Posts Tagged ‘parent

16
May
25

The Most Painful of Holidays

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Confessions of the Rabbit Kind
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

As I’ve grown older, holidays have lost their charms. They’ve become overly hyped means of stimulating the economy, encrypted teases from our governments. They sure are not the warm, fuzzy festivals of glowing lights and bounties of delicious treats I once thought they were. And, no matter how you try to entice me, it’s not going to be easy changing my mind after becoming so nauseous and bitter. But, please, don’t cast me out into the street to rot. I have reasons.

If you grew up with the “gene” for being a generous provider, someone who likes to lay out a spread of delights on any given special day, you’re not me. I was raised by two clashing deities who may want to be generous but consistently pull back in some way that cripples my own generosity. At one moment, they may seem generous…and, the next, they will reveal how they cut corners or saved a buck. If they can get anything at a discount, they will try. And, if they have to pay regular/retail price, they will complain for days.

While that may all just sound like wise budget thinking, they go beyond wise budget thinking. My dad will go so far that you may call him a thief. My mom can be quite the miser and yet carelessly discard something that should have been treated with greater respect and appreciation. Gifts people thought would please her get “donated” to Goodwill, where she will retreat to spend another dollar on something that once cost five, just to add that to a pile that goes nowhere until she decides to replace it.

When we, their kids, try to do something kind and generous for others, we often get “corrected” by our parents for being too generous. We’re spending too much. We’re trying too hard. We’re just going to pay for it, later. Try as we may to be kind, generous and thoughtful, our parents will find a way to ruin the good vibes…and probably drive whoever we are attempting to please away, for good.

So, when I see others being generous, I feel sick and uncomfortable. I feel like cheap scum. I cannot just fork over money to fill a room with joys. I’m always hearing my parents talk about saving money and how my generosity won’t truly be appreciated. I cannot give someone ten presents instead of just one I think they will really like. Nor can I give someone a present I really like and hope they will like it as much. I tend to shop with the other person in mind…not myself. [And, if you’re wondering why I even bring up such a point, you just need to know my family.]

Certain holidays are particularly unpleasant. They are the parent-related special days. This includes my parents’ birthdays. [I wonder if they will be worse when my parents are no longer able to face me.]

Mothers Day is probably the worst because my mother has drained every ounce of warmth I could possibly feel on that day for her. I have no ability–zero creativity–to please her. Even if I could muster up some craft project or favor I could do her, she would find a reason to complain. That’s just how bitter and wrong she has become. If she is ever pleased by anyone, it’s really hard to know because the best she can do is put on a good face in front of guests. So, first, you have to be a guest stopping by her house. If you have to spend more than a day with her, you’ll surely see her other side. But, if you are just stopping by, you’re sure to get a silly, oblivious smile which will make you think she’s the most classy, charming woman in the world.

If you seek an explanation for what a mother could do to drain her artistic son’s ability to create happiness for her, don’t prod because I will be here all day venting my vile feelings. No therapist could handle that baggage without pushing an escape button. In short, my mother systematically held on too tight and bent me like a stress toy until I couldn’t feel comfortable with myself in any situation and couldn’t trust her for a second. That is not an exaggeration. If you leave something out for five seconds and walk away, she will home in on it and move it because you left it where it does not belong. That is how mad and eerily aware at the wrong times she can be. And, any nice things she could say are washed out by all of the harsh, ignorant and self-serving crap she pumps out in her own sort of internal distress, every day. She has been given a soapbox (to preach from), and she’s not leaving it.

My siblings, particularly my sisters, have no problem being thoughtful and creative on Mothers Day because they “left home at a normal age.” There’s a whole other ball of wax to this case that involves the proper age and conditions for doing “normal” adult things. It remains a painful divide that cannot seem to be resolved, causing my siblings to divide. I hate having to clash with my sisters who seem to always find a way to offer up gifts and other favors to my parents, especially our mother. [That’s easy when you’re mother isn’t harping on you, violating your privacy, speaking highly of the female species and letting you do as you please.] My sisters will admit their mom has plenty of “issues” but continue to appear on special days as if nothing is wrong. They look at me like I am scum when I cannot be as “generous.” And, if I try to reason with them, I might as well be on the road to a jail sentence. I have no lawyer on my side.

My mother should be happy she has caused that much discord. She enjoys drama and tragic stories, even though they get her upset. She can’t get enough of them and rarely enjoys comedy.

So, if Mothers Day is a pain, my mother’s birthday must really be difficult. Yep…

Now, my father isn’t much better. But, he gets plenty of sympathy for being as romantic and creative as he can be to counter my mom’s…ugliness. He tries so hard sometimes. But, when you hear my mother complain, you begin to wonder if Dad isn’t just trying to make up for some wrong he did…long ago…when they were a young couple and us kids were not around. You begin to wonder why you were born, at all, because, clearly, they are not happy with the kids or anything they’ve had since they met.

Even if I could offer my dad compassion for putting up with my mom and trying to be thoughtful, he has spent almost as much time being my mother’s tool. And, his vanity knows no end…yet he can be such a sickening slob! He will pick at your appearance until you bleed from your eyes…but he, himself, can let himself be in such a horrid state that you wonder if he’s even aware of himself, at all. He had some “military time” which I think affected his mentality about everything. There’s a proper way to doing everything, but I’m not sure even he knows what that is…like how to properly raise a child into a man. It’s hard to teach a son to be a man when he, himself, cannot be a respected man in his partner’s company.

[All of my “judgy” speech seems to come from him. But, both parents are too often rude and/or vile…so they should get equal blame. And, I should just jump off a cliff before I upset anyone else I’d like to be a friend.]

He has done her bidding and even picked up some of her weird, invasive habits. It’s sickening. It’s so vile that it upsets my stomach just to write about it. He is in no way a male role model for his sons. He has no backbone except when it gets him into conflict with my mom, his partner. It’s only when he listens to others who are having a good time that he crosses a line with her and lands in the “doghouse.” Dad likes to socialize and have a good time with others.

[Mom can’t seem to decide if she wants company or would rather curl up in a bitter ball in some corner. She likes to talk…oy, does she like to talk…but she struggles with listening and fair play. She will absorb your life story like a sponge and relay it to us, her kids. Mom seems okay when you decide for her and can force her into some nice clothes…almost like a child being prodded by her parents to dress up for a special day…hmm. But, she’s not the best “crowd person,” even if that crowd is just one other person. I don’t think she ever “grew up” before being expected to be an adult and parent.]

[I grew up to become such a self-conscious and anxiety-flooded freak because my parents, especially my father, couldn’t stop finding fault with me, their precious boy. One minute, they tell you that you’re valuable…the next they tear you down by telling you why you’re wrong.]

Mom moans about being lonely and can socialize just fine when put in certain public spaces…but she refuses to adapt and pushes, drives people and opportunities away. She once has neighbors as friends; I don’t think she did anything to get them as friends or keep them as friends other than putting up with surprise visits. If people didn’t knock down her door, she’d be alone and bitter. Yet, it’s the knocking down of her door that has also rattled her so often; she constantly complains how surprise visits deny her from getting household needs resolved.

Just as a vague example…

Mom goes to a store, usually some discount/resale shop, because my parents refuse to look at anything “new.” She runs into some stranger who strikes up a conversation because my parents can make themselves look so…attractive. They will talk for an hour or more. If you hear them, you’ll think this is the beginning of a nice friendship. But, while Dad might like to exchange phone numbers and see this person, again, Mom will silently turn away and go home alone to complain. It makes no sense. And, it hurts, from all sides. If you confront my mother and argue how she could have exchanged information and resumed contact with the person another day, she will give you a list of nonsensical reasons why that wouldn’t work. It’s futile to try.

So, it’s not like my mother couldn’t have friends…she just refuses to let anyone into her heart and space. I’d go so far as saying some past friends burned her so badly that she cannot recover. She was a young fool, once, and she won’t change after being “played.”

And, if my sisters think their mother has anything worth emulating, they are in trouble…as are their husbands and children…and any friends they may think they still have. If my sisters are in any way doomed to act like their mother, the rest of the world should pray for mercy. It may sound cruel, but we don’t need more people like my mother…not her dark sides, anyway.

If I try hard enough, I can remember a glimmer of a happier time when I used to think of my mother in a supernatural way. I used to compare her to Linda Carter’s Wonder Woman and may have even had an Oedipus complex. But, boy, did she tear that apart over the years! It is GONE! You can only pick on your precious son’s face, call him a liar and tear up his trust and security so often before he can no longer give you a greeting card (which she claims to want so badly), among other favors.

[The other strange thing…just one of many…is that no matter what my mother will say she wants, if you try to get it for her, she will find reason to complain. There are epic tales about women who act this way. As all of us men in the family say, there is no pleasing her. And, it’s a very sexist response. If you even mention men versus women, she will ignite and cast out all men. But, don’t think you’re safe being a woman…because, even though you won’t get her hatred, you’ll get plenty of unwanted advice about how staying home to be a mother, while your man supplies you with all the money you could want, is the best way to live. I don’t think that’s sound thinking. But, I’m sure some women will get stars in their eyes. And, that worries me.]

As for their birthdays, it should be rather obvious how they are no better than Mothers and Fathers Days. I mean, I’m at the point when and where I am questioning my own birth, my existence. What good can come from celebrating your parents when you can’t even feel great on your own birthday?…particularly when your parents appear on your birthday and no longer are those people you role your eyes at and smile, anyway, as they provide a lit cake and, maybe, a few presents.

My parents have a fun way of decimating the joy of any special day by quickly turning conversation to what isn’t being done “right” in life. As soon as you open your surprise, life gets back to “serious business,” and you might as well get used to that. New Year’s Day is probably the worst. It’s like Mothers Day but delivers the pain more quickly. There is no joyous ringing in of the new year in my family. It’s just a quick clinking of glasses and a few snacks during the ball drop before talk begins rising about tax season and all the things we should be doing to improve ourselves. It’s sort of like crafting resolutions…but with a lot of pointing fingers and blaming each other. ‘Not exactly healthy. ‘Definitely not warm, friendly family time. [And, if you see my mother leaving the area, she’s just going off on her own to think about taxes for the next few months, which she is sure to bring up in daily conversation until the due date. Isn’t she fun?]

It’s sort of like getting a gift at work. You have your cake with coworkers, if you’re so lucky, and then it’s back to work…if you can manage to pivot like that. How many of us can really enjoy cake and festivities and then get right back to work? If you say you can, you’re one very special nutcase.

I don’t even want to get upset about what I felt my life has lacked on those special days. But, just about any holiday gets sullied and ruined by my family. And, it only gets more painful when you have to focus on the roots of this family, my parents. It started with them. We started with them.

Now, I will take a deep breath and leave this where it sits. I think I’ve said…everything. I wrote this to “breathe” before facing my parents on one more of their uncomfortable special days. I needed this. And, if I’m lucky, I won’t have to explain my time away from the family to anyone. [I’m just…glad?…I had the space, time and ability to write this.]

But, if you can understand what I am saying, can you grasp what a painful life I live, if just about every holiday comes with a measure of discomfort if not pain? My own life is riddled with discomforts because of this. But, it’s even more upsetting when my discomfort pours out onto others who then turn away from me because I, in whatever way, cannot help reflecting the misery caused by my parents (and other family members). In short, anyone else who dares to walk a mile in my shoes would probably do something very unpleasant to themselves. I do not doubt that for a second. I like to take a small bit of pride for myself in being as…tolerant as I’ve been. I hope it’s all worth it, someday. If not, I’m just a fool.

I wish I could be the sort of “normal guy” who can get drunk at every special day and forget what bothers him. I wish I could go without discomfort at and after every family gathering. I wish I could be more comfortable in a group and not get mental impressions from those around me like a sensitive psychic. I wish I didn’t feel withdrawal after every happy moment with another person. Yet, wishing for that would take away what makes me special and able to be uniquely kind to people who touch my heart. So, while I may not be the best party guy, right now…I am what I am. Deal with it…please. Don’t let this spark of life and creativity die miserable and alone.

17
Apr
25

Confessions of an Intolerant Family

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Confessions of the Rabbit Kind
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

It seems impossible for me to comfortably speak with any member of my family! EVERY conversation fails to satisfy my emotional and mental needs. And, it’s not like I don’t try or don’t have enough words to contribute. I strain my brain sometimes trying to pivot and adjust to every member of my family, and it’s never enough. It’s never good enough to get a satisfying talk with anyone. So, I go about my life, just trying to get through each day, never feeling quite at peace or comfortable with anyone, and my own family keeps pushing me “over the edge” because I am perpetually “too much.”

Ask for help? I might as well walk through a real mine field. Asking family for help is like pulling teeth and playing Operation. BUZZZZ! I said something wrong. I said too much. I’m too emotional. Have a question about financial papers or health needs? Go pay someone to help. My family has no patience and cannot simply answer any question.

Now, if I bent to that thinking and let their directions decide my fate, I’d likely be locked away in a mental ward, pumped full of hazardous drugs and broke from paying people to pretend to care and take notes on everything I have to say, just in case I pose a hazard to anyone.

One sister (although she’s not the only one to say it) says get a therapist; a therapist has to care about your thoughts and what you have to say because you’re paying them. Ha! She knows nothing. I’ve seen therapists. And, considering they are not only being paid based upon your quality of insurance and whatnot…and they are never really free to be themselves because they are under some supervisor which dictates what they can and cannot do…and because getting involved, emotionally, with any client/patient would be hazardous to their profession…they CANNOT care about anyone but themselves. Their job is to help people work through problems and find pathways to “recovery” (which includes “getting on with life”). They cannot be the friend you lack or the family that you wish you had. And, even if they could, if you are paying a therapist to fill such a role, you might as well be paying a prostitute for a good time. Or, pay your family that money and tell THEM to show some kindness and respect when you speak with them.

Even if I thought a therapist could help, all they can really do is deal with ME and my side of everything. But, when the problems involve many members of a family, no one person’s advice can change or improve that lot. When I previously spoke with therapist-S, my parents were present, and I was regarded a minor who was wide open to experimentation with drugs. I might as well have been a dilinquent drug user, though I never wanted to mess with my own thoughts or digestion (in other words, drug free, people, and preferring it that way). The only sensible advice would seem to be find other people. And, that’s already been a discouraging quest. I’m tired of walking it and I don’t have the energy or will to run.

Even if I left my family behind, moved on, what would that really do for my psychology unless I had a new family already in my life who would welcome me into it? To leave my roots in utter defeat in hopes of finding a new friendly crowd? That’s foolish…hazardous. And, I am not anywhere near that fearless.

Shouldn’t your own family have more decency and kindness than someone you hire, who has to be filled with so much information just to understand you as an individual, not just a “type A” mentality?

The other option to finding a kind, willing “ear” is to join a group, a club, a class of some kind. That’s wishful thinking. And, when you struggle with social anxiety (which I am sure some will say can be “medicated”…and I don’t care for that suggestion), it’s not so easy to mingle. And, with my luck, the only people who reach across the room to acknowledge me are people looking for trouble or who would be trouble if I got involved with them. That may sound cruel and pessimistic, but it’s true.

Other members of the family have had similar luck. I have a brother who perpetually gets sucked into “friendships” with people who make him initially feel like he’s important and valued…and then secretly wish he was out of their lives. He meets people and quickly boasts about how great they are and how they open doors for him (doors he rarely will go through alone for whatever reason). Somehow he retains many of these “friendships” until they mysteriously expire. He won’t say much about the loss of a friendship, unless he gets mad and says the person was a lying “jag,” anyway. He seems to burn up the tolerance of those he calls friend until they awkwardly ask him or do something to drive him away. He seems blind to people’s true feelings and never suspects anyone might be saying one thing when they mean another. [You might say being suspicious is unnecessary paranoia; but I’m suggesting people need to filter what they hear and experience and be somewhat aware of when their own actions or words might be unappreciated. My brother is unaware of all of that, even once he’s been handed the grim decision someone else made.]

When he loses closeness with someone, he turns bitter and alcoholic. He lacks self-control. He’s had so many disasters and wrecked cars, and yet my family has been tolerant and let him be himself, though he never actually seems to be “himself.” Yet, sometimes, he might not try or do something quietly or be down on himself because of failures he hates to mention.

[And, here I am, sensitive to all that, both sorry for him and struggling myself, and I am helpless.]

On the “flip side,” I’ve been struggling my whole life to avoid his mistakes and be “the good guy” in my family, and it’s achieved nothing for my benefit. All my effort gets washed out by my family getting sucked into their own displeasure. We all are sucked into ourselves, possibly because the world has become so crappy. But, I feel like I’m still trying to be nice with everyone…and they can’t be nice enough with me. My hazardous brother seems to get any attention he wants, even if family doesn’t like what he does. I don’t think anyone has ever cut him off or short. But, when I get talking or emoting, it isn’t long before I have to step aside and let the life of someone else through. I am always in the way of someone’s progress.

If you want to know about any sisters, you’ll have to take a number. Unlike the “men” in my family, thanks to my mother, the girls/women have been more respected, like royalty. They are heirs to the throne that my dad never had. Dad bowed to Mom. And, I’ll leave that at that. My sisters are not necessarily rude or spoiled, but they are oddly intolerant with very limited patience for anything outside their little bubbles. They have their own social circles, friends that have helped them get to places and status I can only imagine. It’s easy for them to talk as if life is easy, even when they sigh and complain. It’s easy for them to tell me to do something for myself, as if they didn’t have help.

They didn’t do much on their own…not without someone there to see them through it. They might not be married if I didn’t have a part in it. One sister wouldn’t have kids with the names they do if I said nothing; and if she tried to discuss travels with my other siblings, they wouldn’t give her more attention than I would because they haven’t had the same travels. [Even I get rather ugly and jealous when the one sister talks about travels because I wish I was able to do the same, and I’m not invited.] The other would be a bridezilla if I didn’t calm her down. And, her kids might be dead if I didn’t help babysit (unpaid for years of daily assistance); she could have hired a stranger or “friend” to babysit and dealt with the chances of that (or sacrificed her job to be a good, consistent mother and let the father make enough money to suffice instead of budgeting for whims that pile up fast).

And, have I ever told any member of my family they are “too much?” If I did, I took a break and came back to try, again. I never told any of them to get a therapist or join a club to solve their problems. [Of course, I didn’t have to because, lucky them, they have “friends” of a sort. Yet, if you ask them, they’d say those friends aren’t much help. So, are my sisters actually doing just fine on their own?…or are they not sure how to value their friends?] I didn’t leave them with that to leave them in a hole of misery. [Or, if I did “ditch” someone, I guess even I fail to remember. But, again, I feel my own emotional strength is rather limited by the “food” I’ve been given.]

I have an aunt who has always been a spark of life and witty even when she’s occasionally so blunt that it leaves me troubled. She didn’t have any kids of her own but sort of adopted a big family and seemed to be doing just fine with everything. She, like most of the family, WAS a smoker. Then, her husband became ill, and she had to care for many of his needs. That seemed to crack her. She lost control. She couldn’t handle life, anymore. She ended up in an “institution” with limited family access. As with every other member of this family that has needed “intensive care,” certain members avail themselves while others seem to simply say, “I can’t. It’s too much. I can’t do anything to help. It’s beyond me.” And, those who try to help the “sick” person get mad at those who don’t try, holding grudges for years or cutting people off.

[I feel about as helpless as that “lost aunt” and wish I could help her. I don’t write her off because I can’t help, right now. I still think of and worry about her. The rest of my immediate family…don’t even bother asking their feelings.]

Even if I don’t get along with family, I don’t think I’ve ever left any member feeling like they couldn’t try again with me. Maybe it’s just a no-win situation; maybe we were cursed just the way we were put together, a cursed family doomed to crumble. [Yet, I can’t bend to thoughts of murder or suicide to end it quickly because the ideas make me nauseous. It’s immoral and unnecessary…even if it feels necessary.]

They have had friends to reach out to and spill their guts when needed. I have not…at least, not since I was a kid and had maybe one or two trusted friends at a time. And, even then, I couldn’t be fully myself with them because my parents were restrictive, cutting time short and denying phone calls.

[How is it I have been able to at least try being comforting or helpful to them? Or, are we all guilty of being similarly insufficient to each other? Am I just not fully aware of their limits? I’m not even sure of my own limits but find myself trying, sometimes “over-extending” myself. Yet, if I did less, I’d feel heartless and inhuman. And, if I do more, I feel…consumed.]

Do with this what you will. What does it matter where or what I say? Kindness and thoughtful responses are appreciated. Message in a bottle.

28
Jun
23

Living the Caged Life

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts, Confessions of the Rabbit Kind and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

I’m not quite sure where to begin with explaining something that cripples my small branch of the family. It’s not drug-related, unless you count collecting as a drug. It’s not exactly abuse but is a sort of repression/oppression. And, it’s almost eerily apparent in a literary way. My parents have a habit of displaying figurines, dolls and busts elaborately dressed in suffocating spaces. Most unsettling are the busts and little angel figurines displayed in black metal cages. One is a bird cage housing a woman’s head made of plaster. Another is an obelisk housing three little ceramic cherubs which curl into balls on the floor of the structure. Caged life. Imprisoned feelings/desires. This is the symbolism my parents choose to consider art and perfectly normal in their home. Now, if I was to craft such things and think them normal, I would whole-heartedly expect someone to object and question me. But, if I address my parents about their decorative style, they will brush my thoughts aside until I walk away. [Well, so much for time with my parents.]

I bring this up because it’s like a bit of tragic literary genius, a means of turning how I have matured/aged into a metaphor. [And, if you know me, you know I enjoy metaphors.] Yet, I take no pleasure in writing about it and have no plan to craft a “bestseller” around this; there will not be another “Flowers in the Attic.” But, that’s how life has been with my parents, trapped, caged, restrained and crippled with fear, intimidation, false information and deception. All of our blessings and potential is trapped in a pitiful state, unable to flourish.

Any success we may find is quickly clutched and sucked back down into disappointment by a mother who can’t handle something outside her vital control. Anything my mother doesn’t personally direct and document in her files she will tear apart; she will bring it down because she doesn’t understand or benefit from it.

My father spends every moment torn between his own creative and social desires and avoiding the wrath of his chosen life partner who throws a fit every time he steps away from her to be with someone else. My mother lives in a box and chooses to be oblivious to the rest of the world; yet if you tell her she is oblivious or in denial, she will throw another fit and deny everything as if she was under interrogation by an FBI unit.

What’s additionally tragic is how the ways of my parents have imprinted themselves on us, their children. While other families might see their kids grow up and take off on their own to break the chains their parents may have worn, my siblings and I don’t do as well. A few are lucky to have found mates who helped financially distance them from the curse. But, the relationships have not exactly been solid and/or reassuring. The rest of us (myself included) struggle in many ways to take flight and feel comfortable in our own skins, at a time when people like me are being slighted by the insane amount of focus on abused minorities and people going through sexual migrations (and deviations).

The rest of the world has these people on a stage, receiving TLC and every avenue opened to them. I have never fit in a particular noteworthy group but–classified as plain “Caucasian”–I seem to be expected to fall in with a wealthy crowd who makes their own way through family connections, through legacies. Well, there is no grand family legacy nor role models to give me wings.

So, if you were to meet me and wonder why I don’t achieve more or have more in my life, and if you didn’t so quickly become uncomfortable and drift away, you might see and understand…and maybe even pity my situation.

And, on that note, I stop writing because I don’t have a good way of ending this piece. I feel compelled to just ramble. And, I’ve done enough of that in my life.

25
Jan
23

Don’t Let Your “FEED” Rob You of Family Connections

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts, Confessions of the Rabbit Kind and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

You know something is vitally wrong when someone cannot take the time to look at your email because they’ve already given that time to their “feed,” that term for what so many “cows” are fed by some anonymous online source, that stream of stuff, including TikTok-worthy videos and images, which is said to be custom-picked to appeal to every person, based upon their online activity. Are we that lost, as a species, already? Are we already submitting to the machine and forgetting what we claim is important, like family?

I saw a particular episode of the Parent Test, a recent TV show in which one of my favorite comediennes/actresses, Alexandra (“Ali”) Wentworth, and some guy, who looks a tad uptight, evaluate different types of parents by having them face various “challenges” as families. In that episode, the farming parents were asked by their kids to put the cellphones away for a day. And, the parents claimed to be somewhat surprised by the request. [Honestly, with ABC and television, lately, in general, I am not sure how much is staged/planned; but this felt slightly staged…like one of many Public Service Announcements.] I don’t think the farm family, if they even have the technology, would have this problem…or wouldn’t be the only ones. If you look at most of the video footage taken by the various families, there is some sort of “tech” in each segment. It’s everywhere. It’s like one big deceptive ad for some ISP (internet service provider). It’s sickening, in a way.

So, on a personal note, I have family who have submitted to “the machine” while still occasionally throwing a jab at others, including me, for how they either don’t make good use of technology or waste time on “pointless” interests/pursuits. ‘So easy to judge others and then disappear into the void of mindless scrolling…and scrolling…and ignoring what’s in front of you.

GOOD GOLLY! I want to scream and vomit.

What has happened to so many?!

Whoever is responsible for this madness, which seems like such an evil plot or a very poor miscalculation of technological power…there is a very special place in the “world below” for sick individuals like you.

I cannot even get my sister to look at artworks I thought would not only get her to laugh but give me some feedback on how I am doing with my art skills.

My other siblings send me emails so short and quick that they often just contain a link I’m supposed to click? In the age when we should already be aware of scams that appear like that? I tell them no; they have to include a message with that link to let me know it’s really from them. I am not just going to jump at every link; I already made a costly mistake with that move, once.

And, on top of the stuff that happens on these devices, it’s affecting social interactions. My siblings seem less tolerant of discussing anything and become more easily distressed when asked; and, if I look, I’m sure I’ll find them scrolling through that “feed,” again. It’s really, really sickening.

I ask them, repeatedly, who sends that “feed?” Where do they get it? Fbook? If it’s Fbook, I’ll add a few pounds of strength to my grip the first chance I get to strangle someone from that hot mess. If Fbook is to blame, I will just add another few pounds to the weight that keeps my hand from touching that disaster-waiting-to-happen. I refuse to submit.

But, what can I do?

I used to feel guilty for dabbling in online chat and other “traps.” I used to think I was a freak living in the shadows instead of socializing like “normal people.” I did it to fill in what I was missing but kept looking up and out of the rabbit hole, hoping some better reality would come along so I could turn off the internet and get on with my life. And, when the “feed” I was looking at lost its charm, when I either felt too sick-in-the-head (in part from the opinions/input of nosy people) or tired of going to bed feeling as empty as I was when I started looking, I stopped using those rabbit holes. I’m not saying I “quit cold turkey,” but I grew tired of being disappointed by the “filler.” And, even when I was somewhat hooked, I knew I wanted something else. I just couldn’t seem to get what I wanted from anyone, not from the people I knew close to home nor those I was meeting online. [I still find myself dabbling and feeling this way, just with different outlets that don’t suck me in the way the older ones did.]

I don’t even get along with my family, not very well, anyway, and I still want better interaction. I don’t want my family completely disconnecting, correcting each other and being guilty of judging the rest of our lives, when we’re not casting some sort of appealing illusion which makes others think we are glamorous arm candy. I don’t want to be a reality-TV disaster. Right now, I’d just be happy to have my siblings give time and honest opinions on my creative output without telling me I have too much time on my hands and that I talk/think too much for “social norms.” I can’t get them to look at something I wrote because they already spend too much time looking at glowing screens/text. That’s so sad.

What seems to be normal, now, isn’t normal…or tolerable…to me. This “norm” is sucking the warmth and comfort out of everything. It’s a bug zapper waiting to close the door on humanity. One day, someone’s going to say, “J-Just one more minute.” They’ll be looking at their little glowing screen, letting their good eyesight wither and die…and some big black box is going to close in around them, sealing them away for eternity.

I’d rather chuck it all in a void than lose complete touch with real people. I’d rather have a real hug than an emoji or short video clip.

Damn. How do you stop this runaway machine?

And, why can’t you “cattle” wise up?

I’ve never been the biggest family-gathering person; I’m a bit of an introvert who struggles with social anxiety. But, even I feel this is the onset of something very wrong and want more warming, social interaction in this world. I certainly do not want to see every human being glued to a glowing screen in their hands.

Can you imagine? ‘Being a tourist and seeing everyone around you sitting quietly with a small screen glued to their hand(s), perched on fountains and fences and leaning against buildings…all hypnotized by some glowing, radiating slice of technology? You might hear the wind and seagulls/pigeons over everything else…because the people won’t be talking or walking, anymore. It’s an unsettling thought.

17
Jan
23

Response to She’s Cut Off From Grandkids, Too… (Ask Carolyn)

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Categories: Responses to Ask Carolyn Advice Columns
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***

Ask Carolyn (Hax) column originally titled “She’s cut off from grandkids, too, not just ‘angry’ grandpa.”

This letter/case addresses an aging mother/grandmother who is being denied time with her son’s children because the son refuses to visit and even speak with her. But, the enclosed blame for the lack of communication is placed upon the son’s father who is described as being a toxic, angry parent. The mother/grandmother feels she has been only kind, caring and supportive and thus has no reason to be denied time with the grandkids; she believes her relationship with the son was a good one…until he stopped communicating with her (and his father). The mother/grandmother tries to bridge the gap by sending gifts to the grandkids…and there is no mention of how those gifts are used/received.

Carolyn (Hax) does a decent job of bringing my attention to one possibility I did not consider, while reading the letter…and also possibly making the mother/grandmother feel exceedingly guilty/self-conscious in an already tender, tragic situation. The psychology here may be more fragile than it appears in text. And, I wouldn’t want the already troubled mother/grandmother to do anything further to ruin her health or end her life as a result of “tough love” from a columnist. But, as Carolyn seems to suggest or hint at, the psychology might also be something in the head of the mother/grandmother who is in denial of her part in the parenting mishap. [I could say the same of my parents. One (if not both) is definitely living in denial.]

—————-

Very Sad Grandma, I hope you are NOT my mother and thus someone who refuses to take any blame for how she performed (and continues to perform) as a parent…even though she might be right when she says she did the best she could…even if that means she just wasn’t ready/fit to parent. I hope you are just as much aware of your own potential missteps as you are able to point fingers at your son’s father, the other half of the parent equation. I hate to admit I am skeptical…because you did not make any mention of what even MIGHT be your fault…because you claim your relationship with this son was good. Either way, we, the readers, have little to no evidence, just your word.

[Acknowledge that it takes two to have a child and be parents (plural); admit that much. I am not saying single parents cannot adequately parent, in some (not all) cases. But, certainly, two happy, healthy mentors can do better than one struggling to make ends meet, so to speak (just like two kidneys over depending upon one).]

But, I also hope you are not the self-sacrificing, martyr type who will blame herself for more than she is guilty just to open a closed door and then repeat the problem that closed it. And, I hope you are not the sort who perpetually blames herself until she is a mindless corpse (because no amount of confessing seems enough to improve the situation). I hope you are not a “doormat.”

I will acknowledge, as any of these advice columnists must feel like saying though it is rarely if ever addressed, sorting out such a touchy subject outside of a therapy setting, where you can hear from all sides, provided all sides are present and permitted to speak freely in an orderly fashion…if that ever happens in our modern world, anymore…sorting out your big crisis through a newspaper column doesn’t seem very effective, productive and/or sensible. You write out your thoughts as they come to you, emotionally, in the moment. If you’re lucky, you review what you wrote before turning it in to the columnist. The columnist reads what you wrote and has to wrap their assessment into a set space.

…The whole thing just feels like a futile and tensely packed situation with no clear resolution.

[I would also like to address how writing an emotional plea to anyone, for advice or just to be heard, is a confusing effort when you include more than one person of a particular gender in a single sentence. This letter becomes a bit confusing at points, mixing the father of the son with the father of kids of his own. See what I mean? We need to break these sentences down to be extra clear; discuss one person at a time and watch those gender-specific words.]

Regardless, I have a few thoughts/ideas of my own I’d like to offer, if you are receptive.

There is one path Carolyn does not even bother to consider…because she is focused on the possibility that your relationship with the son’s father might be…er, dead. You might be divorced. You might be separated. You might no longer get along with the son’s father and feel you have separate rights to be with your kids and their kids. The path I am referring to involves you setting a “date” with your son to meet and be with the grandkids AWAY FROM THE FATHER.

Is that not possible? Couldn’t you contact the son and suggest a time and place you could meet which would not include “angry dad” and thus spare the son the agitation of being around the worst parent one more minute?

If the answer is no, if the son gives absolutely no response to any communication you send…how do you know your “gifts” are even received and/or put to good use? How do you know they are not tossed in the trash?

If you cannot make ANY contact with your troubled son, in which he responds with some form of opinion/thought, you really don’t have much you can do except go on with your life…YOUR life. [And, that doesn’t have to include your “angry” partner…at least, not all of the time.]

Yes, it would be lovely if every branch of every family could cohabitate and share life’s joys….but that seems like a hoop dream, lately. It’s romantic TV fantasy; it’s a family show from the 1950s, promoting good values where there are none. It’s propaganda to sell you dish soap and cigarettes for when the kids are asleep. Maybe real family life isn’t so rosy. Ya know?

But, if you can, try the secluded meeting option. Try setting up a meeting with your son and the grandkids in which “angry dad” does not attend. Then and only then might you be able to resolve what is surely keeping you distressed day-to-day (because you cannot let this go).

IF you can make contact with your agitated son…and IF he (still) refuses to meet with you apart from the father he (supposedly) detests, you’ll have your answer, as tragic as it may be. You are partially to blame for the son’s anger. Either you report back to his father in a way that makes you an associate to the problem, a subordinate contributor…or you are equally “bad” and just don’t see/admit it. Either way, you’ll know. Then it’s up to you, sigh, to accept the fallout and move on with YOUR life.

[On a recovery-from-fallout-with-my-son note, consider giving your motherly time and attention to kids who are not your own…not collecting lifeless dolls the way my mother’s family seems to do, voiceless, infantile representations of what they initially desired and not at all what happens when those cute little dolls mature. Consider being a mentor and, potentially, a gift giver to kids who lack guidance and emotional support. You won’t be able to take them into your own home (unless you legally adopt). You cannot call them your own, say or do anything that might violate some legal/family boundaries. But, you’ll be able to put that energy you currently cannot give out to good use, I’d hope.]

Carolyn isn’t wrong in suggesting sending a “genuine apology” *without any mention of you wanting time with the kids.* That IS the key/trigger, here. You cannot confess feelings of any kid to the son AND say you want to see the kids. That’s like attaching TNT to a care package…or giving a present with a tag that says “NOW, WHERE’S MY PRESENT?” You don’t want to harm your son, but you might be by mixing your wants for one thing with another…and by ignoring the bomb wires attached to your own hand in the parent trap. Cut the wrong wire, and you blow up your contact opportunity. It’s not pleasant to hear…but may be the truth.

So, to mend fences, or, at least, re-establish communication (if, currently, there is none) yes, try to apologize without a “gimme” clause. But, if you genuinely believe you are not to blame, at all, I don’t think an apology makes any sense. If you are guilty of something and take no blame upon yourself, you’re lying through your smile. If you blame yourself for something you didn’t do, putting yourself on the sacrificial table like a martyr, you’re adding unncessary emotion to the situation and could arrive at the same conclusion, a son who thinks his mother doesn’t know what she is saying and thus isn’t understanding the situation.

But, at the very least, if you cannot hear back from that son yet CAN admit some responsibility, yes, send a letter of apology…and then…pardon my language…SHUT UP. Stop beating on the door that won’t open (and let that door open, again, when/if it chooses to do so). Let that son reach out to you, if he still can. Communication is a two-way street. And, no one person, not even a guilt-free parent, can pave a smooth street, alone. All of your “force” isn’t repairing this road. So, accept what you did, try all that you can and then let the matter go…or sink with the ship.

[And, pardon me for mixing road metaphors with aquatic ones.]

Understand…this may be a wound that needs more time to mend before that part of the social body that is your family can continue to function. Like a gash on one of your limbs or a broken bone, we cannot rush recovery time, even if your insurance won’t cover more rehab. The body heals as it can, as it will. So do relationships, sometimes. Sometimes, effort is needed to accelerate and make productive change/improvement. Sometimes, nature just needs to take its course at its own pace. This may be an instance of the latter. Picking at the “scab” could just make matters worse.

[Don’t be the kid who won’t shut up in the backseat of the car, repeatedly asking, “Are we there, yet? Are we there, yet?” Kapeesh?]

29
Dec
22

A Beef with Parents Who Give Their Newborn Girls Masculine Names

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Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

Let me start by saying I do not wish to cause anyone emotional distress (or “offend”) with my thoughts on this matter. You may have a masculine name and either be at peace with it or have your own personal conflict. I don’t want to add to your troubles. [So, if it’s a touchy subject, you have the right to not dive further into my rant.]

But…

What’s the deal with parents giving male names to some of the most beautiful women of this world? And, not just one; they give the beautiful girl a first and second male name. WHYYYY?

Examples?

Musician Taylor Swift, for starters. Taylor?…like the former U.S. President? ‘Not exactly a befitting name for someone so beautiful and graceful. So, I prefer to call her Tay, which has a certain elegance, like May, Fay, Emily or Amy.

Actress Conor Marie Leslie is also quite gorgeous, an exceptional dark-haired beauty. [I only know of her from tiny tips toward her name in association with personal interests; I cannot even recall what made me look her up online. Was it something about DC Comics? Teen Titans? And, I am astounded to see so many pictures for someone I otherwise wouldn’t know…but certainly someone I’d like to know better.] And, while the latter two names are adequate, the first is questionable, to say the least. Conor? That almost sounds like Conan. I suppose you can call her Connie. [I will.] But, why not just name her Connie, then? Or, Constance (like the lovely Constance Wu)?

Actress/Dancer Robia Brett Lamorte (aka Robia Scott), who first swept me off my feet as Jenny Calendar in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer TV series…is positively stunning and charming…and has TWO masculine-sounding names. Well, technically, just the middle one. The first has been modified from Robert. Robin, as a possible alternative, could go either way, it seems. Robia is certainly feminine but still a bit odd.

Legal correspondant Chanley Painter…is another exceptionally beautiful woman. I’m not even sure how to classify her first name. It sounds like a family name…like Carolyn Chanley…er, Channing. [Some of you might be saying, “Who?”** I only know of her after stumbling across her stunning face when Johnny Depp’s latest trial was being televised in some fashion. And, not long later, I felt prompted to look her up online.]

**This might be another factor. Other than Taylor Swift, the women above are not “household names.” They are not as famous as–say–Deborah Messing, Shania Twain, Whitney Houston or Amy Adams. And, I wonder if it’s not because of their names. Could these names cause such beautiful women to withdraw from the spotlight?…or not get as much credit/attention as women with more elegant/commonly-feminine names? From my awareness/experience, women with unusual/not-very-feminine names tend to take on voice-actor jobs; you’ll find them voicing cartoon characters more often than appearing in front of a camera. And, tragically, some of the prettiest faces and voices don’t live as long as they could (have).

Now, sure, not every pretty face has to be a celebrity and/or have a career in which they are on display. Even the above women could be perfectly content without cameras in their faces and without a page on that IMDB website. But, now that they’ve made themselves “known,” I cannot help being aware of this detail.

I’d just like to understand and warn parents who are quick to name their children…..

If there is any chance your child could turn out as beautiful as any of the above women, why, oh why, in this world, would you dare to give her a name that–in my opinion–does not adequately encompass the beauty she is?

Don’t let your male-dominated roots drive you to make such a crucial decision. You may want a son, but you were given a goddess. Respect her. [Obviously, this is no use to anyone who has already named their goddess and the beauties given the masculine names…unless you legally change names? But, perhaps, parents who have yet to have or name a child could take note for future life-giving.]

If you are reading this and own one of the above names, I apologize if my words rub you the wrong way. You may have made peace with the names you were given. I do my best to respect you as you are. I just feel you deserve better.

[However, if I dared to think of better names, I would risk altering the fabric of reality and warp what nature has provided. Names come with personalities, like genes. How could I be sure the name I pick would improve who you are other than how I address you? But, given enough time and the right circumstances, *we* could probably find more suiting names.]

[It’s no wonder why I struggle to name characters in stories I attempt to write. I want my characters to be as memorable and iconic as some who have already achieved that fame. But, I also want them to be favorable in my own heart, which may not be easy to explain.]

[And, to all you who may object with a “non-binary” perspective, I say get over your trending selves and let me have my opinion. It’s not just about having a gender-suitable name; it’s about having a name that befits the beauty placed in this world. It’s something I just feel in my gut. There are some who have fine names; I can look at them and say the name suits them. There are others who I will encounter and wonder…how did they ever get THAT name?]

03
Sep
22

The Electronic Enemy of My Mental Enemy Is My…

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts, Confessions of the Rabbit Kind and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

****

Don’t ask me why, but I’m hearing Warren Beaty deliver that line from Dick Tracy, when he says, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” And, then he goes on to rattle off a few other possible combinations to the lock rattling in his detective brain.

You may have heard the expression, before, too.

Well, I’m starting to think that line is key to my relationship with television. [Or, maybe, I already started to have this feeling, years ago, and just need to scratch the itchy matter, again.]

When I was a child, TV was forced to be my best friend. I wasn’t a very socially liberated kid. I had a mother who kept me on a very short leash and a father who had no patience after a long day at work to be the sympathetic mentor I desperately needed. Neither gave me confidence to interact with other kids. So, I was “permitted” to sit in front of a damaged family TV and keep myself out of my parents’ way. And, for a while, that was just fine…until I spent so much time in front of the TV that my mother insisted I needed to mind the electricity bill and go outside, once in a while…but don’t go so far that she can no longer detect my presence with her surreal psychic power of awareness (which apparently has a limit of one suburban block).

In short, my youth was a colorful, wild ride of promotional animation, shows bent deceptively selling toys and comic books. There were also the occasional “adult” shows which prompted my “early maturity,” though I remained smaller than most kids in my class until I was just about a legal adult.

There were a few incidents, typically involving my older brother, in which TV became a nightmare. I’d been exposed to a few things definitely unfit for children with active imaginations. Scary clowns, dolls with eyes that glowed red, a madman chasing his wife and son with an axe, a kid opening a drawer of knives before stabbing his mother to death, a famous musician turning toward the TV to reveal scary eyes and cackle, young men drinking blood and eating maggots, etc.

My brother’s failing memory claims I used to laugh at scary movies; if that were true, I must have been wearing a monkey mask and defending myself against the true terror on that screen. But, the way I remember it…I was so terrified by blood-thirsty man-eating fish that I couldn’t cross a blue rug in my own bedroom (a rug I was forced to keep in place to cover a burn which my parents would repeatedly use to confirm their right to be angry and not trust me). I had to have my brother lift me into bed to avoid being devoured by what surely lurked in that rug.

During some of my most traumatic years, my high school disaster, television left me feeling like a troubled drug addict. I was losing sleep and unable to concentrate on schoolwork. I tried my best to continue enjoying my “friend,” especially when I continued to fail at establishing good friendships at school and couldn’t talk to my family about the problem…because they were either never quite “available” to talk or claimed/proved they could not relate. When family conflicts arose or school gave me a panic attack, turning to TV felt like popping open a bottle of pills and gulping them down or jabbing myself with a needle just to release the “pain.” I began to feel guilty (like Adam and Eve taking the forbidden fruit) when I turned to TV.

As adulthood was finally opened to me…at least, according to law (not necessarily in the minds of my restriction-crazed parents)…television became an increasingly hazardous drug addiction. While others turn to alcohol or any number of other recreational (and typically illegal) substances, I clasped onto TV for dear life. I practically prayed to the TV to spare my sanity from the family that refused to understand and respect me as a person and as an adult not nearly ready to take off on his own (for obvious reasons). And, the more I tried to continue enjoying TV, the more I was made to feel like a junkie and a freak.

[There’s more to this second chapter of the story, but it’s a bit of a touchy subject. In short, I was trying to also protect my investments much the way I was told to respect the investments of my family…family who now thought they were free to treat my investments any way they chose, even when I wasn’t home to see what they did. Had I done that as a kid, I’d have a permanent tan on my bottom; enough said.]

I didn’t notice much of a change in the quality of television, between youth and adulthood. Commercials changed a bit. I was able to watch more adult programs without missing the jokes; I could finally understand most of the humor used by Bugs Bunny and his pals (comments that made no sense to me as a kid). But, in general, TV was still the same influence it was in my youth, an inspirational friend. [Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Yada yada.]

And then, IT happened. 9/11. It might as well have been D-Day at Pearl Harbor. Something definitely changed. Heck, the whole world started to change…and seems to keep changing after that event, not for the better.

Actually, TV in the USA didn’t drastically change until 2008, when “antenna TV” got an eviction notice and was replaced (to some extent) by “signal boxes.” [Pardon me if I turn into a conspiracy nut at the thought and wonder if shady military operations are not involved.] But, it’s quite likely 9/11 was the flip of a crucial switch in the hands of those who hold the most power/control.

After 2008, television not only started to lose its charm, replacing “live studio audiences” and laugh-track-nonsense with “reality TV,” it started to lose its voice, completely. When “rabbit ears” and dials were all I had to tune a TV, you could put up with a little static noise and fuzzy picture. But, with the new “signal boxes,” suddenly I had to put up with losing even more of the picture and hearing either nothing or horribly broken sounds.

Imagine having a real, human friend who suddenly could not speak clearly with you, as if they suffered a horrible brain/physical jaw injury. That’s what my relationship with TV had become, living with a horribly handicapped friend. [Some improvement (I say sarcastically, in case you cannot hear the tone).]

Around 2009, coworkers started saying they no longer looked at commercials; they relied on their DVRs to skip the ads. You can imagine the panic advertising agencies must have felt (and still feel, if they still exist), knowing the growing audience was no longer interested in watching their work. So, it seems reasonable–yet tragic–for commercials to dwindle and falter into repetitive cycles of maddening proportions. Just as just about every fun treat in the world gets reduced at inflated cost, what were once cute, colorful ads in a wide variety (though dominated by one monopoly of a brand) become a handful of concepts no one needs to see a thousand times a day.

But, the true ugliness didn’t become apparent until after 2012 (when the Mayan calendar says the world supposedly ends). It was around then that drug ads became more common than ones for toilet paper and restaurants. And, the restaurant ads that remained dwindled in variety, becoming what they are today. I think I can count on one hand how many restaurants still air ads on broadcast TV. [On cable TV, I see more ads for the shows on those channels than anything else, and even those repeat until you want to scream.]

[On that note, I’m about one step from strangling certain ad voices on sight, if the voice talents are ever so unfortunate to cross my path. Papa-John-Cee-Lo (or whoever that voice is) is marked for getting a pepperoni fist shoved down his throat; he can rot with a certain lisping lawyer who refuses to shut up and who plasters his face on every channel, every hour of the day. If a scummy lawyer can afford that, what does it say about the cost of airtime and whoever controls commercial breaks? Not to mention…why is the scummy lawyer allowed to be a “proud investor” in so many companies? If I was a company of any sort, I’d refuse his investment; he’s annoying and unsettling.]

So, lately, television, if I can still enjoy any of it, is like picking fruit from a questionable tree. Pick at the wrong time from the wrong place, and I’ll get stuck with something sour and/or otherwise unpleasant. And, even if I pick a good “fruit,” something typically spoils the moment…family, signal loss, annoying visuals…take your pick.

Don’t get me started on game shows. Okay. Too late; I’m starting. Game shows used to bewilder me, as a kid. I couldn’t understand how all the flashing lights and rotating platforms actually changed people’s lives. But, there was magic in play. And, the winners certainly looked happy. Microphones were–and still are–a bit of a mystery. [I’m still curious about them.] But, as an adult, most game shows become more and more dumb and foolish wastes of time with contracts and clauses that make you wonder how much joy really comes from winning. When I was a kid, I’d dream of being on a game show and winning some amazing prize or trip around the world. As an adult, people will tell me I should go on a game show…and I pause to question the idea. Sure, I might win something because I’d like to think–and they think–I would perform well on the show. But, during my pause, I start to wonder if there’s more to winning than meets the eye…because there surely is; it’s not as simple as turning on the TV and standing by a colorful wheel. You don’t just win a car and drive it home; you sign papers and accept the terms that come with collecting said prize(s). You probably have to pay taxes on your winnings; all of those other factors take a little bite out of the excitement (unless you’re oblivious, a “housewife” and/or already exceptionally wealthy).

All of the trips the game shows give away seem like restricted passes to visit locations reserved for those shows, as if you’d go on the trip and deal solely with people wearing the show’s logo, lest you step outside the permitted perimeter of what was awarded to you. [Oh, no. Don’t step across that line; you’ll have to pay separately for that.] The inflated prices (prize values) cover the excessively intensive private service you’re supposed to receive, if you like that sort of constant pampering/attention (whether or not you actually respect the staff) but probably don’t cover the tips that staff will surely still desire (unless tips are worked into the price of the trip…and then you might still feel awkward around the staff).

[I could just as well spend a fraction of the cost, go without the pampering and find something to do with my time rather than lounge around, stuff my face, get drunk and maybe “dance the night away” at some crowded, noisy club (or gamble). I’d rather explore wilderness, isolated beaches and ruins with a trusted companion than be pampered, return to a life without pampering and feel like I lost something when I supposedly won. If you already live a pampered life and win one of those trips…what’s the point? You are ensured an oxygen tank to keep you alive when you get there? There is no break from being pampered?]

I have never been a fan of “local news” or world news, for that matter. I’ve been more like a big kid most of my life, bent on cheerful entertainment, adding a little “adult edge” as I “mature.” But, as I…get older…sigh…I start to notice the news, more often, and see only horrible crime stories (unless there is a festival in town). So, as soon as I become aware of…that…I change the channel or tune out, completely. I don’t need to know about every shooting, bombing, killing or suicide around the world. But, apparently, my family does. Isn’t that…sweet; one more reason to spend less time with family.

Sigh. What happened to my “old” friend?

[And, without a good family relationship…or other friends…who am I left with other than myself? ‘Not a good situation to be in, people. If anyone says the word “therapist,” I’ll just bristle and tell you to zip it. Your therapist is never going to be a wingman (or friend who isn’t restricted to a schedule and price).]

I begin to wonder if, all along, TV was like the tree of forbidden fruit or the temptation that led me to taking the trouble-causing “bite.” Was it ever my friend? Or, was everything I thought good about TV just an illusion?

“The television dreams of tomorrow; we’re not the ones who are meant to follow, for that’s enough to irk you.” [Could wiser words have ever been sung?]

[And then, I think about all of the famous faces (actors, actresses and professional athletes, including those who compete repeatedly just to have a chance at the Olympics, which only gives them a brief window of fame…and fortune…tied to other hands all wanting their pieces) who have come and gone…people risking their lives just to avoid “labor,” some committing suicide when they can no longer take what that lifestyle choice gives them. So many souls throwing themselves into the hope of entertaining someone only to put on masks and pretend everything is “amazing” when some idiot is pressed to interview them, when the truth is anything but “amazing.”]

What are we doing, people? What are we all doing? [As Jerry Seinfeld once said, “We’re not men.” We’re (dumb) animals, no better than the sparrows in the bush, no matter what texts like the Bible say.] I’m both full of words and without words. I think we all need to go back to farming and cultivate our planet so we can live off the land without fear of competition fueled by the currently (and continually) failing government and economy. Forget TV and become real good friends (not reality-TV friends).

OR…we scrap the whole current mess and start from scratch. Tear down the dinosaur entertainment system and build something new yet appealing with a certain familiarity, so we aren’t traumatized by the change in temperature or water quality. Scrap commercials, lest they rear their ugly heads, again, like weeds…as tempting as it may be to apply my creativity to some really amusing ads. No more cartoons built around toy lines just to fill wish lists, auction websites and landfills with yesterday’s craze. Burn all laugh tracks and anything remotely artificial, other than special effects, which could still be used to dazzle and enhance programming. [And, remain cautious about falsifying reality, lest all minds become so warped that they can no longer grasp what exists around them…yet not so “pious” that we come out with another “comics code authority”/FCC to white-wash and pigeon-hole entertainment.]

04
Apr
22

Response to Must Dad call new wife ‘the love of his life’…; from Ask Carolyn (Hax)

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Categories: Responses to Ask Carolyn Advice Columns
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***

Ask Carolyn (Hax) column originally titled “Must dad call new wife ‘the love of his life’ around his kids?”

There are two letters to this particular column. The second ends with a line that triggers my pet peeve with this advice columnist.

Resentful is the non-gender-specific offspring of a deceased mother and a father who, after four years of solitude, has paired up with another woman, a woman he chooses to regularly call “the love of my life.” Resentful, upon hearing those words, including in the presence of children (possibly their own, possibly nieces/nephews, possibly both), becomes angry and hurt because those words were once the rightful description of their birth mother (and the grandmother of the children present). Resentful seeks a way to convey the anger to their father who persists in questioning why Resentful has reduced time spent with him. In other words, it’s a tense situation that won’t improve without some form of peaceful negotiation.

Carolyn essentially advises Resentful to speak up rather than silently withdraw, bottle the anger and leave Dad wondering until his heart permanently breaks from the disconnect. Carolyn also states that feelings from both sides may not be entirely as they appear in the column/letter. The father might still value Resentful’s birth mother but politely use the phrase to honor his new flame as the next phase in his on-going life. And, Resentful is choosing, in a way, to let the circumstances upset him/her, rather than simply accepting the choice made by their father.

Raising a Teen is a frustrated single? mother who has a tense relationship with her 17-year-old son and a number of fellow-parent “friends” who politely try to sympathize though their own kids are younger. Raising, somewhat like a teenager, feels the other parents (friends) just cannot understand all that goes through her head upon dealing with her own near-adult son. Memories of her ex, the boy’s father, who retains a bitter relationship with his own mother, trouble her. She wants to scream.

Carolyn somewhat subtly tells Raising to curb her anger and reconsider the advice and/or support of those other parents, even if they don’t have the exact same circumstances. And, if that’s not sufficient, if Raising still cannot calm down (possibly because some emotional responses are just too much for some people, possibly including Raising’s “friends”), she should seek professional help (therapy, I am guessing). [Can I scream, now?]

——————–

Resentful,

What Carolyn (and I just) said. The quick and easy answer is to bite the bullet and put your feelings on the table, ideally getting an honest confession from your father (not pressuring him to change his choice of words just to please you).

Right now, your anger/resentment is so vivid and fierce, like a raging fire; you cannot handle peaceful negotiation. So, I’d suggest taking some kind of trip/vacation on which you can process your feelings and digest our words/advice. It doesn’t have to be a long trip; just a day or two…probably two.

You need to calmly speak with your father to clarify his truest feelings. This could be challenging, considering he may be reluctant to say his feelings for your deceased mother are as strong as those he has for the new woman, for fear of upsetting that new woman…which is fair to say. And, if you cannot control your own fiery feelings, you might spoil the opportunity to assess the situation (which is why, I suppose, you reached out for advice).

How can someone new ever be a fully honored and accepted part of his life if he must constantly replay/relive emotional matters of his past? Would you expect him to say he loves two women, one deceased and one living, equally at every family gathering? Would you expect him to set a place at the dining table for the deceased and his new love interest?

I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I didn’t see things from your side, as well. I have similar resentment for things my family chooses to do which trigger some unpleasant historical thoughts/feelings. Imagine being a rape victim and having your family party with evidence from that painful experience at the scene of the crime while they talk casually about the culprit. [No, I have not been raped…at least, not in the dictionary-definition sense. I’d say I’ve been sort of spiritually and mentally raped (or deeply offended and rattled by people I was told to trust). I just use that as a sort of metaphor/example of what’s still troubling me.]

You don’t like what your father is doing/saying. You don’t want to hear it. The healthier response would be to take the previous advice and defuse the bomb in your chest; if your father can convince you he still values your mother, even if he uses those particular words to address/introduce the new phase of his remaining lifetime, you have nothing to resent. This situation isn’t exactly a drug-abuse intervention, so you cannot pressure him to quit for his own health. Yet, the second-hand smoke–so to speak–is upsetting yours (your mental/emotional health). If he cannot see how the words upset you, that’s just as unkind of him if he doesn’t step forward to address the situation. “Honey/Son? Is what I am saying bothering you? Why? Let’s talk about it.”

Your choice to withdraw and spend less time with your dad isn’t too unreasonable. It gives you some control over the situation, unlike being the child who gets imprisoned if he/she turns against his/her parent(s) in some emotional conflict. You are not required to go along for the ride you have no interest in taking. You can step away/stay at your own home.

But, not resolving this matter only causes the resentment to fester in the wound. Your relationship with Dad won’t improve by biting your angry tongue and avoiding him. Once or twice, it might feel good to have that control. But, year after year, it’s sure to eat you alive…until he dies. And then, what will you do/feel? Will you let him go to his grave without a kind word…because he lived the (second) portion of his committed love life in a way that upset you? [I’m asking myself similar questions as I sort out what I will need to do when my (disappointing, to say the least) parents pass away.]

Carolyn commonly advises people to seek professional therapy. But, she did not in this case. Strangely enough, I am wondering if something similar wouldn’t benefit your situation. If you could arrange a talk with your father and some sort of mediator with no emotional ties to the situation, someone who you’d trust to serve as judge/counselor, you might stand a better chance at sorting out the details and putting your anger to rest.

——————–

Raising a Teen,

In your current state of mind, I doubt me saying “I feel your pain” would suffice, considering I am not a parent of a 17-year-old boy or any children, for that matter. But, I know that desire to scream when those we seek for sympathy and advice (though we are slow/reluctant to accept and/or follow it) don’t satisfy our desires for one reason and/or another. You are the sort who starts sentences with “Until you have…” and clenches her fists (and teeth) when someone who isn’t your twin says anything that doesn’t agree with your comfort zone. Differences in circumstances, for you (and, often enough, myself), are like pollen and dust to someone (like me) with seasonal allergies. And, I might be just a tad like your ex, considering the tense relationship I have with my own parents, both of them.

I’ve consulted people I’d like to call friends for advice and sympathy in matters troubling me; and, often enough, their responses lack something to satisfy my desires. This tends to anger me. And, when I contact these “friends,” they often claim I sound angry. I get worked up about certain matters…about a lot of things…more than the people I contact, it seems, ever do. They don’t seem as 3-D as I feel; they are more like cartoon/movie characters written to respond a certain way than people who can adequately relate to and help with my situation. In short, I’m “too much” for most people. And, once this is conveyed by the person I contact, contact is abruptly ended…not usually by my choice but by the other person. And, that only makes me want to cry and scream even more. What does one who is “too much” for so many do with that volcano of feelings?

The easy answer for many is to say, “You need to seek professional help.” And, to that, I respond GET LOST! Tell me how many people have come to you for sympathy/support or just someone to keep them company. And, how often did you tell them their problems/requests are too much for you? Did you tell them to get professional help for reasons other than resolving a mechanical problem (like fixing a leaky pipe or replacing a faulty appliance/computer)?

Gosh. “Professional help” must certainly be rich with all that business being thrown their way. It makes me wonder why there aren’t as many commercials for crisis assistance services and psychiatrists as there are for lawyers just waiting for someone to have a terrible vehicular accident or intake a hazardous drug/chemical; I suppose it’s because few if any are being told to go have a near-fatal vehicular accident or ingest a hazardous substance.

Tell me why a professional stranger, who has no prior experience with you upon which to base their assessments, who requires payment for every minute of their time (which sounds a bit like prostitution), is better than someone you sort of or sufficiently know taking the time to help you through your difficult time/situation. Isn’t the latter the definition of a good friend? Instead, you are supposed to lay out every important detail about what has been going on in your life (and omit what isn’t important, while swamped in emotional baggage), tell it all to someone new who can only give you an hour of their time maybe once a week if not once every other week, and expect them to have more sympathy than the people you call friends. That sounds…insane.

I cannot even discuss my health concerns and prior experiences, at full length, with my “primary care provider” before my “session” has expired. At best, I imagine a professional could steer you toward some other form of assistance, like a family/group therapy program or recreational activity you might (enjoy) with your son, provided he would participate with you in that activity. And, I suppose, that’s slightly better than telling you to get help elsewhere.

Wait; did I just give professional advice without a license? Hmm.

But, a therapist cannot remain professional and still be a good friend (as previously defined)…can they? They only have so much time and many others who need their help…because so many, who cannot handle helping other people, are providing these therapists with an ample supply of clients. A professional cannot be that person you call in the middle of the night when something’s bothering you (or even at a more reasonable hour, if you could be that respectful). I really wish I had such a friend, right now. But, I don’t. And, I’m guessing, you don’t have one, either.

I may have a difficult time processing some emotionally/mentally “heavy” situations. I may also not be the best source of advice/counsel, considering I can be harshly honest (or blunt) without intent to upset/hurt anyone. I don’t take pleasure in upsetting people, but it happens…often. If I don’t say something miraculously inspirational, usually making good use of a metaphor, I say something that disturbs the other person(s). I don’t smile in response, like some wicked people I’ve known do. I’m…sorry I upset someone. Yet, saying I am sorry won’t resolve the situation I just caused.

I like to think I take on more emotional conflicts than most people would; I like to think I am a decent counselor/therapist. I like helping people when and where I can, even going above and beyond what comes easy to most. But, considering I am dealing with a ton of my own mental/emotional baggage on a fairly regular basis, it’s not as if I can address the problems of another person with a clear slate/state of mind. A professional tends to limit their time to an hour with each client. I’m inclined to spend more than that with each person (being someone who is not a man of few words); which is one reason I would not be the most/best professional helper.

Now that I’ve sufficiently gone off-track with self-therapy, let’s get back to your situation. Hopefully, what I’ve just said will ease the tension in your shoulders a bit and you will agree we have similar feelings/experiences.

You and your son currently do not get along (well). You neglect to give any specific reasons/examples of those conflicts. And, your ex’s relationship with his mother troubles you.

Is that because you fear the son will take after his father? Is it possible your troubling son has already said something about his father to fuel his clashes with you? Is that so unreasonable?…for a son of divided parents to sort of side with the one he favors? Is that so abnormal that others–even those who don’t have the exact same circumstances–cannot relate/sympathize in some way? Divorce isn’t new or taboo. Separated parents are not new, either.

Considering you call the other parents (you mentioned) friends, I have to question/wonder how they earned that title. They don’t satisfy your needs. And, I’m betting you don’t do enough to please them, even if you feel you do plenty. It’s possible they don’t adequately appreciate and respect your output. You clearly don’t appreciate their output. So…how are they friends?

I’m inclined to think too many call undeserving people “friends” just to feel as if they are not entirely isolated in this world. I know I’d feel like a basket case if I couldn’t say I considered at least one person a friend…of some sort. I will come right out, right now, and admit I do not currently have a single close friend. There is no one I can trust with the depths of my soul, and that is quite discouraging. But, I do have what I’d consider very shallow, somewhat superficial, flimsy, fair-weather contacts, people I can reach by phone and/or email. And, yes, some of those contacts make me want to scream, now and then…especially if anyone stops “trying,” says I’m “too much” and/or tells me to get professional help.

If your “friends” are cardboard cutouts merely filling the places of people you’d prefer to have in your life, the desire to scream certainly makes sense. Imagine waking up to a world inhabited by only cardboard people (and yourself). That sounds awful.

I have no advice for how to improve your friendships other than to look elsewhere (for better friends). I’d take the advice I’ve been given about joining a club or exercise class at which you might meet people with similar interests and–ideally–outlooks. But, I have yet to follow that, myself, for whatever reason I am reluctant to confront.

You could listen to Carolyn–if I correctly understood her words–and take what you get from your “friends” without throwing it back in their faces. Accept the fact they don’t have the exact same situation yet offer what they can/will in response; and, if that’t not good enough, consult someone else…which you did by reaching out to an advice columnist. And, like those professionals we’re being told to find, she only has so much time and space to satisfy your needs…not enough to fill an hour of your day.

Similarly, you could alter your way of thinking about the problem by avoiding and/or derailing thoughts about the ex who doesn’t get along with his mother. Do all that you can to silence those voices in your head that say, “Like father, like son.” Avoid any movies and/or TV shows that use those words and tell stories of sons acting out the way their fathers once did. Your son is an individual, even if he is part you and part ex. He can be his own special person, if you treat him that way. But, if you feed him the same fertilizer and water you gave your ex, he will probably resemble that ex.

Is there any reason your son SHOULD feel/act the way your ex does/has? Are you, in any way, responsible for your son’s behavior? Can you admit that much? [And, if you can, that would have been helpful information to include in your letter…as well as the first step to resolving the conflict.] Taking responsibility for one’s part in a conflict is far better than accepting zero blame and simply expecting your son to change. Expressing awareness of how you may have upset the relationship (even if you cannot find any intent on your part) you have with your son could compel him to express similar feelings and bridge the gap.

What more can I/we say? Plenty, I suppose, if we spared the time and effort. But, I don’t have a concise, concrete, fool-proof solution. Who does? I don’t know.

28
Feb
17

My Response to “An Ace in a Hole” (Dear Abby)

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Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
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*****

You can find my response to this and other letters on the designated page. But, while you’re here, have a read.

Ace is a… Well, let’s be clear about this. Ace doesn’t exactly say if they are a boy/man or girl/woman. So, the mere fact that Abby decides to address the person as a young woman may be in error. While some details might suggest Ace is female, it is not certain from my perspective.

Ace is struggling with an “asexual” identity. He/She is being pestered by friend and family alike to do what is “normal,” including sex and having kids while Ace shows no interest. As with others who feel abnormal or exceptionally unique, he/she is distraught and seeking a means of maintaining friendship with those who bother him/her.

I myself never questioned my sexuality other than how I appear to others (which has been a source of concern and annoying conflict). I have been labeled and scrutinized most of my life and had to accept some battles as defeats or stalemates, which ultimately weakened or even tore ties to certain people. Thus, I will speak from experience.

————-

Ace, you might help me out by making your gender clear. What I have to say might slip into applying to one gender or another. But, I will do by best to keep this asexual.

One quick question: Why do you call yourself “an ace in a hole?” The term “ace in the hole” is defined as an advantage waiting to be revealed. I’d say being openly asexual while enduring punishment from those closest to you does not match that definition.

[If you have no interest in my personal experience/opinion outside the realm of advice geared specifically to your problem, you can skip the following portion and start with the separate question.]

———–

While a mother pushing the idea of marrying a gay man at you tells Abby you are a woman turned off by sexual intercourse, I am wondering if your mother didn’t have another motive, if you are an asexual man, and she thought a gay man would eventually awaken the gay manhood in you or make you comfortable with someone who didn’t look at sex the same way heterosexual couples do. I could be way off base here. But, hopefully, you can see how/why I’d make such a statement.

Some might bring up the matter of having children. Well, would you really be more likely to have children as an asexual woman with a gay man than with a straight one? No. You’d likely adopt or be in a situation like James Corden who is apparently married to a heterosexual woman AND gay (or bisexual) with kids.

At an early age, I was “informed” having children was “normal” and to be expected. And, as early as maybe twelve, I thought about having two kids of m own. But, once I learned about sexual intercourse and all that came with it, over many years and from meeting many people, I kinda lost interest in bringing kids into this world. [I’m not ruling kids out completely; but they seem unlikely in my future. Still, I might help others with their kids and consider that my “parenting time.”]

No discomfort intended, but I am surprised you have ANY supportive friends (unless the friendships are very “cool” and “casual,” not people you spend extensive time with outside of work and/or have heavily personal talks with, for example). Being as you are cannot be common in your area. Can it? If your supportive circle consists of other asexual individuals, well, aren’t you lucky. I’m more likely to believe the people you know are quite comfortable discussing and seeking sexual intercourse while just patting you on the back as they bite their tongues in your presence (if they are that respectful).

From as far back as the age of five, I can recall kids being quite mean to me. I’ve had my share of bullies picking on me for everything from the shape of my head to how I walk or dress. I could have curled up in a closet and decided years later I was gay because I couldn’t connect with girls the way other boys did. But, that’s just not me. I knew early on I liked girls; I just didn’t know how to convey my feelings without embarrassment or social conflict. And, as I learned about sexual intercourse, I was turned off, much like you. The new knowledge only made socializing more difficult.

There was one girl in particular I befriended for whom I had strong feelings. And, as these feelings became apparent to our peers, we were harassed until we–or she–made a decision to separate. It was painful to lose touch with her. Meanwhile, a few of the hecklers were having their first sexual experiences with foreign exchange students; and I don’t recall them being harassed for attempting this.

There was also one boy who I’d call asexual because he never expressed any interest in a boy or girl other than as an ally or enemy. Everything seemed to be about war with him. You were either his “right-hand man” or on a list of people he had no problem talking about wiping off the planet (though he never followed through with his threats). I thought he was a Nazi leader. It was hard for even me to understand how he could be so robotic and, in his own way, juvenile.

In my late teens, I was viewed by some of my peers as the equivalent of a “gay priest.” I was, like you, repulsed by the realities of sexual intercourse, especially the common practice of “casual sex” (including “oral” which I refuse to try or accept others doing). I was also serious about respecting religion which seemed to be a foreign concept to my peers though we were attending a Catholic school. [Had I not been given such a steady diet of religion growing up, I might have had no qualms about casual sex.]

I could admit to liking or even lusting for a girl. But, the truth came out under pressure and, usually, with unpleasant results. I consistently hoped I’d have a quiet moment alone with whoever interested me so I could express my feelings without heckling or judgment and cope with the rejection I might yet receive if the feelings were not mutual. I was a passer of notes who had little to no luck doing so. My unique mindset made me an outcast. And, a few bold souls pressured me to try things with which I was not only uncomfortable but also opposed.

On occasion, the suggestions/dares were made in jest, just to see how badly I’d make a fool of myself following orders. Suffice to say, high school put a big dent in my ability to socialize. I went from a “plus one” (in terms of social aptitude, on a scale of 1 to 10) to somewhere in the negative digits. I might as well have been dead. That would have made everything easier. But, in my heart, I still longed for companionship and hid those strong sexual feelings most of my peers had and discussed freely.

Ultimately, I had to accept being an outcast and cutting ties with people who seemed unable to respect my choices. [And, though I didn’t always see it at that age, I was not the most respectful of choices made by my peers, either. If I didn’t like something they did, I’d complain when they were in my company. But, I didn’t nag, tease or challenge anyone. I just bluntly said, “I don’t like ___.” Or, “___ are stupid.” And, often enough, I’d give reasons no one really wanted to hear. I thought I was being social and honest, having an opinion.]

————

How do you maintain contact with these people who are becoming increasingly bothersome/suffocating?

Right off the top of my head, I’d say you don’t (maintain contact). You set yourself apart from them and regroup. Why continue to stand in their line of fire and take that “abuse?”

Give yourself a place and time to shake their pressured intentions from your mind (and soul) like a plane shaking the fire from one of its engines. Maybe there’s a coffee shop or fast food restaurant/cafe you can visit to unwind and entertain yourself with some tabletop hobby (IE reading, crossword puzzles or doodling). And, if they continue to seek you out and push their views, you give them one last warning before cutting ties completely. If they ignore your warning, there’s your answer; they are not going to change.

It may hurt to lose a friend or warm relationship with a parent, but crap happens. If your mother won’t accept you as a person and family member because you don’t get married and/or have kids, you tell her she has only so much time to change her way of thinking because you are going to be who you choose to be until that changes, if it changes, which will not happen because of her pressuring you.

Abby says this is an opportunity to educate. Well, who says you have to be the spokesperson for “asexual America” and go on talk shows to start a movement for supporting people like you? If that sounds good to you, go for it. If not, defend yourself. At the very least, you tell these nags that you will consider other options when and if your feelings change. And, if that’s not enough to shut them up, again, set boundaries, make ultimatums and follow through. Accept the fact that you may not always have the best of relations with your parents and/or that one person you call a friend.

But, let’s do our best to be polite about these matters. Right? Because it wouldn’t be “prudent” to lose our tempers. No. It would just be natural. If you value yourself and what you believe/feel, you do what is necessary and may not be able to sort out–at the time–what is excessively hostile. Still, there are things we can say and/or do via impulse that might be worse than necessary. And, we should avoid doing more harm than good.

28
Feb
17

My Response to “Achiever Mom” (Carolyn Hax)

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Categories: Uncategorized
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*****
You can find my response to this and other letters on the designated page. But, while you’re here, have a read.  [You may find a loose end or two as my response kept evolving over a few days.  I finally just decided to post what I had.]

Achiever Mom is concerned about her son who is twelve years old, not exceptional in sports or academics and void of any interest with which she feels able to relate. She mentions her husband as a socially anxious under-achiever and highlights a moment in which her son supposedly chose to forfeit a spelling bee due to a lack of interest in winning/trying. Claiming she grew up grasping at every opportunity she could, this incident made her angry at him for not being more ambitious to achieve greater status.

Carolyn Hax does a decent job of asking Mom to accept her son as he is and let him find his own way. But, Hax seems to be making the assumption the son bailed on the challenge, knowing it would irk his mom, making the son appear more devious than he may be (which could have a negative impact on what the mother does next).

While overall content with the article/response, I felt there were a few details missing, details that might need light shed upon them to better understand and direct the situation at a crucial stage. This case also touches on a personal one, which motivates me to speak out. Thus, the following response is more about my experience and how it may be related to the situation at hand than added advice.

————–

Achiever Mom, you be careful with that boy. I don’t want to scare you, but soon, he will be entering high school, that tumultuous stormy sea between Scylla and Charybdis that tests youth’s metal. He will face temptation, heavier work loads and peer pressure like he has never known. He will be torn between convention and rebellion, between practical and unorthodox. And, if you so much as twist his wrist in an effort to tell him “how it’s done” or fail to teach him how to accept defeat, you could scar him and the connection you have for life.

If you don’t mind reading a novella, I’m content to sit down and discuss this with you for the moment. Getting all of the thoughts out and answers we might benefit from is a tad hard to achieve in half of a newspaper page. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, take a deep cleansing breath, maybe fix yourself a calming drink and have a go at this.

[FYI, I speak from experience; I was a boy much like your son. I had a father who (without any “inheritance”) boasted military experience (in “peace time”) and a mother who was the self-proclaimed ruler of discipline and organization (as well as the queen of denial). But, I didn’t bail on the spelling bee. I simply fell short and discouraged myself from trying, again, because I had been built up to think I was smarter than I performed and acknowledged for a skill I must not have valued much (until I was older and learned to care more about the full use of words than just spelling them). I made one mistake and didn’t have the nurturing I felt necessary to continue or didn’t see the logic in trying, again. I had no “failure coping skills,” no interest in being less than the best and, to be quite honest, little to no interest in glory from spelling.

There were many other instances in which I had gut instincts to go one way and my parents insisted I go their way. And, in short, because they only accepted doing things my way after it was too late (after I paid the price of going against my gut feeling) or after lengthy protest and stressing out, a rift gradually grew. In just a few years, it grew to the point I lost sight of the childhood love I had for my parents. And, to this day, that love is razor thin; it’s an obligation and an oath, not a comfort or treasure.

I had a hard time talking with my parents about nearly every concern on my mind. And, there were plenty in my early teens. Certain tasks or challenges were deemed too dangerous or unfit for me before I could even attempt them. Where I wanted to try was not always approved. The more often I quit, the less my parents approved of me; and the more I disliked myself. Yet, I could not see any merit in continuing what discouraged and/or hurt me, as well as what seemed “too hard.” I was told I was a good student, but that didn’t seem the case when it came to learning from/with my parents. Confusion does not make a good foundation. And, when later asked by others why I couldn’t do something, I felt too embarrassed to say no one never taught me or that I was afraid to learn. Nor could I easily take what others taught me and apply it at home without my parents objecting strongly.]

Your last little paragraph kind of says it all. You are a tightly wound violin string ready to snap at the kid for a “mocking bow” and potentially never succeeding at anything. You may say it was so, but I don’t know and doubt he was mocking. Nor would I be so harsh to assume he will never succeed at anything; that’s just devastating talk. Get that junk out of your head, doing a weekly sweep if necessary.

[That reminds me of a time when my mother thought I was “faking” weakness/illness/injury. I was actually physically, mentally and emotionally hurt; and she thought I was faking. I don’t remember her saying so when I was in the moment. But, hearing her thoughts, decades later, hurt almost as much as they would have had I heard them as that kid. It explains why I felt so abandoned and helpless at the time, left to fend for myself like a baby bird that fell from the nest. Yet, I didn’t do so well fending for myself. Had I been a bird, I probably would have died or been eaten.]

Whether or not you shake your head at my earlier assessment, let me ask you a valid question (or two). How successful are you, really? [That might have shed some light on the situation.] Are you the “breadwinner?” Are you at the peak of your career path? Or, are you “content” with much less than you yourself could have had yet wishing–as many do–for your children to “have a better life” while losing sight of what you experienced?

Understand that some things never change; but others do. Tools that were available when you were his age are not the same now. Opportunities you had then are not necessarily available now. Others you did not have are. Circumstances are slightly different.

———
This next portion is going to sound much like what Carolyn said with a few different words. You might find a few new perspectives. But, you can skip past it, if you prefer.

Instead of focusing on the word “succeed,” right now, put the phrase “stimulate the happiness of others” up over your work space and do everything in your power to guide your son toward what makes him happy (not what makes you happy). In time, I would guess (I mean, what do I know?) this will turn into success once he feels good about what he can do before assuming he can or must be successful.

Teach him a lesson my parents had a hard time–if not failed at–grasping: how to experience failure and deal with it. Don’t teach him to fear failure and fear trying things you feel he isn’t fit or right to do (like laundry, cooking and other household chores), just because he doesn’t do them your way or makes a mess. [Maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t follow directions well; and it doesn’t have to be a “disability” or “attitude problem.”]

The scariest part of the coming years could be letting him do what he chooses and being ready to cushion any blows that come from those decisions, not letting him take over your house and lifestyle but allowing him to mold himself rather than have you pick the shape he takes. If there is competition, let him decide to enter or avoid it. Encourage him to discuss what is happening in his life without framing the moment with past experiences and assumptions/predictions. Then, if you see an opportunity for him to take a chance with good odds, kindly nudge him.

Say something like, “Hey, you’d be good at that. Why don’t you give that a try?” And, leave it at that. Or, provide the tools/supplies without any pressure to use them. [If you must, try a little negotiation. Say you’ll do ____ for him if he does ____ for you (for himself). And, don’t cave if he resists. But, don’t deprive him of necessities, either. Don’t take away his ability to connect with friends, regardless what he has done (and not from what he MIGHT do).] If he turns away from the challenge, don’t fight his decision. [However, if his life takes any scarier turns, if he withdraws so much from interaction, chores and challenges that his life seems in jeopardy, other action will become necessary.]

———

The first line of your letter that jumped out at me was where you mentioned your son being nervous and not wanting to be there. [Actually, the first was his saving grace, his sense of humor. I seem to have survived this long with that little life preserver, myself.] While nerves and refusal may be signs of weakness one could halt by pushing the weakling into the fray of battle, it might also have been an area of achievement he had little interest in pursuing. And, pressure to do something we do not instinctively favor could be unnecessary pressure, like peer pressure. Just because our peers tell us we’re uncool for not doing what they do; that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to do things differently.

Some adults might recall being kids pushed to take up musical instruments but, later, giving up these lessons to take up medical or financial jobs. They might look back and question their parents’ pressure to take interest. [Or, if they are so fortunate, the former kids might integrate those lessons into adult life and be some amazingly, envy-worthy, diverse people.]

[I personally was adept at math because I had a brain apparently gifted at absorbing equations. But, would I pursue math contests? No way. Too boring. I’m a creative spirit. There is no creativity in math, other than creating problems and, later, solutions. I don’t mind problem-solving. But, I guess I have little to no interest into imagining problems in terms of numbers and variables. My mind is more geared toward seeing social, arrangement/composition or regulation problems around me and figuring out solutions.]

One other thing about your letter that sticks in my mind: You briefly mention the husband being socially anxious and an under-achiever who struggles to get jobs. Yet, you love this guy; you married this guy, right? [That may be a tiny weight off my shoulders, an ounce of hope.] But, how much do you love him? And, could it be your marriage is merely another challenging opportunity you took upon yourself? Did you enter this family structure like a school contest, hoping to work your way up the ranks from district to state, mold the members like clay sculptures until they won the blue ribbon at the county fair? In other words, do you love your husband (and your son) for who he is, for being part of your life? Or, do you see them as works in progress you just haven’t been able to fully improve to the best of your ability, yet?

What would you say or have done had your husband not “inherited” any money? Would that have any impact on you marrying him? Was the money or family status a push toward the thought of a stable future/home?

I wonder, how does your husband feel about you (and the kid/s)? Do you have more than one child? That too could be a big factor in this pressure-to-achieve situation. For instance, how does this son get along with his siblings? How “successful” or “driven” are they? Might this son feel pressured to be like them when he is not?

[I knew a few “only childs” and saw how their parents treated them like pet projects, like singular rockets filled with hopes of greater success than any family of six or more could achieve.]

How would the husband feel being labeled an underachiever? Does he accept this like a healthy bowl of bran cereal to stabilize his diet? Is he comfortable not doing as much as some, accepting that some people are tortoises while others are hares? Or, do the words cut a little deep, leave him a little less eager to try?

———
Here comes some more advising verbiage. Again, breeze past it if you’d rather read more unique material.

At twelve, your son is at a crucial time of development, sure. [Heck, every year between birth and whatever number you want to use for labeling adulthood is crucial.] And, you could fortify this by giving him a swift kick into some regimen like boarding school or a “balanced diet,” and trust this will keep his back straight, his shoulders back and his elbows off the table. But, what is more important is a trusted family member fortifying him with experiences, both good and bad.

He needs to be free to try things, learn how to do them both your way and his own way and experience failure to learn from his mistakes. You’ve probably heard similar advice elsewhere. It just might not have stuck with you or found purpose. Well, I’d say the purpose has been found. It’s your son. And, he needs his mother to still catch him when he falls but to let him fall, as well, and learn what comes with failure, including the steps to recovery.

A parent who is driven by only success and grabbing every opportunity might not be relaxed enough to say, “It’s okay if I don’t have any interest in ___. Maybe I’ll give it a try; and, if I don’t like it, that’s fine. I’ll do better at something else.” You might get upset if you take on a crossword puzzle and leave half of it blank. You might cut interests out of your life because you did not excel at them. Or, you might think you have to be good at everything.

———

Which brings me back to the father in the picture. What’s his input with the son? How does he nurture the boy? Is his method annoying to you? If you answer the last question with some form of “yes,” that says plenty. Maybe a lack of desire to compete and excel could be directly or subtly linked to an unhappy union in which two committed lovers–role models for the boy–are anything but encouraging images at the finish line. The boy might not want to complete the race because the prize at the end of the road is not worth his time/energy. [Or, maybe, it’s not you he’s looking at but other families falling apart.]

———
One last push to sound competent and professional. These moments just pour out of me like a leaky boat. It’s the chatty therapist in me.

Get to know your son and his interests. [If at seventeen he still likes the cartoons he watched at five or keeps a stuffed animal on his bed, don’t harp on that being a bad thing.] Let him decide when it’s time to keep or part with something. Don’t assume his decisions or ways are bad ones. Teach your son how to pick himself up and try, again. Don’t insist he must continue or be smarter or more successful than he feels fit/able. Or, live with the possible failure of staying connected with your son; accept that he will likely cut ties with you or resent you if you push too hard or fail to fill in other gaps.

You can’t guarantee success no matter what method you try. You, too, must be able to cope with “failure” and still find happiness, contentment. Otherwise, this life is a miserable one.

———

Phew! And, breathe. [This is just the tip of the emotional iceberg for me.] If you manage to find my lengthy thought process here and wish to continue, feel free to contact me.

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