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Parenthood 201

These are words that you never expect to hear come out of your parents' mouths:

"Don't bother calling us again until you're back on your feet."

Being a parent myself... and a human being, at that, what I'd expect to hear is... um... "How can we help?"

I've never shut my door to a stranger in need, much less my own flesh and blood, so I guess you could say I'm stoked to have discovered a whole new world of petty vindictiveness I had no idea even existed.

And in my own family, no less.

Some of you probably know that I left my "steady" comfy corporate job four months ago. Since then, I have been freelancing while I interview for the next gig. The two companies I started won't turn a profit for at least another year or two, so to keep things going until I find the right fit, I've taken on a variety of jobs, from freelance photographer, copywriter, and site editor. I'm also spending some time working in retail, which... should my mother ever find out, would probably cause her to die of shame.

My son sells running clothes? He stand behind a cash register? What? Oh the humanity.

Fortunately, she doesn't seem to give enough of a shit to ask, so I guess she may not find out for years, if ever. Even then, the denial would probably be to great for her to accept it anyway. She's probably too embarrassed to have talked to anyone about the fact that I am no longer sitting at my POS desk pretending to be Mr. Important.

Here's the deal: Other than money and time being in short supply right now, I'm happy. I can look at myself in the mirror again. I don't feel miserable driving to a place where mean, stupid people treated me like shit every day, just because they could.

Years ago, I left my parents for the same reason, so when I realized I'd exchanged shitty parents for shitty bosses, I had to bolt.

Just like I bolted from casa de los padres when I was barely seventeen. I was tired of having to thank them for every fucking thing they pushed on me, from food, to talents to the very will to survive. I was tired of being their fucking pet. Their little prodigy. Their little conditional bundle of accomplishment.

"Nothing here belongs to you. Not your toys, not your clothes, nothing. Don't you ever forget that. Everything you have, everything you'll ever have, you owe it all to us."

You know, it takes a lot of work to get a kid to hate money. To shun success. To want to change their name. Their language. Their culture. To try and disappear from the radar screen.

It takes a lot to push a kid... no, all three of your kids, to pack their shit and move to the other side of the planet. My sister lives in Brazil. My brother in Asia. I live in the US. The folks are in Europe. That's no coincidence.

It takes a lot of love and affection to build strong family bonds like ours.

See, when - unlike your brothers and sisters - you never ask for a handout, you never ask for money, you never ask for favors, you never ask for help, you figure that if you ever were to need any of those things, all you would have to do is ask.

Because you never have before.

Because the other two, who ask for all of these things regularly, get exactly what they ask for without having to beg or grovel.

When you're the kind of kid who never asks for anything, who never went to jail, who never dealt drugs, who never skipped school, who never cheated on an exam, who never fucked anyone over, who never threw their money away on dumbass get-rich-quick schemes, but instead always tried to do the right thing, who always stayed true to their ideals and conscience and own free will, you never expect that your parents will pre-emptively tell you to fuck off.

"Everybody goes through a tough patch now and then. I did too. Get out of it, and then if you feel like calling us, try again then."

Wow. That's a new one on me.

I'm a multi-millionaire captain-of-industry guy. I've supported my underachieving wife's kids for decades, no questions asked. But when my own flesh and blood has to work five jobs for a few months to make ends meet until he can get his shit squared away, I'm going to tell him to fuck off.

This isn't to teach anyone a lesson.

This isn't a tough-love tactic.

This is about power. It's about pride. It's about anger. It's about shame.

This is about being too blinded by pride to act like a normal person.

It's also an exercise in selective memory. Let's not forget that when the rough patch hit you, your wife's rich daddy made you a partner in his financial firm.

Let's not throw bullshit at the kid. He's all grown up now. He remembers.

Without that little job, you would be in the shit today. You'd have nothing. So don't preach your lame-ass He-man crap on me. You're not fooling anyone.

But none of this matters. My parents always treated me like an object. They never once asked me about my loves or fears or hopes. They never seemed to give half a shit about anything other than my grades or the size of my paycheck so they could brag about them.

It's okay. I'm not complaining. I came to terms with them years ago.

Yeah, I came to terms with them years ago, when they disowned me for marrying an American. A commoner. For defying them. They wrote me off. Took me off the will. Scratched my name off the books. So I came to the US with the clothes on my back and $1,400 in my wallet.

Threats don't work very well on me.

They only came back into my life because my kids were born. It had nothing to do with me. The kids my mother now complains aren't raised well enough. Manners and all. And why don't they speak French? And why don't you send them to France with us in the summer so we can teach them some manners?

I only wish I were making this up.

It used to kill me to say this, because it's just so sad... But all my parents ever managed to do was make me feel bad about myself. I'll be damned if I'll let them poison my childrens' souls the way they poisoned mine.

I've grown numb to them. There isn't even hatred or resentment anymore. I'm all tapped out. I'm all spent in the angst department. I'm done hating them for being so cold. I'm done wishing for some kind of relationship with them. I'm done trying to make them proud. I might as well try to will myself to fly.

These are people who shut their door in my face just to make a point. These are people who try to make me feel guilty for not being a good enough son.

Well... I'm a parent now, so I know a thing or two about being a father. And I know this: My kids don't have to be "good" for me to love them. They don't have to kiss my ass or act a certain way. I love them because they're my kids. I love them because I can't not love them. I would never tell them to fuck off. I would never turn my back on them.

Even if we were fighting, I would never leave them out to dry.

Never.

You don't have to leave bruises on your kids' backs to beat the love out of them. I just hope they learn that before it's too late.

If it isn't already.

posted by oOo @ 06:19