We are in maintenance mode today. We dropped off Mustang Sam at Jimmy's and we are waiting for the guy from Haynes to come and do the winter check up for our HVAC heating system. If it were a little warmer we would be maintaining the yard and flowerbeds but that might wait until it is a warmer day tomorrow. Our plans to rearrange things in the garage has been scheduled for another day but we will pull some Christmas stuff out.
Over the years I have written how the holidays were just days to mark off until January 14th. They were never that great growing up but they became worse upon coming an adult and even if dare I even think, worse after getting married. My father didn't like Roy. I rarely decorated for Christmas and for sure there wasn't a bit of fall décor in any of our homes until we moved to Rancho de Five. The most exciting thing would be seeing the whole month of December crossed off on a calendar, meaning we were in the homestretch.
After a friend sent an opinion piece in the NYT to me today and after reading the dilemma and the pull and tug of growing up poor but living, raising kids in a middle class environment, the pull and tug of it emotionally. This was written by a POC and I respect his writings immensely. The piece brought back a flood of memories I rarely give into these days. There were years our family struggled and barely made it. The mortgage would be paid but meals were sparse and cheap foods were served. I will never eat another bowl of northern beans, those sickly off white, cream colored beans, with the liquid they floated in a mass of thin white and cream goo. Bland looking chunks of ham or ham product, I guess. Ugh. So after several nights of that being served, bread and butter seemed like a fine meal. I think my brother doesn't like those beans either. Chipped beef on toast...if I am not careful our delicious breakfast from this morning might come back in another form. That's when we would see oatmeal and powdered milk as well. When it would be better times, my father insisted we keep that regimen not to be budgetary but to teach us a lesson. Everything was a lesson and that's why I probably don't care for preachers that make every thing in life, a teaching moment. His regular practice was to keep an eye on how we responded to our toys, books and clothes. If we were too attached to a toy or to clothing, he would remove the toy and give away the dress or pants or shirt we liked. A couple of times he cut up a few of my things and I would come home to find them in neat little pieces on my chenille bedspread. Like some parents wait to see the joy on their children's faces on Christmas morning, he waited in expectation to see the horror and hurt on ours. As Doug and I have talked through the years, we never really knew the extent of the others torture because we were just trying to survive. When he focused in on another member of the family, that was a time to rest and regain strength.
Most people have survival stories of growing up, some no, but most do. As we were in an abusive family situation our survival rotated from thing to think to thing and from person to person to person. As the author ponders his lack back then and his family now, needs are met but his children just don't get from where he is coming from. I think all parents experience that or all adults when trying to describe a memory of the long ago. In a funny vein, it is like those stories, we walked ten miles in the snow, we had to get up and change the channels on TV, we had to use encyclopedias to find out information, and all the like. No one really appreciates what one goes through. No one can feel the same pain or react or act accordingly. We empathize, we comfort and we love. Sometimes that is so hard because we can be all needy, some stay longer in the land of neediness and others come and go. Some totally escape and we rejoice. Still there are those who have spent time and money with therapy so each time we encounter those hurts and those things that can trigger memories, the hurt isn't as fresh. The story not that unusual.
I always loved the routine in Will and Grace. Grace would tell a story of woe and the other characters would tell her, oh no, you aren't going to use that on me...and then they would top her story with their own tale of woe. I don't think I have typed woe as much as I have just done.
I am glad my friend sent me the link, although we take the NYT digitally. It has made me think and remember to be compassionate in this holiday season, especially as well as all year long. Almost anytime I share these kinds of things about my father and the absolute hell our family experienced from him and because of him, someone reaches out to me and thanks me for sharing. They are dealing with someone similar or even worse
One of my favorite quotes about thankfulness and gratitude that goes right along with these thoughts is this;
A life of gratitude makes us WHOLE, overwhelms us with LOVE, and moves us to LIVE generous lives. Erwin McManus, Stand Against the Wind.
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