I keep waking up with that song “The Baton” by Katie Gavin
in my head. Maybe it’s the bass and drums at the beginning of the song, a nice
hook. But the song reminds me that I am fighting with my Dad and stepmom. So does
the calendar on the wall. So does the Benihana and Chipotle gift cards in my
wallet. So does my phone, and the AAA membership… and on and on. These are
reminders of the fact that my Dad loves me, has invested in my life again and
again. Has supported me financially despite always saying he is broke. Has
supported my interests throughout my life even when they didn’t quite match
with his. And in other cases (like earth day approaching in April) inspired interests
in ways I didn’t realize at the time (he used to take us to pick up garbage on
earth day/sometimes paired with easter -picking up candy). There are continued
reminders in notes, in gifts, in the texts he sends asking me to go for a walk.
There are continued reminders also in my own actions… the traits we share, and
recently more so than ever in my appearance. I joked with him the last time I
saw him, each morning I get to decide which of my uncles I look like today.
My stepmom is an extension of these things. A companion to
him that has been present since I was around 6… so 36 years. Someone who
cajoles him into things when he is being stubborn, who supports him in his hearing
loss, who makes him more social than he might naturally be, and drags him out
to try new things against his better judgment. Also, I assume, someone who adds
an extra 20 when he is putting the card in the envelope, who adds a second
message, who rounds everyone up for all the family meals and makes the home
inviting. Someone who cooks all the food (unless he is grilling), and tries to accommodate
all the special food needs.
There is also a daily reminder of the conflict. There is the
news article that talks about disappeared people, the video of a fight, the
song some international pop musician wrote for my city, the daily insults from
the president. There are the people on the corner who are still looking out for
vehicles. There are the areas of my city that have become memorials. There is
an awareness that we are trying to move forward, while discovering the damage
done. There are ICE agents in the airport, the joke of the country, but not a joke
when they were here trying to intimidate. There are the wars we are starting
now, that will only set off another round of migration. There are the families,
the clients, my former students who aren’t sure where to get food, or how to
pay their bills, or rent.
And there is also the insult to the injustice. The slap in
the face that dispels the myth that we are in this together. The reality that
my a family member basically said at best “I’m neutral” meaning I am against
you and those you care about… the muddying of the waters and playing victim.
There is the reality that there is not acknowledgment of the hurt, or anger, or
insult, no attempt to apologize for the “difference of opinion,” and the subtle
and not so subtle ways that the family dynamic insists that I apologize and make
amends for being righteously angry. Justified in my anger. But what am I
supposed to do? I can’t wait forever for an apology that won’t come. I can focus
on the positives, play nice, and save face, while carrying anger, hurt and
defensiveness in my heart. I can start another argument, and leave in a huff or
be vile. I can avoid. I can walk away from the love, because maybe I decide
that it comes at too high a price… is love without trust, love without acknowledgment
love?
I can look at my own insults, the ways I have hurt and ignored,
avoided or gone without acknowledging my faults and my responsibilities… blame
rather than be accountable. I have done that. Maybe things will just be left messy.
There is also a part of me that wonders if this opens up to
something new, something better. A part of me that can give voice to my pain,
and say its justified that I show up for myself rather than downplay my
feelings for the sake of relationship. Maybe this is me growing up, and naming
that blood and custom, don’t make for a satisfactory relationship if you can’t
trust that person has your back. Maybe I need to keep my distance to let them
know that it was hurtful… because my Dad would sweep it under the rug for
peace, just as he taught me to do, just as I have chosen to do countless times.
Even my Mom the other day, kind of said... well you're going to have to let it go to some extent, if you choose to have a relationship with him. Which she knew I would. She doesn't want me to be angry and avoidant... but I don't think she understood just how angry I still am.
I find it interesting because there are so many parallels to
my relationship with E. Times of being hurt and not standing up for myself.
Times of feeling like I should bend over backwards to meet her needs because I
was capable of doing so. I wonder, often, why if I care about her so much, I am
not invested the way I was. Why when I saw her the other night, I didn’t feel
relief fully. And I think the truth is that, I got burned, and learned to stop
hustling to try to make someone else feel loved at the expense of myself.
Or at least that is what I am hoping to learn.
But I don’t know what to do differently. I still feel
responsible.
The baton has been passed unconsciously, and I am trying to do my part in breaking the cycle rather than reinforcing it, to do my part which is more than the previous owners could do. To carry forward means that the person who passed it will fall behind, "I can't come where you are going."
It's really bitter, sad, disappointing. I am reminded of my Grandpa's shortcomings and how I wanted more wisdom from him.
I think if I had children -which I still hope to one day. I would have more understanding of how hard it is to grow up, when you don't have any sleep, and you're stressed and these little being need everything from you, and you have to acknowledge you don't have it... that on some level there is just a reality to accept.
But on another level... there is something that just kills me about a parent playing victim. A friend of mine said that his mom was still wondering why everyone was mad at her, when she was the one pushing them away and betraying their trust... and he was just blunt about it... he told her that it was her decisions and she could choose differently, but I dunno if she got it. That's kind of where I am with my stepmom... she makes excuses and blames others. Perhaps on some level she is holding stuff for others too... maybe there are secrets that she hasn't let out. But instead of taking responsibility for her stuff and letting others do the same, she plays victim and it becomes drama.
I am so sick of drama. And I am hooked in it again, playing my role instead of just being me.
