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I went home to see my family this past weekend; it was the first time Emily had been there. I suppose it's somewhat strange to be married to someone for a year and a half and not have them see your hometown or meet most of your family, but maybe it's not.
During the course of the visit, she made a comment that startled me. She said that whenever I speak of my mother or my grandmother, I always say awfully negative things about them and whenever I speak about my father, I begin with criticism, but end by defending him.
This startles me because my mother and my grandmother raised me, I only saw my father on the occasional weekend visit, not even every other weekend. He only lived about twenty minutes away, yet, he hardly ever came for birthday parties or sent presents; he hardly ever took me or my older brother to things, but the few times that he did things with us or took us places I remember very strongly.
One of my fondest memories from childhood is riding home in the dark with my father after he had taken me to see The Goonies in Americus, a town about an hour from my hometown. I stared at the side window, looking at his reflection in it and talking to him about the movie.
Why is it that I have nothing but criticism for those who cared for me, worried about me, and continue to be involved in my life and constant apologies for the father who was hardly ever there? My mom and grandmother were certainly not perfect - they annoyed the shit out of me for most of my life - I could highly identify with Tom in The Glass Menagerie - but they were always good, or at least they always tried. But I continue to put down my mother for her addictions, her weakness; and my grandmother for her nagging, her gossiping, and the absurd way that she manipulates everyone - increasingly absurd since I can see through it so much more easily than I could when I was younger.
Why is it that the people who were there for me receive the brunt of my anger for my haphazard upbringing while the man who should have been there but wasn't receives virtually none? Why is it that we often care more for people who don't want us than for people that do?
During the course of the visit, she made a comment that startled me. She said that whenever I speak of my mother or my grandmother, I always say awfully negative things about them and whenever I speak about my father, I begin with criticism, but end by defending him.
This startles me because my mother and my grandmother raised me, I only saw my father on the occasional weekend visit, not even every other weekend. He only lived about twenty minutes away, yet, he hardly ever came for birthday parties or sent presents; he hardly ever took me or my older brother to things, but the few times that he did things with us or took us places I remember very strongly.
One of my fondest memories from childhood is riding home in the dark with my father after he had taken me to see The Goonies in Americus, a town about an hour from my hometown. I stared at the side window, looking at his reflection in it and talking to him about the movie.
Why is it that I have nothing but criticism for those who cared for me, worried about me, and continue to be involved in my life and constant apologies for the father who was hardly ever there? My mom and grandmother were certainly not perfect - they annoyed the shit out of me for most of my life - I could highly identify with Tom in The Glass Menagerie - but they were always good, or at least they always tried. But I continue to put down my mother for her addictions, her weakness; and my grandmother for her nagging, her gossiping, and the absurd way that she manipulates everyone - increasingly absurd since I can see through it so much more easily than I could when I was younger.
Why is it that the people who were there for me receive the brunt of my anger for my haphazard upbringing while the man who should have been there but wasn't receives virtually none? Why is it that we often care more for people who don't want us than for people that do?
8 Comments:
Hi there - slow day at the office and I stumbled upon your blog...
Your wife's observation was a good one. Perhaps it's the fond memories you're protecting?
Let's face it; the less we're around, the less chances we have to mess up!
ps
you sure do get a lot of spam!
Jeez! Why did I get all this spam?! I got spammed once on my most recent post, and now I've gotten like 6 or 7 on just then one? What's going on? I've changed the settings to only accept registered users; I didn't want to do it that way, but I don't want all that spam again.
Nice post James. Though I, had I been in your shoes, might have included your proclivity for shitting on everything I say or recommend to you. It kind of fits in. Check out some of your comments to my blog, to start.
And I, as one who knows James (Zippy) as well as anybody, would like to set the record straight. No, he is not a repressed homosexual. He's actually a repressed heterosexual.
Juicyfruiter, you don't seem to have comments turned on in your blog, just letting you know if you happen to come back here.
My server crashed! I probably won't have it back up until monday or so.
How about another post, Zippy? I wait with a breath that is baited.
Sorry, I've been preoccupied with school starting this week - maybe I'll have something up soon.
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