I said I wanted you to scream, and here you go! Don't settle for less than authentic, for less than vulnerable, for less than wholehearted communication! I feel a little sorry for Mom. She can't have any idea of what hit her. But you are right. No one has communicated since your letter, except the note from the two youngest asking you to keep your feelings private, and address this with your therapist. In other words - keep quiet and don't make us see the truth of our childhood. (If you want to post your letter here, it might offer some insight into our family...but we did agree to keep the others out of this...)
And I envy my niece. I love terrified exhilaration, setting out on brand news adventures. It feels so alive!
I never thought that I was being ostracized during sisters events. I never thought anyone said, "Let's get together, but don't tell Clare." I just figured I was forgotten. And of course I forgive. When I'm perfect, I'll expect that of you - which will mean I am not perfect.
So we really haven't shared our understanding and memories of Pop. (our paternal grandfather) I think the tip-toe through the grands has triggered some good insights, so here goes. I remember Pop as being charming and funny. But I also remember an ignorant bigot. He had rude nicknames for all ethnic groups. If you look at his face in the photos from Mom and Dad's wedding, you can see exactly what he thought of accepting a Catholic into the family. He was raised Catholic - I wonder how he rationalized that. He said, alternately that Grandma was the reason he was a good man - she made him be good. And she did, by force of Taurean will, force him to be what he said he was: A Christian nondrinker. Then he would say that marriage was the worst thing in the world and he hated his life with her. She often repeated his words, right back at him. They often tried to get kids to take sides.
I remember we used to sit in a line in front of him facing away from him, with the backs of our shirts pulled up on our heads. He would scratch backs up and down the line, stopping to tickle someone along the way. There would be four to six of us, us and cousins, all about the same size - fivish. And at other times, when we sat down next to him, he would "tickle" us by grabbing our kneecaps and squeezing. He enjoyed our screaming. It was torture. It hurt, and he wouldn't stop. He would only laugh. I hated it. But I longed for his attention so much, I tolerated it.
He enjoyed tricking us. I don't know if you remember our Easter chicks the year I was almost 10. You would have been three or four. Somehow those little dyed Easter chicks all survived that year. Unfortunately we had four or five young roosters and one hen - mine, named Missy. They ran as a flock and began pecking small people, and most likely, the roosters began fighting. So Dad and Pop decided to butcher them. They cut the heads off, and we had a contest to see whose chick could run the longest. Weren't we gruesome children, screaming and cheering as chickens spurting blood from their neck raced through the yard? Everyone was supposed to eat their own chicken. I told Mom and Dad that I couldn't do it - I couldn't eat Missy. So they said I could have grocery store chicken. (I still hadn't made the connection that those chickens were slaughtered inhumanely also.) Next day - chicken barbecue in the backyard. Everyone had a half. I had pieces. After dinner Pop called me over to let me know that I had eaten Missy. They just cut her up differently to fool me. He laughed. Dad laughed. I cried. I never trusted him or Dad again. (Remember when I convinced you to eat soap? Just one of the family wasn't I?) (I am sorry. I was sorry immediately, but I never would have said that then.)
I remember his cruel mouth. I remember more than once, he would tell Mom and Dad how useless I was, I was no help to Mom at all. I was lazy. I was no good. He said it in a loud voice when I was nearby. He made his point. I was not a good child. (I remember calling my siblings terrible names - idiot being a favorite. I wanted to be like Grammy, but I ended up like Pop, minus the charm!)
Then when I was ten or eleven, when we were visiting during the summer, we were on the glider on the front porch. Out of nowhere he grabbed me and kissed me. I was shocked and upset. He laughed a lot, but it never happened again, to the best of my memory. It was a shock because they never hugged or kissed us. It was totally out of character for our relationship. Maybe I panicked because I knew he was a chicken murderer!
I think we mellow as we age. You knew him better later than I did. What do you remember? What feelings does it spark?
Are you feeling better after your curse and cry session with your husband last night? I hope so. I hope you slept well. I also look forward to hearing what happens and your reactions to asking for authentic communication.
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