I have very vague memories of life before I was 7. I do remember I used to sit on my father's lap, and both my brother and I used his T-shirts as night shirts. They were huge on us - went down to our calves at least. I remember my father called me a worm because I wriggled around so much when I was on his lap. That's the last display of affection I remember from my father. Both my brother and I are adopted. We were adopted as babies and have no memory of prior parents.
When I was 7 my sister was born. She is my mom and dad's only blood child. My mom miscarried twice before they adopted me and then my brother. When my sister was born she was the center of the household. Naturally, as any baby is. But my sister was a sickly child and required lots more attention for longer in her life than the newness of a baby retains. Both my brother and I felt the loss of parental attention and reacted differently. I became shy and withdrawn, he became obnoxious and misbehaved all the time. (To quote SPN about my father: "Very emotionally detached ~ but seemed to enjoy putting his family through rigorous and difficult emotional trials.")
My sister was the apple of my father's eye. She could do no wrong. He was always showering her with attention, gifts, and pocket change. Even later in life when it came time for college - there was no help from mom or dad for my brother or me, but dad has subsidized quite a bit of my sister's education until recently when she began working as a TA. It's only been recently that I can look back and see this as a pattern. I didn't realize as I was living it what the disparity was - I only remember that after she was born, my brother and I seemed to be forgotten (yes I know there's more to it than that, that's simply what it felt like).
I had it in my mind that my father (and mother, too, though there wasn't quite the demarkation with her as there was with my father) didn't love us as he did my sister, because we weren't "his". My brother accused my parents constantly of playing favorites - and was always saying that his "real" parents would let him do this or that, or wouldn't do this or that. His way of rebelling I suppose.
Once when I was I think 13, my Sunday School teacher gave us a lesson about honoring your mother and father, and gave us an assignment to tell our parents that week that we loved them. That haunted me all week. How could I tell my dad I loved him when I wasn't sure I did? Neither my mom nor my dad ever told us that. Never. My mom started telling me after I moved out, but she says it by way of goodbye. As in, "...okay I'll see you later. I love you." Anyway the next week when the Sunday School teacher asked the class what kind of reactions we got, I told her I hadn't told my dad. After class she asked me why, and I told her I didn't think I loved my dad. She shrugged that off and said of course I did and why was it so hard to say?
You'd think with both our parents backing away emotionally that my brother and I would band together. Sort of an us against them thing. But it didn't work that way. I told you I became shy and withdrawn. My brother was always acting up, provoking my dad or mom into yelling or smacking him. Any attention's better than none, I suppose. My brother saw me as weak because of my meekness. He developed his own circle of friends. Not good ones, either. Together they taunted me, getting as much of a charge out of provoking tears from me as my brother did at provoking anger from my folks. He is 22 months younger than I am.
So there was my only two male role models in my life. Unless you count the husband of my mom's best friend. Mormons. I used to babysit for them all the time. He always came and got me. He opened my car door and always escorted me (wrap my hand in his elbow) to the car and the house - mine or his. It made me uncomfortable, and I hadn't had enough experience at that point to understand why. Then one day while we kids were visiting their house with my mom, he started rubbing on my back. I kept shifting away, but he followed me (He was sitting on the couch [or was it the love seat/chair?], I was sitting on the floor in front of the couch). Then he wandered too far down my back...well you can imagine from there. And that's my Mormon male role model. Nice, huh? I didn't tell anyone of course. It's easy to rationalize and say he didn't know what he was doing. But I know better, now. For the first few years of my daughter's life I was paranoid to leave her alone with my folks for fear that my mom might go visit her friend and take my daughter along. I finally explained to my parents why I was so afraid. My dad couldn't listen. Said if he'd have known back then he'd have "ripped his arms off".
I have fostered better relationships with my parents and brother now, though I'm still reluctant to show any emotion around them. I even told my dad I loved him, right before he was moving to Oklahoma for a year. He didn't say anything back to me, but he did let me hug him. Which I hadn't done and he hadn't offered since before my sister was born. Come to think of it I can't remember ever hugging my family members. Though I expect it happened when I was very young.
It's interesting to me how my brother and I handled our upbringing in so very different ways. He is a father now, and although he loves his son, he gets violent with him. Or did, seven years ago. I haven't seen them together since then. I threatened to call Child Protective Services on him if he didn't control his temper. Ooh, that was ugly. I resolved as a teen to always show and tell my children how much I loved them. And never to hit my child. Both of which I've kept my resolve to do.
Well I was thinking over the men who've influenced my life, beginning with my father and concluding with the last man I was with. Not one of our relationships could be thought of as healthy. For awhile after my divorce I kinda lost my sanity and slept around a lot (my personal theory is I was looking for validation of my worth as a woman, but that's not the subject at hand). I've lived with two men (at different times) since then. The first was extremely flattering to me - nearly worshipping me and always deferring to whatever I wanted. It was heavenly, for awhile (and oy what maaahvelous massages!). But I soon began to tire of always making the decisions and not having a partner to share my life with equally. Too, my daughter was 4 and he expected her to behave in ways she was not yet mature enough to do (NOT sexually speaking, just behaviorally speaking - curbing curiosity for one thing). The second man with whom I cohabitated was one of those can't judge a book by its cover types. He was active in the local Democratic Council, holding one of the governing positions. He volunteered at the local Bingo hall (fundraiser for the Democratic Council) weekly and managed the activities that involved. He was the local director of internal security for a national toy chain. On the surface he was quite the "catch". It wasn't until we had been together for about a year that I started noticing loopholes in his stories. We shared the rent and other household expenses. When he couldn't pay me two months in a row I threatened to kick him out. He called his folks and told them my car had broken down and he needed money to fix it. The next time he called his brother and had it wired to my bank account. The third time I locked him out. Turns out he was suffering from some mental problems from way back and had relapsed, according to his folks. That was twelve years ago. Since then I've dated off and on, but nothing approaching marriage intensity. Until Kurt, which I'll enlighten you about someday.
[Originally composed on 12/27/01]
