On Family

Nov. 21st, 2009 02:20 pm
rickps: (Default)
[personal profile] rickps
I find it relatively difficult to talk about my family and childhood.  It wasn't a horrible existence nor was it particularly happy.  I also figure that nobody needs to hear another dysfunctional family story.  But in this season of family oriented holidays (and after reading posts of friends who I greatly respect), I thought I'd unwind and unburden myself of some of the baggage.  As always, the "Page DN" button can be a great ally in such circumstances.

My father's childhood was, I believe, something of a rarity at the time (the 1920s and 30s).  A broken home that resulted when one partner (my father's father) walked out.  My father's older brother chose to take the 'no strings' life while my father became the responsible one.  When I was a child, one of his regular lectures involved a reminder that he'd gone to work at 14 to support his mother and had still managed to take some college courses.  It caused a lifelong rift between my father and his brother.  The upshot was that I never knew much of my uncle and his family.  My father, like many depression era kids, embraced responsibility.  "You should be proud to have a job and be able to put food on your table" was his mantra.  Coloring between the lines, never taking risks, was his thing.

Mother, on the other hand, was a rebel.  Her traditional Brooklyn, NY Jewish roots gave birth to an outspoken independent woman who admired those that took the road less traveled as Frost so well described.  As a teenager, she joined a young Communist with her equally defiant friends (akin I imagine to being a hippie in the 60's), which infuriated my grandmother to no end.  Mother told me many times of coming home after a meeting to find her mother waiting on the front steps of their brownstone building and as often as not, would be slapped in the face for her insolence.  Mother, the rebel she was, was encouraged by such treatment.  It was the basis upon which she raised my sister and I.  There was always a push to be our own persons, to do what we wanted to do, the more unusual, the better.

What kept my parents married for over 50 years has always been a mystery to me.  Two very different personalities with diametrically opposed life philosophies would seem toxic.  However, they never fought as far as I know.  And they never showed much affection towards one another or to my sister or myself.  In hindsight, our home seemed a sterile place.  My father was a workaholic, using his job to hide from life and family.  High emotion was reserved for those times when my sister or I would venture outside my father's tightly defined lines or when my mother's college degree in Jewish guilt was used for discipline. 

My sister and I (she's five years younger) had next to nothing in common and fought continuously over the years of our youth.  She was the athlete, I was the intellectual.  I loved science and math.  She was artistic.  I attended college and (somehow) attained three engineering degrees.  She attended college in one or two semester bursts under pressure from my mother to do so and as a way to avoid working as my father would insist she'd do if she wasn't in school.

My sister, classically, moved out of my parent's home rather spectacularly.  She had somehow scraped up the money to fly to Los Angeles from New York to see friends, went to a party and was unexpectedly offered a job (which she was sure she'd love and of course didn't - but that's another story).  She picked up the phone, called my mother and instructed her to pack up her belongings and send them to LA as she had decided to move her life there.  I'm not certain how my father reacted (I'll get into why in a moment) but my suspicion is that he was somewhat relieved as he and my sister had had a 'fire and dynamite' relationship for much of their lives.

For myself, again in hindsight, I tried to be the 'between the lines' son my father wanted yet also attempted to dance to my own tune as my mother wished.  It wasn't an easy road.  I ended up in therapy in my teens and believe that it helped me grow greatly as a person.  Right or wrong, it amped my independence.  At around the age of 23, after I had moved away from home and was self-supporting, I realized that I could never be myself if I didn't move out from under my parents psychological roof.  And so I did.  In the following years I cut effectively all the ties I had had with my parents.  Was it the right choice?  Damned if I know.  A doubled edged sword certainly.

And so the twisted tale that is my life was forged.  No life lessons to impart.  No great hilarity nor great sorrow.  Just average, I think.  With show tunes.
This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting

Profile

rickps: (Default)
rickps

November 2013

S M T W T F S
     12
3456789
10111213141516
1718 1920212223
24252627282930

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 1st, 2025 08:02 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios