Monday - Weathering Childhood Storms

[ninanevermore]

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about one of the most important lessons that I learned from my mother: just because you harbor something ugly inside of you doesn't mean it has to control you. She never said this too me directly; I realized the lesson as an adult looking back some 10 years after she was dead.

My kid brother brought it up one day when we had coffee together, but it was something I had been thinking about a lot myself.

"Remember when mom used to make us go to our rooms and we weren't allowed to come out until she stopped throwing things?" he said, "You realize that she was scared she would beat the crap out of us, don't you?"

I realized this as an adult, but I never thought about it as a kid.

My mother had an explosive temper. While she didn't have red hair herself, she inherited the temper of her redheaded father. When she felt angry, her face darkened and her eyes flashed. If she was only a little angry, she might yell and spank me (it wasn't considered abusive back then). It was when I did something really bad and she got so angry that she began to cry that my punishment had to be put off because, apparently, she didn't trust herself not to kill or maim me.

"Go to your room and shut the door," she would growl in a low, guttural voice, "Don't you dare come out. I don't want to see your face until I come get you. Do you understand me? Go!"

I would nod, say, "Yes ma'am," and run to my bedroom. Behind the safety of its door, I played with my toys while listening to my mother transform into a tornado that rampaged through the rest of the house. I heard her cry, I heard her shout, I heard doors slam and objects bounce off of the walls and floors. What I heard was violent, but I never felt afraid. At the time, I thought being sent to my room was my punishment. In reality my room wasn't my prison; it was my shelter.

Eventually, her storm grew quiet except for a few muffled sobs. Awhile after that, my mother would open the door and tell me to come out.

"Look what you made me do," she would say, pointing to the mess in the storm's wake. Objects that previously occupied flat surfaces higher up lay strewn across the floor. Previously folded laundry lay everywhere. Throw pillows had literally been thrown. Curtains were askew on the windows. Paper, pencils and pens from the desk were scattered as far as the eyes could see.

"This is your fault," she would say, "Help me pick it up." So I would. Like the banishment to my room, picking up after Mom's tantrum was inevitably part of my punishment.

I now remember a story she told me about my oldest brother, when he was about 4 years old. He sassed her - told her to shut up - one day. The next thing she knew, he was standing in front of her wailing, one side of his face emblazoned with a crimson mark.

"I don't even remember hitting him," she said, "I just saw my hand print across that baby's face and I realized what I'd done. I felt horrible."

She never allowed it to happen again. When she felt herself start to loose control, she sent her children away until she found it again. She told us she was so mad that she couldn't stand to look at us, but what she meant was that she was so angry that she didn't trust herself around us. Her own father saw nothing wrong with beating his children with a razor strop. She didn't want her children to fear her her the way she feared him.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

We tend to idolize a parent who has passed away. We want to make saints of them. But, as the only daughter and the keeper of my mother's memory, I find that I cherish her shortcomings as much as her virtues. I can learn as much from them, if not more. A saint isn't a real mother. As a woman without a mother, who has not had a mother for most of the years I've been alive, a real mother is exactly what I long for, and not a perfect, plastic saint.

Friday will be the 22nd anniversary of her death. I'm taking the day off from work. When I put in the vacation request weeks ago, I didn't even consider the date, only that it was the Friday before my son's 2nd birthday and I wanted some time for myself.

I'll bring her fresh flowers for her grave, so anyone walking by it will know that this person was and is loved. I'll thank her for keeping me safe, not just from the dangers of the world around me but from the monster she discovered living inside of her.

I don't hate her for having that monster and the capacity to do me harm. I love that, despite being capable of it, she didn't hurt me. I love that I never even knew I should have been afraid until long after the monster and the woman who harbored it were gone from this world. I always felt safe, and I always felt loved.

Flowers on her grave are the least I can do for her.


* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Comments

[shannon-elaine.livejournal.com]

I wish my dad had opted to send me to my room instead of using me as his way to vent his anger with everything else. And I'm glad that now that you're older, you can see that being sent to your room wasn't a punishment but that your mom was protecting you from herself. *hugs*

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Her father didn't spare her the brunt of his rage, either. The lesson I learned from her (which I didn't outline above) was this:

1) You have to recognize the behavior as a problem,

2) you must regret what you have done (or find you are capable of doing),

3) and you must make a conscious decision that you are in control of your problem, rather than the problem being in control of you.

I'm pretty laid back I've never had the desire to beat another person, so the fact that I don't beat people is not a virtue so much as it is a reflection of my personality. My mother, on the other hand, had a short fuse and was fully capable of hurting us; the fact that she didn't was an act of will power on her part.

It sounds like your father, like my grandfather, didn't see taking his rage out on his children as a problem. Without step 1 and 2, step 3 isn't possible.

*hugs back*

Wow!

[noblwish.livejournal.com]

No one in Papaw's day really saw that as a problem. Had he lived in another time, I think he would have reached the same conclusion. He had a very tender heart, which of course only helped stoke his temper all the more.

Daddy never had to tangle with that monster. At times, I wish he had. I think it might have helped him fight the world a little better. For all his size and bluster, Daddy could be TOO tender-hearted.

There's a little of that monster in me. I realized it that November when you drove me to Michelle's to meet Rich and Rorie, and Rich's family bailed on their promise to drive them from Austin and eventually kicked them both to the curb with Rorie vomitting all the while. I saw the reflection of the monster in our aunts' eyes as I reacted to the news. They saw Papaw's rage building in me. I don't think it's as bad as his, but it is something I'll have to keep a close eye on -- especially combined with the mental instability that runs in Mom's family.

Thank God for Vitamin B and the Drama Queen gene! One helps govern extreme emotions, and the other provides a safer outlet! :D

Still, if it ever comes down to it, I'll remember your Mom sending you to your room so she can have a tantrum.

Re: Wow!

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I wasn't trying to demonize Pawpaw. His temper was notorious, though, and his children did fear him. I remember Mom loved her father a lot, but it didn't keep her from seeing his shortcomings. That pragmatic, warts and all kind of love is a family hallmark.

Your father, all 6'3" of him with that booming baritone voice, would have been frightening with a temper. Thank God for small favors that he didn't have much of one.

I haven't met many of your Mom's relatives. Are you saying you've got crazy on both sides of you DNA? Wow. That's a lot of crazy for one person. I shouldn't say that it explains a lot, cousin, but, if the shoe fits... ;D

Re: Wow!

[noblwish.livejournal.com]

I know you weren't. Papaw was a study in contrasts. My Mom was almost as crazy about him as she was my Dad!

And, yeah, that family hallmark is a real treasure! Without it, none of us would acknowledge the existence of a family at all. :D

Oh, and Daddy was 6'FOUR", thenkyewveddymuch! He would proudly proclaim to be 6'5" or better in boots. Too bad he couldn't wear boots on the basketball field -- he might have earned an Aggie scholarship!

Now, cousin, I know I've told you the horror stories of my maternal DNA! We've got a lot of good stuff there, but it's mixed in with substance abuse, schizophrenia, SERIOUS control issues... oh, and murder! Whodunit? Mama went to jail, but everyone KNOWS it was one of her boys! Probably the gay one. Or maybe the doctor with gambling debts? I swear, daytime soaps ain't got NUTHIN' on my family!!! And they all think I'M weird!?!

Re: Wow!

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I've always said your mother's people are something strait out of William Faulkner's darkest imagination. Sadly, I'm from the side of your family that is straight out of the brain of Flannery O'Connor. Between the two sides, your DNA covers the entire socioeconomic spectrum of Depraved Southern Gothic.

Still, I'd rather be from the side that has money. Poor, Demented and Sordid is not near as much fun as Rich, Depraved and Deranged. Drats.

Re: Wow!

[noblwish.livejournal.com]

Poor, Demented and Sordid is MUCH more fun that the other, trust me!!!

Only one person in each generation on Mom's side has had the wherewithall to use their money (what little there actually is of it) to have a little fun. My Uncle Earl is the Baby Boomer Bohemian, and Yours Truly is the Gen X model. Everyone else has that WhiteAngloSaxonProtestant STICK shoved so far up their butts that they can hardly breathe, for fear of seeming to slouch.

Scots-Irish Have More Fun!

Re: Wow!

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Aw, you're just trying to make me feel better. ;)

[bettybaker.livejournal.com]

That was an incredible entry. My heart is swelling and feels all sore and stuff.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Sorry! Didn't mean to make you sore and swelly. o.O

[flickering-lite.livejournal.com]

I think he ment it in a good way. It was such a n incredible entry indeed.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Thank you. ^_^

I always like my humorous entries the best, but it seems like I get the most responses from ones like this.

[georgiaskydiver.livejournal.com]

I try to read all your posts. Your humorous entries are great! But you probably get the most responses to these deep insightful ones because people can really relate to the emotions you express so well.

[georgiaskydiver.livejournal.com]

Ditto.

[charabancs.livejournal.com]

Great story.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

[highlandwolf.livejournal.com]

That reached right into the soul...

I am glad you have some time to devote to reflection on Friday. I love the idea of finding the love in the shortcomings too. I know what you mean about how many of us want to make saints of those who've passed. Some just don't merit that treatment - and this is a positive way to remember even those. In my family, most remember my grandfather in this light. He was a hard man to love, but they did it. He is a hard man to remember with love, but we all still find our ways to do so.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

We don't love people because of anything, we love them in spite of a lot of things. If this weren't true, I don't think any of us would be loved very much.

[highlandwolf.livejournal.com]

I like that. :)

[edenic.livejournal.com]

Gosh. This is good.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

[welfy.livejournal.com]

"We tend to idolize a parent who has passed away. We want to make saints of them. But, as the only daughter and the keeper of my mother's memory, I find that I cherish her shortcomings as much as her virtues. I can learn as much from them, if not more."

I know exactly what you mean. My dad could be the biggest jerk in the world. He wasn't really that abusive, but he got angry easily and smacked my brother and I a lot. But what I wouldn't give to have that jerk alive again, you know? I loved him so much, as I'm sure you loved your mother.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Saints are boring. Flesh and blood people like our parents are more interesting and have so much to teach us.

In my mother's case, she learned what she didn't want to be like from her own flawed father (who she loved like crazy). From her, I've learned plenty of life lessons, including how to accept and work around a part of you that doesn't live up to your expectations.

I still love my mother, in the present tense, just as you still love your father. Love doesn't die when the person we feel it for does. It changes, but it's always part of us; it's one of the things they leave behind for us to remember them by.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I didn't have to be brave; I didn't even know at the time I should have been scared. ;)

[sidneymintz.livejournal.com]

That was really nice. Have a nice day off.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Thanks. I'll do my best. My big plan is to not get much of anything accomplished, and then curl up with a cup of coffee and contemplate everything I should have gotten done. :)

[preci0us.livejournal.com]

beautiful

i hope, one day my daughter can appreciate similar things in me

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Your daughter will appreciate things about you that you don't even know exist or think she notices. Kids are funny like that. :D

[callmekili.livejournal.com]

It was when I did something really bad and she got so angry that she began to cry that my punishment has to be put off because apparently she didn't trust herself not to kill or maim me.

it takes a great person to realize that they might have something like that in them and instead of acting out on it, to try to keep it surpressed, by whatever means necessary

But, as the only daughter and the keeper of my mother's memory, I find that I cherish her shortcomings as much as her virtues. I can learn as much from them, if not more.

i learned this with the passing of my father....

I love that, despite being capable of it, she didn't hurt me. I love that I never even knew I should have been afraid until long after the monster and the woman who harbored it were gone from this world. I always felt safe, and I always felt loved.

even though you dont cast her as a saint, i think this passage is exactly what "being a saint" is.... she knew she had the capabilities in her to pass on whatever it was that her father had in him, but instead, she made the choice to not pass it on to her children...

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I guess you have a point about the saint thing; it's easy to be virtuous about something when you have no desire or leanings toward the sin. A person who doesn't drink because he can't stand the taste of alcohol needs less will power to abstain than someone who loves beer and craves it.

I have more admiration for people who have to work at being good than I do for those for whom it is their natural tendency. The first group gives me hope for myself.

[whirring-mind.livejournal.com]

Great post.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Thanks. :)