrounded by people I love and who love me.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Another conversation-with-E-inspired realization:
The women in my family--as far as I can tell, all of them, with the exception of yours truly--are generally incredibly emotionally unavailable. This is also known as being "strong," and is unfortunately oftentimes considered synonymous with simply being a Black woman. We take shit and keep it movin, right? We have to keep it together for everyone else's benefits...oftentimes ignoring our own needs.
This wasn't a radical realization. I knew this, at least about my mother and younger sister, I just hadn't ever managed to put that label on it. I could say that my mom and I don't know how to "talk"--we can chitchat, and we can argue, but we can't have real conversations. We don't deal with emotions like "scared" or "hurt"--we can manage worry and reassurances neither of us probably really believe, but that's about as deep as it can go. To the best of my knowledge, I have seen my mother cry twice in 21 years of life. We didn't start regularly saying we loved each other until I left for college. I've only heard her say the word "proud" in relation to me once. My sister...won't be Facebook friends with me. Getting her to eat dinner with us on one of the rare nights my mother, brother, and I all sit at the same table is like pulling teeth. I try to give her hugs when I come home and she tells me to get off of her.
Another thing to add to the list of reasons why I can't actually be a member of my family and must have been switched at birth is the fact that I am generally ruled by my emotions. We've talked about this. But when I go home, I feel like the only emotions surrounding me are mine. It's kind of oppressive. It's not NORMAL--at least, I hope for the sake of humanity it's not normative. Try as they did to teach me, I never learned to live with my game-face on. It makes me uncomfortable. Just like feeling like I'm being judged for caring makes me uncomfortable. This is just reason # next that I feel like I can't really be myself around my family. And it's nice to be able to verbalize it finally, but it would be nicer to be able to change it.
This wasn't a radical realization. I knew this, at least about my mother and younger sister, I just hadn't ever managed to put that label on it. I could say that my mom and I don't know how to "talk"--we can chitchat, and we can argue, but we can't have real conversations. We don't deal with emotions like "scared" or "hurt"--we can manage worry and reassurances neither of us probably really believe, but that's about as deep as it can go. To the best of my knowledge, I have seen my mother cry twice in 21 years of life. We didn't start regularly saying we loved each other until I left for college. I've only heard her say the word "proud" in relation to me once. My sister...won't be Facebook friends with me. Getting her to eat dinner with us on one of the rare nights my mother, brother, and I all sit at the same table is like pulling teeth. I try to give her hugs when I come home and she tells me to get off of her.
Another thing to add to the list of reasons why I can't actually be a member of my family and must have been switched at birth is the fact that I am generally ruled by my emotions. We've talked about this. But when I go home, I feel like the only emotions surrounding me are mine. It's kind of oppressive. It's not NORMAL--at least, I hope for the sake of humanity it's not normative. Try as they did to teach me, I never learned to live with my game-face on. It makes me uncomfortable. Just like feeling like I'm being judged for caring makes me uncomfortable. This is just reason # next that I feel like I can't really be myself around my family. And it's nice to be able to verbalize it finally, but it would be nicer to be able to change it.
Monday, August 1, 2011
My little babies are all grown up!!
My little brother and sister crossed an important threshold yesterday evening. They went to orientation at their very first jobs, becoming working people for the first time. They applied together off a tip from a mutual friend, got hired together, and soon they will each don versions of this hat:
and start making french fries or flipping burgers or taking people's orders or whatever it is they'll do.
This confirms it, ladies and gents, the kids aren't kids anymore. They are now full-fledged working teenagers who will have to start paying taxes and, if my mother is still my mother, buying their own clothes, lunches, etc. I've known that they were on the job hunt for a while, but I guess I didn't really expect anything to come of it. Maybe for my sister, she's older and more mature. But my brother, despite being sixteen, sometimes acts like he's still ten or so. [Then again, no matter how old we get, I suppose all of us still occasionally act like we're ten or so. Hence the whole saying, "Act your age, not your shoe size," right? Haha, I remember when I was in fourth grade, my age and my shoe size were the same number and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. Anyway.] I suppose it's time to accept the fact that they're almost grown now.
It's really weird how people just keep getting older when you're not around them. Time just keeps passing and doesn't give a damn that you're missing it, you know? When I left for school, they were 13 and 14, just barely getting settled into being teenagers. My sister had been in high school for about two weeks. And now the fact that she's about to be a senior in high school freaks me out almost as much as the fact that I'm about to be a senior in college. Part of me wants to say she's not old enough to be a senior, just like part of me wants to say they're not old enough for jobs. But they are. They keep growing and developing without my guidance and have become full-grown people in my absence.
I try to be the voice of reason when they're doing stupid shit. I try to talk to them about things during the short bursts of time that I am home. But I have to accept that the era of me really directly influencing much in their daily lives is over. They are who they are. I'm not going to stop advising, but I am going to stop acting like they have to listen to me.
I think this job will be good for them, though, because they will have a BOSS. My little sister is prone to thinking she is the boss in every situation, because she's a bitch and she can be real violent. But now she will have someone she has to answer to; they both will. They will both have clearly delineated responsibilities and tasks that they will be punished if they don't complete well. They will have to work together and be a team without fussing and fighting. I'm hoping they'll even interact with some lifetime McDonalds employees like I interacted with lifetime Wawa employees and understand why I push them so hard in school. Anyway, I think having a job will simultaneously make them feel grown up and remind them that they are not, in fact, grown, and I think that combination is a good thing for them. I'll never forget the feeling of that first paycheck (they need bank accounts) and buying the first thing that I earned; I'm excited for them to have that. If they pull this off and stay working people, I'll be really proud.
I can't wait to go visit them at work when I get home and bug them. It's going to be great.
This confirms it, ladies and gents, the kids aren't kids anymore. They are now full-fledged working teenagers who will have to start paying taxes and, if my mother is still my mother, buying their own clothes, lunches, etc. I've known that they were on the job hunt for a while, but I guess I didn't really expect anything to come of it. Maybe for my sister, she's older and more mature. But my brother, despite being sixteen, sometimes acts like he's still ten or so. [Then again, no matter how old we get, I suppose all of us still occasionally act like we're ten or so. Hence the whole saying, "Act your age, not your shoe size," right? Haha, I remember when I was in fourth grade, my age and my shoe size were the same number and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. Anyway.] I suppose it's time to accept the fact that they're almost grown now.
It's really weird how people just keep getting older when you're not around them. Time just keeps passing and doesn't give a damn that you're missing it, you know? When I left for school, they were 13 and 14, just barely getting settled into being teenagers. My sister had been in high school for about two weeks. And now the fact that she's about to be a senior in high school freaks me out almost as much as the fact that I'm about to be a senior in college. Part of me wants to say she's not old enough to be a senior, just like part of me wants to say they're not old enough for jobs. But they are. They keep growing and developing without my guidance and have become full-grown people in my absence.
I try to be the voice of reason when they're doing stupid shit. I try to talk to them about things during the short bursts of time that I am home. But I have to accept that the era of me really directly influencing much in their daily lives is over. They are who they are. I'm not going to stop advising, but I am going to stop acting like they have to listen to me.
I think this job will be good for them, though, because they will have a BOSS. My little sister is prone to thinking she is the boss in every situation, because she's a bitch and she can be real violent. But now she will have someone she has to answer to; they both will. They will both have clearly delineated responsibilities and tasks that they will be punished if they don't complete well. They will have to work together and be a team without fussing and fighting. I'm hoping they'll even interact with some lifetime McDonalds employees like I interacted with lifetime Wawa employees and understand why I push them so hard in school. Anyway, I think having a job will simultaneously make them feel grown up and remind them that they are not, in fact, grown, and I think that combination is a good thing for them. I'll never forget the feeling of that first paycheck (they need bank accounts) and buying the first thing that I earned; I'm excited for them to have that. If they pull this off and stay working people, I'll be really proud.
I can't wait to go visit them at work when I get home and bug them. It's going to be great.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Happy Tears
It's not hard for something to bring a smile to my face. It takes a lot more finesse, though, to bring one from so deep within me that it brings tears to my eyes. It takes a lot of love to feel a warmth so strong I have to let it out of me like that.
I got a text message while I was on the Dinky on my way home tonight. I was expecting it to be that guy I've been talking to. So imagine my shock/surprise/rush-of-joy when, instead of being him, it was GREG!!!!! Out of the blue! [Those of you don't instantly make the connection with the name, click here.]
He just texted me to ask how I was doing. He asked about school and the summer and reminded me that if I ever need anything, he's there for me.
And you know, with a lot of people, statements like those should be taken lightly. They don't really mean much, they're just things you say to people you once had some sort of substantive protector-protected relationship with. From someone you felt cozy and safe with even in the middle of the most heated debates. From someone whose arms and scratchy stubble still feel like home. From someone who made you feel valued and respected as an adult, on a we-are-equals level, before anyone was supposed to. From someone who teased your 8th-grade-dinner-dance date and tormented your first boyfriend. From someone you would have given the world to call Daddy.
It's strange how I've managed to compartmentalize how much losing him hurt me. My sister and I were more depressed than my mom about their breakup. I remember sitting on the shore at the beach with my friends and hearing the news (via text message or voicemail or something) and totally shutting down, just crying and not having any fun at all. I remember my sister and I commiserating up in our room alone for weeks, not wanting to push a sore issue by revealing our sadness to the rest of our family. But now it has progressed to the point where I rarely even think about him, unless something triggers a memory--thenmissing him feeling emotionally heavy about him overtakes me like a big wave in the ocean, tossing me around like I'm weightless. I can't really call it missing him, because this feeling isn't primarily one of sadness; I get taken back to all the wonderful things he did for me and all the ways he made me feel and while not having that anymore does hurt, all the beauty of it is what remains.
My mom was always worried that our relationship was too close for the not-actually-stepfather-daughter thing we unofficially had going. Given that my only other stepfather-daughter relationship was with The Spawn of Satan, I can't really comment on that--I can only say that this FELT the most like what I imagined a normal father-daughter relationship would be like. In a way TSoS never managed in 9 years [longer, really], I felt that I was undeniably his and he was undeniably mine even if we didn't have fancy official titles in each other's lives. I understood what it was supposed to mean to be a daughter. I wanted him at events in a way I hadn't wanted my mother since I was a little girl and had never experienced having my father at.I wanted Part of me still wants my father-daughter dance at my wedding to be with him. I read him my poems and he listened. I talked/argued with him and he listened. He tried to teach me things and I let him.
It means so much to me to know that he still cares. I mean, who does that? Who keeps in touch with their ex-girlfriend's daughter two years post-breakup? [At the end, I think he and I were closer than he and my mom were.] Who continue to gives love and concern and a desire to protect long after it's not socially warranted? Someone who loved me as much as I loved him. Hold on, make those present tense. Someone who recognizes that the family you choose is the family you will never lose. Someone who came into your life for a reason. Someone who MATTERS.
I don't even have any pictures of the two of us. Part of me very strongly wants to meet him for dinner and/or drinks when I go home, just so I can experience being around him again. I want to whoop his ass in Scrabble again. He and my mom have been friendly recently...they might not be good for each other, but I will always have my fingers crossed that their hanging out might someday lead to our hanging out.
I got a text message while I was on the Dinky on my way home tonight. I was expecting it to be that guy I've been talking to. So imagine my shock/surprise/rush-of-joy when, instead of being him, it was GREG!!!!! Out of the blue! [Those of you don't instantly make the connection with the name, click here.]
He just texted me to ask how I was doing. He asked about school and the summer and reminded me that if I ever need anything, he's there for me.
And you know, with a lot of people, statements like those should be taken lightly. They don't really mean much, they're just things you say to people you once had some sort of substantive protector-protected relationship with. From someone you felt cozy and safe with even in the middle of the most heated debates. From someone whose arms and scratchy stubble still feel like home. From someone who made you feel valued and respected as an adult, on a we-are-equals level, before anyone was supposed to. From someone who teased your 8th-grade-dinner-dance date and tormented your first boyfriend. From someone you would have given the world to call Daddy.
It's strange how I've managed to compartmentalize how much losing him hurt me. My sister and I were more depressed than my mom about their breakup. I remember sitting on the shore at the beach with my friends and hearing the news (via text message or voicemail or something) and totally shutting down, just crying and not having any fun at all. I remember my sister and I commiserating up in our room alone for weeks, not wanting to push a sore issue by revealing our sadness to the rest of our family. But now it has progressed to the point where I rarely even think about him, unless something triggers a memory--then
My mom was always worried that our relationship was too close for the not-actually-stepfather-daughter thing we unofficially had going. Given that my only other stepfather-daughter relationship was with The Spawn of Satan, I can't really comment on that--I can only say that this FELT the most like what I imagined a normal father-daughter relationship would be like. In a way TSoS never managed in 9 years [longer, really], I felt that I was undeniably his and he was undeniably mine even if we didn't have fancy official titles in each other's lives. I understood what it was supposed to mean to be a daughter. I wanted him at events in a way I hadn't wanted my mother since I was a little girl and had never experienced having my father at.
It means so much to me to know that he still cares. I mean, who does that? Who keeps in touch with their ex-girlfriend's daughter two years post-breakup? [At the end, I think he and I were closer than he and my mom were.] Who continue to gives love and concern and a desire to protect long after it's not socially warranted? Someone who loved me as much as I loved him. Hold on, make those present tense. Someone who recognizes that the family you choose is the family you will never lose. Someone who came into your life for a reason. Someone who MATTERS.
I don't even have any pictures of the two of us. Part of me very strongly wants to meet him for dinner and/or drinks when I go home, just so I can experience being around him again. I want to whoop his ass in Scrabble again. He and my mom have been friendly recently...they might not be good for each other, but I will always have my fingers crossed that their hanging out might someday lead to our hanging out.
Friday, July 8, 2011
2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 21--Letter to Something/Someone You've Outgrown
Dear Unwillingness-to-talk-to-my-father-about-anything-remotely-personal,
I'm surprised by how excited I am that I've gotten past you. This didn't happen through the normal outgrowth process of making a conscious decision to change something I don't like about my life, working diligently, getting frustrated that I'm not seeing progress, calming myself down and saying I think I can, I think I can until it was done. I don't know if I even realized I wanted to until by world was so thoroughly turned upside down that it just...happened. He called me that night, approximately 12 hours after it had all gone down, as I was leaving K's courtyard, and after initial consoling I-just-wish-bad-things-never-had-to-happen-to-you-because-you're-such-a-good-person and other protective Daddy-type things, he asked me if I wanted to talk about it. And I hesitated, but then said okay, and was taken a little aback by my own answer. I could tell he was started too. But then we...talked.
My dad and I have an...interesting relationship. We haven't lived under the same roof since I was an infant, and until I was 9 years old we saw each other once a week (sometimes twice if I was lucky). When my family moved from Mays Landing to Pleasantville for a year, he even moved to Pleasantville too, so as to not be too far from me. He was my reprieve from a far-too-troubled-for-any-9-year-old-to-have-to-deal-with life at home, my Superman, and my very best friend. And then he up and moved to Detroit after the Sands casino closed, and I felt so very alone in the world. For the first few years, I tried really hard to make it work. We talked on the phone every couple days, and I was really diligent about trying to fill him in on every little detail of my life. And then we had what I guess can be called our first falling out the week of my thirteenth birthday; he was supposed to fly back to New Jersey to visit me, the first time he'd have been home since he moved, but then his stupid girlfriend broke her stupid ankle and he stayed to take care of her. I resented him for it, and hated her. And I made the decision then to start weaning him from the intimate details of my life...I had a phone-Daddy, not a real live father who deserved that kind of information. Then my mother had the brilliant idea of sending me to spend 8 weeks with my father the summer before my freshman year of high school. He suddenly tried to start being my parent, rather than my buddy, and let's just say rebellious teenager Maya wasn't having it. We got into a huge fight and didn't speak for the last week and a half of my stay with him...or for about 4 months later. Afterwards, I became polite and cordial and called him approximately once a week out of a sense of duty. We finally talked about all of this sometime during my sophomore year of college, and he asked how he could fix things. I was...skeptical that things could be fixed.
But then they magically just, were. I didn't tell him everything, but I opened up to him more than I have in the past decade. I spoke to him freely about my life and who said what when and why it mattered. I explained to him why I felt so wronged--he had trouble understanding why it was such a big deal...men, lol. He listened to me when I was angry and he listened to me when I was sad and he was just there for me, saying encouraging things. He even offered to fly me down to visit him in Florida for a few days if I needed to get away from Princeton and "the memories". I felt like a little girl with a Daddy again...or maybe finally like a grown woman with a father she can rely on. Either way, it was a wonderful feeling. Especially when my mom wouldn't talk about it. He said on his mind all day while he was at work was me, and how I was holding up at work, and how I was going to get through this. He was so concerned about me. He loves me so much; I don't know how I ever forgot that.
So good riddance, unwillingness. I'm glad you're gone. I can't believe I let you stay in my life for as long as I did. My dad deserves better than you. He deserves me.
Maya
PS: I complained to some friends last week about how the ability of a person to come into your life, turn it upside down, and then leave and turn it upside down again without everything falling back into its original place was one of life's biggest injustices. But now I see that there is some beauty in this. Sometimes you have to be forced into changing the things that deserve changing the most.
I'm surprised by how excited I am that I've gotten past you. This didn't happen through the normal outgrowth process of making a conscious decision to change something I don't like about my life, working diligently, getting frustrated that I'm not seeing progress, calming myself down and saying I think I can, I think I can until it was done. I don't know if I even realized I wanted to until by world was so thoroughly turned upside down that it just...happened. He called me that night, approximately 12 hours after it had all gone down, as I was leaving K's courtyard, and after initial consoling I-just-wish-bad-things-never-had-to-happen-to-you-because-you're-such-a-good-person and other protective Daddy-type things, he asked me if I wanted to talk about it. And I hesitated, but then said okay, and was taken a little aback by my own answer. I could tell he was started too. But then we...talked.
My dad and I have an...interesting relationship. We haven't lived under the same roof since I was an infant, and until I was 9 years old we saw each other once a week (sometimes twice if I was lucky). When my family moved from Mays Landing to Pleasantville for a year, he even moved to Pleasantville too, so as to not be too far from me. He was my reprieve from a far-too-troubled-for-any-9-year-old-to-have-to-deal-with life at home, my Superman, and my very best friend. And then he up and moved to Detroit after the Sands casino closed, and I felt so very alone in the world. For the first few years, I tried really hard to make it work. We talked on the phone every couple days, and I was really diligent about trying to fill him in on every little detail of my life. And then we had what I guess can be called our first falling out the week of my thirteenth birthday; he was supposed to fly back to New Jersey to visit me, the first time he'd have been home since he moved, but then his stupid girlfriend broke her stupid ankle and he stayed to take care of her. I resented him for it, and hated her. And I made the decision then to start weaning him from the intimate details of my life...I had a phone-Daddy, not a real live father who deserved that kind of information. Then my mother had the brilliant idea of sending me to spend 8 weeks with my father the summer before my freshman year of high school. He suddenly tried to start being my parent, rather than my buddy, and let's just say rebellious teenager Maya wasn't having it. We got into a huge fight and didn't speak for the last week and a half of my stay with him...or for about 4 months later. Afterwards, I became polite and cordial and called him approximately once a week out of a sense of duty. We finally talked about all of this sometime during my sophomore year of college, and he asked how he could fix things. I was...skeptical that things could be fixed.
But then they magically just, were. I didn't tell him everything, but I opened up to him more than I have in the past decade. I spoke to him freely about my life and who said what when and why it mattered. I explained to him why I felt so wronged--he had trouble understanding why it was such a big deal...men, lol. He listened to me when I was angry and he listened to me when I was sad and he was just there for me, saying encouraging things. He even offered to fly me down to visit him in Florida for a few days if I needed to get away from Princeton and "the memories". I felt like a little girl with a Daddy again...or maybe finally like a grown woman with a father she can rely on. Either way, it was a wonderful feeling. Especially when my mom wouldn't talk about it. He said on his mind all day while he was at work was me, and how I was holding up at work, and how I was going to get through this. He was so concerned about me. He loves me so much; I don't know how I ever forgot that.
So good riddance, unwillingness. I'm glad you're gone. I can't believe I let you stay in my life for as long as I did. My dad deserves better than you. He deserves me.
Maya
PS: I complained to some friends last week about how the ability of a person to come into your life, turn it upside down, and then leave and turn it upside down again without everything falling back into its original place was one of life's biggest injustices. But now I see that there is some beauty in this. Sometimes you have to be forced into changing the things that deserve changing the most.
Friday, June 24, 2011
2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge--Day 12: Letter to a Sibling You Didn't Write to Last Time
Dear Kids A and W,
First off, I'm sorry I still think of you as kids. At 16 and 17, going into your junior and senior years in high school in September, you're not anymore. I remember when I was that age, soooo many of my daily struggles were to be treated like I was a real person, and so I promise you that I'm going to do my best to remember to treat you like real people, because you're not children anymore. That doesn't mean I won't still try to give you advice or check in on you--that's a siblings thing for life. I am always going to care about you (even if we go weeks without speaking sometimes), and I'm never going to stop acting on that caring--that's a promise (please don't see it as a threat), but I will try to be less patronizing/seeming like I'm on a high horse.
Now, I'm going to be honest: I'm worried about you. I have this vague sense of danger whenever I think about you, like something is on the verge of or in the process of going horribly wrong. Part of that worry I can address to you both simultaneously: college is right around the corner, you guys. I know college is the last thing you guys like to listen to me talk about because I raised the bar to this ridiculously high level, but fact: I don't give a fuck if you guys don't go to schools like Princeton. Neither does anyone else in our family. I am an exception, we all know that. I don't care if school isn't your thing like school is my thing. I don't care if you don't want to go to graduate school. I don't care if you want to major in something that will turn directly into a job and then do that for the rest of your life. I just need you to understand that you have to go to college to make it in this world. Hell, in this economy, even going to college can't secure anything, but you're damn sure not going to get anywhere without it. And, another fact, just in case you somehow weren't aware, our family does not have the money to pay for you to go to college. If you don't qualify for scholarships, you're going to be either a) unable to afford school at all and wind up at community college, b) in debt up to your eyeballs for the rest of ever, or c) some unfortunate combination of both. I don't want to see that happen to you, but you are the only people in any position to prevent that, and I need you to see that. I don't know what's going to happen to you if you don't see that. It terrifies me. You both seem to be so oblivious to this process and the fact that you're running out of time, and that scares me.
Okay, now for the separate parts: A, I'm entirely uncomfortable with this boyfriend of yours and the fact that our mother doesn't know about him. I'm entirely uncomfortable with the fact that he wakes you up out of your slumber to talk on the phone at damn near three in the morning. I'm vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he's up then--what has he been doing? Mostly, I just want to meet him, or at the very least for our mother to meet him. I feel like you're hiding him and this relationship and that worries me to my core. I also want you to know, however, that I've thought long and hard about this, and I'm not going to rat you out. But I'm not ratting you out on one condition: I want you to know that you can come to me and talk to me about things, things that have to deal with him or anything. You seem to think I'm prudish and boring sometimes, but I have more experience with these sorts of things than you'd probably expect. I don't want you to feel like you're alone in our family. I remember those days.
W, I want to know what's going on with you and school. Well, okay, school is actually probably a symptom of a larger issue and not the issue itself. What's the issue itself? My mind instantly jumps to these hoodlum friends of yours. I hate saying that, but it's true. The vast majority of them are just no damn good. Whether or not you recognize that is not the issue I want to dwell on right now, though...what I want to dwell on is the fact that you don't have to be just like them to be their friends. If their friendship iscontingent on your conformity just based on you being the same as them, then you can do better than that. I remember when you liked school. I remember when you came home with the star-studded report cards and A was the one I had to worry about. But W, you FAILED a marking period in Honors Biology. Brought an F home to our mother's house. I don't know what I believe less, that you did this or that our mother barely punished you for it (in comparison to the punishments I used to get). But again, I don't think the root issue here is that her standards have softened since I left the house; a) they were near-impossibly high to begin with and meeting them stressed me out every second of the day for 10ish years, but more importantly b) there again seems to be something larger here. I want you to talk to me, I want to know what's wrong. I don't want to call this acting out, but it's a significant change and I want to know what is causing it.
Back together again: I've had enough of this you-two-against-me shit. We've been playing that game for about 14 years, it's time to do something new. Especially now that you're not a united force anymore regarding anything else. I would like us to try to have conversations like adults. I would like us to try to not let the smallest things blow up into the biggest arguments. It has recently come to my attention that other people, normal people, people I know and love and am convinced aren't crazy, are friends with their siblings. I would like to give this a try.
But I guess first that would require feeling like I could ever, in a million years, say any of this to either of you. I don't think there's much hurt I could do to our relationships by trying, though...we barely interact when we're not in the same physical space anyway. So, #declaration: I'm going to try. Maybe I'll start small, maybe I won't say it all at once, but I'm going to call you and try to talk. Please do me a favor and try to listen.
This is all to say I love you,
Big Sis
First off, I'm sorry I still think of you as kids. At 16 and 17, going into your junior and senior years in high school in September, you're not anymore. I remember when I was that age, soooo many of my daily struggles were to be treated like I was a real person, and so I promise you that I'm going to do my best to remember to treat you like real people, because you're not children anymore. That doesn't mean I won't still try to give you advice or check in on you--that's a siblings thing for life. I am always going to care about you (even if we go weeks without speaking sometimes), and I'm never going to stop acting on that caring--that's a promise (please don't see it as a threat), but I will try to be less patronizing/seeming like I'm on a high horse.
Now, I'm going to be honest: I'm worried about you. I have this vague sense of danger whenever I think about you, like something is on the verge of or in the process of going horribly wrong. Part of that worry I can address to you both simultaneously: college is right around the corner, you guys. I know college is the last thing you guys like to listen to me talk about because I raised the bar to this ridiculously high level, but fact: I don't give a fuck if you guys don't go to schools like Princeton. Neither does anyone else in our family. I am an exception, we all know that. I don't care if school isn't your thing like school is my thing. I don't care if you don't want to go to graduate school. I don't care if you want to major in something that will turn directly into a job and then do that for the rest of your life. I just need you to understand that you have to go to college to make it in this world. Hell, in this economy, even going to college can't secure anything, but you're damn sure not going to get anywhere without it. And, another fact, just in case you somehow weren't aware, our family does not have the money to pay for you to go to college. If you don't qualify for scholarships, you're going to be either a) unable to afford school at all and wind up at community college, b) in debt up to your eyeballs for the rest of ever, or c) some unfortunate combination of both. I don't want to see that happen to you, but you are the only people in any position to prevent that, and I need you to see that. I don't know what's going to happen to you if you don't see that. It terrifies me. You both seem to be so oblivious to this process and the fact that you're running out of time, and that scares me.
Okay, now for the separate parts: A, I'm entirely uncomfortable with this boyfriend of yours and the fact that our mother doesn't know about him. I'm entirely uncomfortable with the fact that he wakes you up out of your slumber to talk on the phone at damn near three in the morning. I'm vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he's up then--what has he been doing? Mostly, I just want to meet him, or at the very least for our mother to meet him. I feel like you're hiding him and this relationship and that worries me to my core. I also want you to know, however, that I've thought long and hard about this, and I'm not going to rat you out. But I'm not ratting you out on one condition: I want you to know that you can come to me and talk to me about things, things that have to deal with him or anything. You seem to think I'm prudish and boring sometimes, but I have more experience with these sorts of things than you'd probably expect. I don't want you to feel like you're alone in our family. I remember those days.
W, I want to know what's going on with you and school. Well, okay, school is actually probably a symptom of a larger issue and not the issue itself. What's the issue itself? My mind instantly jumps to these hoodlum friends of yours. I hate saying that, but it's true. The vast majority of them are just no damn good. Whether or not you recognize that is not the issue I want to dwell on right now, though...what I want to dwell on is the fact that you don't have to be just like them to be their friends. If their friendship is
Back together again: I've had enough of this you-two-against-me shit. We've been playing that game for about 14 years, it's time to do something new. Especially now that you're not a united force anymore regarding anything else. I would like us to try to have conversations like adults. I would like us to try to not let the smallest things blow up into the biggest arguments. It has recently come to my attention that other people, normal people, people I know and love and am convinced aren't crazy, are friends with their siblings. I would like to give this a try.
But I guess first that would require feeling like I could ever, in a million years, say any of this to either of you. I don't think there's much hurt I could do to our relationships by trying, though...we barely interact when we're not in the same physical space anyway. So, #declaration: I'm going to try. Maybe I'll start small, maybe I won't say it all at once, but I'm going to call you and try to talk. Please do me a favor and try to listen.
This is all to say I love you,
Big Sis
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