August 6, 2009

I'm Responsible




Glacier photograph, Alaska, 2009.



Himself: Found four jobs to apply for. Talked with SoCal about follow up….Perhaps G is part of his job ministry. The top from the stove came and is the wrong one. He’s suiting up to visit one employment prospect.

Herself: Scanned. Not all came out right. Haven’t heard from any of the poets this week. I called and emailed. This morning, I’ll swim and see what’s happening. Still hot here tho cooling down.

Frightening: The State of California has cut 100% of the funding for Domestic Violence shelters today.

Reading: Comfort food: One of the Harper of Pern series.

Balance: Chocolate brownies while G was watching a frighteningly violent movie. I don’t need to do this again.

My priorities were screwed on backwards yesterday. I didn’t need to sit and cringe, keeping G company, while G watches a stunning, visually impressive, very violent movie. I can just get my but upstairs and read up there.

I don’t do well with anger in any form. I don’t do well with violence. My parents “spanked” me, first with a hairbrush then with a bread board in the age of crinolines and layered skirts. As an adult, I condoned the beatings that my eldest daughter received from her father using a piece of rosewood

I remember little of my childhood…tho I remember visits to my grandma’s apartment, Christmases, and one vacation. I remember little of my world today. This is one of the factor’s that prompted me to begin journaling in the early seventies. I remember much more of my life since I began writing and drawing about it.

My daughter is the product of some particularly ugly domestic violence as a child and as an adult. My daughter has followed patterns learned at home of looking for love and approval through sex. As she confronts her past and future, I’m forced to look at my own past, patterns and responsibilities…again….and again.

Cleaning up my own side of the street seems a continual thing. I’m just grateful none of us is perfect as I start a fresh look into my childhood…again.

6 comments:

  1. Mage, funny how that "spanking" is so much a part of our generation's childhoods. It is very hard to put a name to the righteous fury of adults that practiced it and the insidious humiliation of those of us who suffered it. Reading this post made me realise one or two good things about myself (that, if nothing else, I didn't relive the pattern with my children) and of you (that your being sober and practicing reflection is not an attempt to clean the slate but to clean your side of the street). Thanks.

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  2. It is such a different generation. My mom used a long wooden spoon on the back of my thighs, boy did that hurt. These days if you even think about a spanking! I too have a hard time thinking about my childhood, especaily my teenage years and my mother.

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  3. A personal visit in a real suit is good news. [crossed fingers]
    Back soon--I have to go now--sorry can't add more.

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  4. Attempting to leave a note on an older entry.

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  5. I came back here to finish.
    Being a parent brings out both the best and worst of you, I found that out pretty soon when I found myself in a strange country (Ct) and hubby spending a great deal of time out of town when I was trying to learn how to be a mother. Ct is a rather "clickish" place I thought then. If you weren't born there, especially if you had a southern accent, you usually went invited over. I felt myself leaning fast to mirroring my father's, my grandfather's child-rearing practices of whipping. Luckily I hated myself for it and was able to turn it around in time. No whippings, except an occasional slap on the behind with my hand which always left my wrist and hand stinging and caught their attention. Gradually I was even able to give that up. Observing my daughter with her own children, the pattern has been halted--at least from our end of the family's tree branch. Hubby never did and neither did his family.

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  6. Wonderful to see a whole note from you dear Alice. :)

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