What I Want For Christmas or Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

My old life back? Pre-stroke?

Since I’m in a fantasy world today, I’ll keep to that theme. Bing Crosby is playing. It’s making me wistful and weepy.

I want Dad back and Gunn to have been out of our lives when I was 8. We could have left her with her family when we were in Norway in 1978 when Grandpa was still alive and Gunn hadn’t successfully ended Dad’s maritime career.  And I was happy and didn’t doubt anything. And the beatings hadn’t begun. And she wasn’t twisting my mind with sexuality and accusations and clippings from the newspaper to “warn” me of the evilness of men and how she went on with the lies of how she was my birth mother. No exact facts, just a caesarian scar. Not me, her daughter born 2 years before me and buried in Norway. Her cousin’s son didn’t know it was a huge family secret! Yeah, that tombstone was a shock. Gunn was lies. Dad was truth – to a point. He protected her and paid for it. I would do anything to just have a day with him again. 17 years feels like 17 minutes.

Going to college and staying there until I had a degree. Looking into it myself instead of thinking Dad would know. Even student loans. They made a choice to not acclimate – ever. I was American. They were Norwegian, though Dad did get his Citizenship because he wanted to vote since he paid taxes. And voting with him and understanding politics and government was interesting for both of us. He had someone to talk to because such things BORED Ms. Pris. Such nonsense interrupted Jeopardy, or worse General Hospital. Realizing education was more important than a Scandinavian Husband, that an education would release me from her vice-like grasp, was the prize.

Marrying Antoine was a huge mistake. Period. Chris was right.  I was a neophyte, impressionable, naive. Stupid. I paid for it; emotionally, financially, physically. 5 years of my life gone, 20 to 26. Poof! Then there was Kevin. Chris made him an offer – me on a platter – and I ended up marrying him because he was the OPPOSITE of Antoine.  Opposite that he had no confidence in himself. The Martyr by self-proclamation. A loser with no marketable skills. That I married. Who was the loser?

I wanted children. I had always hoped for three. Boys or girls, as long as I had one of each. Always a reason to wait….wait until we have a house….wait until we have saved up money…..he could be a stay-home Dad, no daycare needed! I’d be working 14 hours a day because that was my job and his job had no actual “importance” in that get a temp with basic accounting skills. C

I had skills. Recruiters called me too often. I hung in too long in several positions and gave my loyalty to some real scum bags. Missed some opportunities and didn’t jump when I should have. 6 figures was nice while it lasted. From Corporate Finance to Pre-Audit to Forensic Auditing to Real Estate to Mortage Lending, then the Big Short, back to Corporate Finance and Audit Lead and Project Finance Administration to Stroke. Helluva circle. I wish I had discovered Forensic Auditing earlier. I could have had a career with the FBI and been on the East Coast. A happy life, without the Emotional Vampire.

I took tests in High School. SAT of course, and the Armed Forces Aptitude Test. The Navy really wanted me and for Annapolis. My test results for Analytics and Logic was in the top 5% nationwide. They may have wanted me for the Trident Sub Project. I would have been there during Tailhook, but Gunn torpedoed it all by telling the recruiter I wasn’t mentally stable. She was a “nurse” and it had been so heartbreaking. Dad wasn’t there when the recruiters were “interviewing”. She made sure of that. He was furious when he found out. I could have followed in his footsteps.

She always had it her exact way, regardless of anyone else’s feelings. Narcissist much?

That IQ test I took during Junior High. Good thing she was smart, but she shouldn’t think she was smarter than the adults. And wouldn’t that make it more difficult for her to find a husband if she had unrealistic expectations? Those meetings with Mensa? Whatever that was. A bunch of old men who just wanted her for sex or to take advantage of her. She doesn’t know. She’s an innocent and we will keep her that way. A pure virgin when she finds the right (acceptable) man. That IQ business means nothing.

All paperwork disappeared. Like everything else Gunn didn’t like or find agreeable.

My IQ is near genius level. They never brought it up to any instructor’s that I know of. Dad was friendly with my Principal and helped “school” my HS Geometry teacher and narced me out to Dad more than I liked, but I caused my own issues with keeping off the Honor Roll by planned percentages.

I enjoyed that too much. I was hanging on out with the Stoner campus, playing strip poker and not losing an article of clothing during Drama while “running lines”, hell skipping class to run to Naugles for breakfast (teacher never knew), being teachers’ pet, tutoring Math to Junior High students while a Senior, dealing with Gunn’s accusations of my supposed sexual promiscuity, having her “smell” me when I’d returned from being out with friends (3 boys and 2 girls – including my neighbor) to see if I smelled like sex. One thing is for sure, she couldn’t smell alcohol worth a damn. Chris and  I would drink MGD and she didn’t smell that. Was I smoking the marijuana?! Chris smokes, so therefore I must smoke, including marijuana. Yeah, I smoked. I didn’t smoke pot until I was 46 and discovered “candies”. Oh, it made dealing with Gunn so mellow. Hehe. Never got the munchies, but horny was a different matter and I was hanging with Jason who liked boys too. My Gays.

One thing that still burns like an endless flame – my beloved Husband Kevin who had an issue peeing and finally went to the doctor and, as I told him to, took the doctor into the bathroom to show how slowly he pee’d. Months, several procedures and finally surgery, he can ejaculate sperm! That path had been blocked for his entire Adult Life due to an accident with a girl’s bicycle as a child, that he never took the time to completely explain – or obviously show – to a urologist. This was “fixed” when he was 42. I was a year older. We could try to have a child.

I was too old. What about adoption? (And here it comes)

You never can tell what you’re going to get. The mother could have been a crack addict. The kid could have developmental issues. It’s not a good idea. It’s too much of a burden,

Good thing Gunn and Aksel didn’t think I was going to have problems since I was adopted – rejected by my birth parents – and I would be a burden. He used burden. In a few brief sentences, he made my justification for living as a child an inconsequential anomaly that should be avoided.  And I didn’t want to try anymore with the looser without marketable skills. Nam myoho renge kyo MF.  20 years with you was an absolute waste. Your family was cool. Wish I was still married to them. I am sorry Sharon. I tried, but it wasn’t mine to fix or simply acknowledge. I constantly acknowledged it. I should have stopped after a year or two and moved on and found happiness with someone more mature and secure in who he was.  I kept hoping. I was his wife, not his therapist. Or his mother.

Well, this was a stream of consciousness, i.e. word vomit.  Sorry. I obviously have anger management issues I  have to still deal with. So much abject disappointment in my life. It isn’t unique. I do realize that. But it is special because of how and how much and by who it was done. And now I have Will who tells me to stop letting those people rent space in my brain.

Too old and an adopted baby is a burden. My last big wish was incinerated and he was clueless.

I should have gotten pregnant without telling Kevin, that was what I should have done Chris? And since Kevin was shooting blanks, should I have gotten a different “donor”? Cheat to obtain the prize and lie to the child about his father. That’s fucked up dude, even for you. Yet, I’m the bad guy. No. I never was. You should have never said what you did. Never. It still burns my soul.

When Childhood Isn’t Fun or Easy

I was adopted. It happens, thankfully, for children whose biological parents can’t “be” there for various reasons. People aren’t perfect, but some intentionally try to be and screw everything up for everyone else.

At least that’s how I view it given my situation.

My father – my adopted father – was awesome. The best. I wasn’t aware of his personal costs, but they were his decisions, influenced by his role as enabler and peace maker. My “mother” was another matter entirely. I’ll refer to her as Gunn. It’s an abbreviation of her first name. She made our lives hell and she enjoyed it, because that was what she was entitled to. At least in her mind. There were a ton of issues when it came to what was appropriate in “her mind”. And that changed based on things she had read (paper or National Enquirer), seen (TV or the news), and heard (neighbors, her few friends, commercials). Gunn wasn’t a Rhodes Scholar – not even close. More like a country bumpkin with a narrow uneducated world view. She claimed to be a nurse, but she was little more than a nurse’s assistant. Until her dying day, she claimed to be  nurse. I knew plenty and why that was a lie. She had proved throughout my life she was anything BUT a nurse.

Children can tell when people lie, even their “parents”, and she told some big ones until Alzheimer’s Dementia took a strong hold of her. She still kept it up in order to “save” herself. Dad was dead by then and she was responsible for that. I am to blame too, because I knew she was capable of anything except death. How wrong I was. How naive.

I still thought well of her. Even loved my “mom”. She didn’t deserve that emotion. What she craved was pity and to always be “right”. Loyalty and deference. She wasn’t a queen and I certainly wasn’t her servant. She would have preferred that. To have complete reign over me. Dad was different and showed me how insidious her rules were and how to be independent and morally correct. How NOT to be like her. One of the last things he told me was that she was “sick”. He warned me, even though it was too late for him. It took a few years to understand what he meant by “sick”. I was powerless against the narcissistic succubi she would fully become.

Childhood should be remembered for the family vacations, excursions, summer breaks and family get-togethers. Not arguments, fights, beatings. Those aren’t “memories” a person should have. Certainly not the type of relationship between a mother and daughter. Certainly not the type of memories a daughter should have well into her 40’s and 50’s. And certainly not the hatred and lies taken as fact by her family who lived 7,500 miles away. A cousin named Freddy becomes a craven and despicable being with written words and he is lauded for writing it so well by her youngest sister. If being a desperate liar is a family trait, he is the king of this generation. Long live the King! Gunn’s reign continues, craven and Godless. I doubt Grandpa would have liked this, as he was a Godly man.

Having been adopted by a person with Narcissistic Personality Disorder – untreated, undiagnosed and unmedicated, sucks donkey balls. There is no polite way of saying it. She was also paranoid, which didn’t help anything. It just made it harder living a normal life around her. Everything was her private business, even Dad’s death. She wasn’t going to bother contacting his family due to them not caring about him in her opinion. She hated in-laws, the theory of in-laws, and most specifically any family connected to her by marriage to anyone she wasn’t directly biologically connected to. I heard this and saw it for years. With her in-laws and sadly my ex-husbands family. She did not accept them as “family”. Better to lie about how she felt when confronted. The thing is, actions speak louder than words especially with a barely educated “know-everything” like her.

Reminds me of Trump and his “base”, the new “Know Nothing” party. Turn a blind eye and march to his tune. Gunn would have loved him! Besides, he’s rich and famous!  Champagne wishes and caviar dreams in the words of Robin Leach. God, Gunn loved that show! Ivanka and Trump were on that show quite a bit back then, before his affair and Tiffany. How things haven’t changed. He’s 71 and his son Baron is 11. Melania is getting kinda long in the tooth and may not be a “10” on his list anymore. Who would want to marry him, except for his money and “fame”. Old fart. Like you know anything that hasn’t been spoon feed via TV, or specifically Fox News. Or Putin. #PutinsPuppet

My apologies for going off on a tangent. Narcissists do that to me. Or martyrs. If you’ve ever been in a relationship with one, you will realize it’s almost as bad a being with a narcissist. They are still self-involved, just not as poisonous. But if they preach their religion as a reason, yet they don’t follow the tenants of the faith, it feels almost the same. Same self-indulgent bullshit.

The memories are hard to take most of the time. They are all mostly shaded by words and actions that often repulsed me, left me wondering how can anyone go through life with so much discontent, so much hatred or lack of empathy or refusal to accept how other humans are. It is often that I think back to how Gunn was, how Dad’s dealt with it realistically or logically. Logic was that one thing we shared most. A foreign thing to Gunn, along with reality. Empathy was the one thing my Ex lacked in spades. Gunn just blamed.

She blamed her sister-in-law for her brother’s death. He was supposedly “healthy” when he married her. She bore him 3 children, whom he loved very much. I doubt he planned for his death when he died, but he only had one lung due to tuberculosis he contracted in the Nazi work camps of WWII. It probably was in the back of his mind when he married, but he desired a normal life. He was happy and had his own family to love. He had a good life and saw to his children’s future. She was in her late 30’s when he died and found another man to love, which she married and gave him 2 sons. He was happy too. Lucky woman to have 2 men who loved her so much and gave her children. Gunn said lots of crap about her. Always putting forth the fact that her sister-in-law had killed her brother. Two-faced bitch. Welcomed her with open arms and spoke ill of her as soon as she was gone.

Another sister who had lost her young husband at a young age with 3 small sons. Inoperable brain tumor stole his life. She eventually fell in love with and married again and had another son. That husband was a rake. My Dad took him to task for his words and actions, especially with me and Gunn there having to listen to that man’s blather, slurs and misogyny. I’m sorry to say, that was Freddy’s father, but the apple didn’t fall far from that tree. Being a bully who assumes he’s right, well, because it’s him, Dad would have an issue with the son as well if he spoke of women as the father did. Dad was an Officer and a Gentleman in the Navy fashion. Gutorm was a sailor with a lady in every port, at least that’s how he spoke. Wink wink, nudge nudge. Dad didn’t like that, especially such talk in front of his wife and young daughter. Reality is hard to accept Freddy, especially when you’re wrong and it sucks.

Or her own younger brother and his alcoholism. An addiction and, very sadly for everyone, a disease. Gunn thought he was weak, a shame upon his parents and to his own wife and children. Gunn blamed his wife, her sister-in-law, when she left him and returned to her parents home with her kids. She left because of his drinking and it’s impact on his family. That without them, he would realize they were more important than the alcohol. She was right. She did what she had to to save her family. Gunn never understood this, blamed her sister-in-law for her brother’s drinking. Because no one in the family could be addicted to something! Alcohol, cigarettes, nasal spray. They were better than that! Yeah, I call bullshit on that Gunn! Addiction has nothing to do with heredity. Has nothing to do with how you were raised. Heredity can play a part, but there is no guarantee. Kind of like the last and most insidious belief. How did that nasal spray treat you? Ate your nasal passages? You couldn’t use it anymore per the doctor? Your habit had permanently harmed you? As a nurse, wouldn’t you have questioned that? Oh yeah, the doctor didn’t know what he was taking about. He learned nothing in medical school. You learned everything. Wear was that again? Hmmm, did you say something? No? Just silence and withering looks? How typical.

I have a cousin, the only child of Gunn’s older sister. I wanted  her to be my mother. She was good and loving and taught me so much, including how to cook! I still use some of the recipes she taught me. None were written, just fond memories that I could duplicate with a lot of trail and error and ultimate success.  She was such a good soul, and her husband. Salt of the earth, so to speak. She loved her son, his wife, and their two boys I fondly remembered from our trips to see the family. Two very good boys. Still are. I was proud to call them all cousins – Dad and Mom and the boys. The father, Gunn’s nephew, even tried to help me learn Norwegian. I still have the books he gave me by Knut Hamsun. I have read them in sections over the years. A cherished part of my library.

Gunn didn’t read books, even to me as a child. Reading ruined your eyes, and made you dumb as a post as well when avoided due to vanity. She hated how much I read, the amount of time I took in bookstores, the amount of money I spent on books as opposed to makeup and clothes. I wanted to enrich my mind, not catch a guy who had but one thing on his mind. We were as different as a cool alpine lake and a raging forest fire driven by gasoline and dry tinder. Guess which one was me?

My cousin had a good job and was well educated. His wife was as well, but she developed lung cancer and had to have a lung removed. On a weekend getaway, she caught a chill and developed pneumonia. Their sons weren’t that old when she passed. It saddened me so much to realize she was gone. I felt so raw for my cousin. He had loved her so much. And those poor boys! It affected all of us.

My cousins oldest son was a little different from the rest of us. He was more like an uncle of his mother’s. I didn’t see it as anything to discuss or make a big deal out of. He was just being him. Gunn’s family, her sister’s, had another view. At least what I heard from her. Her sister still loved her grandson, even if he was Gay. My first thought was, cool, let that rainbow flag fly! Gunn’s opinion was an old one and vile. It was wrong, that was it. It was against God and not normal and how could her shame his father and grandmother that way. Really, Mom?  Like it’s a freakin’ choice? Who the Hell are you to sit in judgement? It’s that Uncle, he turned the boy. There’s a secret handshake? There is initiation? It’s so exclusive and special that only certain people can join? They make a choice to be set aside? Explain this to me? It’s just wrong. How could he do that to his grandmother?

Gunn’s feelings on the topic of homosexuality was from the dark ages. AIDs was a God given curse for their unnatural acts. Gunn had patients at the convalescent home she worked for, the husband was a hemophiliac and had gotten AIDs through a blood transfusion and had infected his wife. They were both in the home because they were both dying. Gunn was scared that she would get it. It was still early on in the AIDs epidemic, but enough was known that you couldn’t get it through casual contact.  She was an ignorant bitch who didn’t pay attention to real news reports from real hospitals and organizations that knew what they were reporting. Like the CDC, or medical journals. No, the National Enquirer wrote the truth! Bah!! That man had sex with another man and killed his wife. Way to go, Gunn! Make a victim feel even more guilty for having a medical issue that shouldn’t have had anything to do with his wife if they had only tested the blood for AIDs. They started doing that within a year of hemophiliacs contracting AIDs, or anyone needing a blood transfusion. She often just made me physically ill with her hatred of things she wouldn’t understand.

Or when my friend Damon became Hostess with the Mostest at my Dad’s memorial service and all the little old ladies fell in love with him as he freshened their coffee or removed their plates. How Gunn gushed over him, even forgot for a short time he was one of “them”. Dad had gotten over it, because he was my friend and he knew how much I hated their comments, especially Gunn’s in general.

I had a brother-in-law through my first marriage who was gay, exiled from Kuwait due to his AIDs status, escorted by armed guards to the airport and placed on a plane bound for London with nothing, all his interests and money confiscated by the authorities for “endangering” the public. Me and Ex#1 acquired AZT and sent it through a family member who worked for an international airline so Eli could hopefully live a little longer. Eli died on October 31, 1988. A part of me died with him and my hatred for the religious bigots here in the US started burning brightly. Every time I defended the rights of LGBTQ, I did it for Eli. I walked in the first AIDs walk in L.A. because of him, and every time I walk in San Francisco his face still shines brightly with each step I take. He and his partner Danny. Your brother was an asshole, Eli, and I wish  you were still alive. The wrong brother left too soon.

Gunn was worried that I would “get it”. She worried when their sister Gladys came to visit us with her daughter. She never understood that illness, never wanted to. It just happened to Gay people because they were wrong, they were deviants. She still thought that when the Supreme Court legalized gay marriage. I was in the Castro celebrating with thousands of strangers. It felt like such a wrong had finally been righted! Love who you want. Be who you are. Enjoy life and all it’s up’s and down’s. Get married and eventually get divorced. Have kids and screw them up. Try to be perfect and fail miserably.  Join the rest of society!

I fear what will happen under the Trump regime. It doesn’t look good – for LGBTQ or women or anyone not rich or simply blue collar. He’s screwing the country with chaos and lies.

Sorry – bad juju again.

Damon got married after that. I went to their wedding with my soon to be ex – I was the estranged wife. Such a happy day with so many smiling faces. Eli would have loved to experience that. My 2nd cousin is in a relationship and I believe he is happy. His partner seems to be a good match. I am happy for him. I am still saddened by what his great aunt’s and grandmother thought of his “lifestyle”. Granted, I just heard what Gunn said, but even if some is partially true – well, fuck them old bitches. Who the fuck are they? And if I hear one more person claim they weren’t around it and aren’t used to it, get over yourself. The folks who are just trying to live don’t owe you anything and aren’t impacting your daily existence, ok? Stop making them the reason for your issues. You’re just scapegoating your own irritation with a life that didn’t turn out like your 12-year old plan had laid out. Oops, sorry loser.

Adoption doesn’t always turn out all that bad, but if you insist on lying and denying the truth, not telling the child he/she was chosen above all others, when they find out it won’t be pretty. What were you ashamed of? What did the child do wrong? What had her/his biological parents done that was so wrong? There are many questions that shouldn’t be part of the story of their lives. Honesty, though it may hurt or be uncomfortable, is best. Facing reality is best. Not ostracizing family, especially a son, because  he’s the result of a prior marriage you were instrumental in ending, definitely not! Getting your family to “back you up” on everything, even lying about the adoption, fuck y’all. If she lied to you, welcome to the club, but saying I’m speaking ill of the dead and not telling you EVERY INSTANCE SHE WAS FUCKING CRAZY THROUGHOUT MY LIFE, we didn’t have the kind of relationship, did we?

We didn’t have that kind of relationship on anything. Did you know I miscarried a child? Did you know that Husband #1 took pictures of you sunbathing braless on the patio when you were here for our wedding? Did Gunn tell you I filed for divorce twice and PAID FOR BOTH OF THEM? Or did she tell you that they left me? They used me? That the first one was still sleeping with that skank of an ex-wife and gave me chlamydia? “Poor Venke. She can’t keep a husband!” She told me I shouldn’t marry again because I don’t know how to treat a man like he wants. Hell, she accused me of trying to “steal” Dad sexually.  She was sick as fuck! I moved to Northern California to get away from her and her sickness! And I dealt with her crap for 49 years. I should have left in my 20’s and never looked back, but I couldn’t because of Dad. I never regretted my decision until after he died and she expected too much from me for nothing.  I took care of her crazy ass for 15 years and did you all ever help? Fuck no. I didn’t tell you? She fucking beat me if she even thought I had possibly mentioned her a little unfavorably. I didn’t want her stabbing me with a knife while I slept. She stabbed me with scissors just because her “programs” weren’t on. I couldn’t just leave her and not be criminally charged with abusing a senior. She fucked me over.

I learned not to trust men because of what Dad taught me, not the articles you so carefully cut out from the newspapers when I was 13. I learned not to trust an open can or bottle from tales he told me, not the articles or rants on how I was whorish Gunn. He  instilled the thought of losing control, or having my personal control taken away from me.  It happened once over a Diet Coke can on a bright, sunny afternoon with a crew that I had come to know, and one person realized I was alone and could be taken advantage of, and he did. I was raped and he ended up beaten nearly to death by that same crew when he became boastful and they figured out what he had done. Did I tell you Gunn? Of course not. You would have said I deserved what had happened. I was a whore and that’s what happens. You had told me often enough, since I was 13. You weren’t a mother. You were barely human. You sniffed me every time I came home, for weed, for alcohol, for sex. You were a mental case and I had to put up with it because I couldn’t get a job that would pay me sufficiently to support my living on my own. And you never wanted that, did you? I hated you, but I still took care of you to honor Dad. You had to have a keeper, and you were stuck with me.

Having a child to take care of you when you get old is the wrong reason to have a child. Or a science experiment to see what your DNA would look like when mixed together. Even just joking about it is wrong. I’m bitter for a good reason. Being married to someone shooting blanks and didn’t have corrective surgery until he’s 42 (and I’m a year older than him) and then denying any hope of adopting because he’s worried we’ll get a “defective” child is so self-serving and selfish, is it any wonder I filed for divorce? Hell, I paid for the wedding, the rings, nearly everything we owned worth anything, why not pay for the wedding so he couldn’t claim he couldn’t afford it? It isn’t like he put up a whisper of a protest. Maybe tithing for his temple, or group, or whatever you call it, would be impacted. I couldn’t have cared less. His religion was more important than our marriage. I hope they are very happy together.

As children, we have hopes and dreams what our life will be like. I just wanted a life without Gunn. I have it now, with so much bitterness brought on by her. The reason for my stroke was lack of medical care due to taking care of her and being cut off after my divorce. Riverside County screwed up my MediCal and dropped me. I have no one to blame. It was my responsibility. She did throw out my medications, but I was going home and could get a job and have insurance again and if I kept to my diet plan, could keep the diabetes under control.  It was a good plan for a year, but I was burning the candle at both ends and occasionally ignoring the Plan. That hypertension thing became an issue, and so it happened. I wasn’t paying close attention to my health. Other people depended on me and I didn’t want to let them down. Stupid me had the stroke and it was intentional in one person’s fractured mind. I was stealing her glory. Well…..fuck you Amanda. It wasn’t about you, but that’s what you claimed. Heartless bitch. You ended up being like Gunn. Go figure.

Childhood should be fun and easy. I want it back so I can try again. Just without Gunn. I’ll take Dad. He was the best part of my childhood. Him and the dogs. And that sense of love with every look, every word, every action. I don’t have such memories of Gunn. Just all the times I got hit and accused of wrong doing. I wasn’t Miss Goody Two-shoes, but I wasn’t the whore she accused me of being either. She was just to damn stupid to understand there is a difference.

 

 

 

 

Adoption – the Good, the Bad and the Ugly

I was adopted. A fact, but I was never told. Spoiler! I knew. My adopted mother, a malignant narcissist, was a lousy liar. I knew when I was 11, because she was so lousy. Who gets mad when a child asks where they came from? Yeah, she had a cesarean scar, but no pictures of her pregnant? No pictures of me at the hospital? Coming home? Dad was a closet photographer. He took pictures of everything. Polaroid was his best friend in the 60’s. He took pictures of everything! And he had a 35mm camera that Mom hated. They didn’t know the camera didn’t have film. Really? For a year? Seriously. How stupid did she think I was?

She was the one who didn’t read books. I read War & Peace when I was 13 because I felt like it. People was her speed. Or the National Enquirer. She was as dumb as plywood, and as much fun. OMG she was dense.

Dad was awesome. He always rooted for me, stood up for me, and taught me I was never less than a boy and shouldn’t ever be treated like I was. Not too bad for a man born in 1919. He got that from his Dad who was born in 1882. Different mindset, and he was a renaissance man. After two wars, the introduction of air planes, cars, electricity and phones, Grandpa had lived through a lot.  He told me, when I was very young, when you stopped learning, you stopped growing and started dying. He died at 96, he knew something. I am very fortunate to have had these two men as role models in my life, and they were excellent role models for me as I grew up. I still remember what they told me, and I have lived better than half a century and have experienced my own amazement’s contrived by humanity.  Got my own cool stuff Grandpa. And I showed Dad how to use a computer. Dad learned from me.

My childhood was perfect with Dad. I will never have a bad word for how he raised and educated me. Prepared me for adulthood. He had his flaws which I didn’t know until after he died. But ONE huge mistake he made was staying married to my “mother”. A malignant narcissist is a pain in the ass to have as a parent. Destruction much? She would just laugh at other’s misery. Dad bitched at her enough about that, but he was stuck with her. Leaving was not an option. She wouldn’t have been satisfied unless she destroyed him. She nearly did more than once. Maybe even why he died when her did. I know I hate her. That says too much.

Anyway…adoption. It is normally the wisest decision, especially for a young girl with few options. Say a 15 year old in the mid-60’s with a Scandinavian mom, because they will put an end to a “problem”, especially when it reflects badly on the “mature” mother. Negativity must be avoided at all costs. That’s the Scandahoovian way. To borrow a phrase I came to know well – Uff Da!  (or Dang! That’s cold, yo.)

Times are easier, abortions are an option, it’s not just slutty whores that get pregnant. ( Mom thought that for-e-var. Why being called a whore by her was poisonous.) My Bio-Mom didn’t have an abortion, they weren’t legal then. I’m kinda thankful for that.

The decision to give up a child must be gut-wrenching. I cannot begin to imagine. You will wonder if they had a good life. If you made the right decision. If they are ok. Endless questions and never expecting an answer. Well, the child thinks the same thing. Are they ok? Did she make the right decision? I didn’t turn out that bad, because I had a good adopted Dad who did the right thing by me.

And I’ve got friends older than her. That makes me giggle. Feisty females every one. Would I call her Mom? I don’t think so. It would be weird. I’m still to locked into my 20-year old mind. Ewww? Ick? Just no. She’s too young. Maybe when I’m 60? Nah, it would still be weird. I’m not planning on aging myself  ahead of time. She’ll be 75 when I’m 60. Nah. Still weird. I could pass for younger? Nope. Too much vanity a la adopted Mom. Yuck. No way!

Not being truthful hurts the child, even when she’s an adult. Blaming that child for perceived “mistakes” her biological mother made is just evil. Hanging that over the child’s head is sick. The biological mother did nothing wrong. The child did nothing wrong. It’s a circle of love and the realization of that love that is the blessing.

A child should always know the truth, because adoption is the act of choosing a child to love and nurture. Saying that child is physically yours makes the truth that much harder to accept and handle, like medical issues. Say the child’s vision isn’t great when they are 12. Just because no one in your half (Mom) of the family doesn’t wear glasses, doesn’t work in reality. Or when that child is in her 30’s and is diagnosed with Diabetes. Because no one in Mom’s family has it would mean nothing anyway. It’s just cruel and saying it’s all my fault, or the doctor’s are lying. Not speaking the truth is a twisted mind trip. I’ve lived with that since I was 8. When I figured out “Mom” wasn’t that smart and lied when it was convenient for her.  Truth is the best choice. You don’t need to dance around it. Not everyone can do a jig. Especially with a hip replacement and scoliosis.

Guilt is a prison we construct for ourselves. I’ve had a lifetime’s worth and I’m not done living. More to regret for the rest of my days. I’m trying to find things to beat back that regret. Right wrongs I had nothing to do with. Spread the cause of hope. All of us are born with hope and dreams. No one should diminish that. Especially one who claims to be a parent but doesn’t act like one.

May the Fourth be With You

A simple phrase meant to bring smiles and remind you of a fantastical story that means so much to decades of people. That is one of hope and strength of will and courage. Or just the belief for a better future if you take the necessary steps in avoiding a disastrous result.

It may mean something completely different to you, but I choose to beleive in Hope. It is an acheivable goal.

This day means something else now, for me. One I choose not to think about much or often. Today is the 3rd anniversary of my adopted mother’s death. Technically, my day of freedom. I’ll speak of that on another day.

May the Force be With You, every moment you need it, even every day. And that Force is Good. May it be with you always.