| friday august
31, 2001
(Son...) |
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- Oddly enough, The Uneventful Night At
My Parents this past Wednesday didn't sink to the bottom of my summer events
pool. Amidst my last 3 months of repeat sold-out
concerts, bachelor parties, corresponding weddings, way too much
softball, early-morning gambling at blackjack tables, bocce
ball, live championship tennis, several cases of red wine on
several humid nights, and the acquisition of a superstar right
wing,
The Uneventful Night At My Parents pushed me to write.
Finally. And I'm not sure why, but somehow this seems like
the proper forum for me to talk about my family and my
relationship with them. Maybe because I don't have to
answer any questions about it. Write, publish, move on.
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- You see, it's like this: I don't
like hanging out with my family. I don't even like talking
to them on the phone. For me, email is the only
acceptable--comfortable--way for me to interact with
them. I put off visits to my parents' apartment and I
rarely, if ever, go over to see my brother and his wife.
Mother's Day and Father's Day always means a joint celebratory
dinner from the youngest and most distant son. And the
Holidays are a time for an obligatory visit that is last on the
priority list of girlfriend, work, friends, and family. My
dad had a triple-bypass last year and I went to see him
twice--partly because I felt I had to see him.
There was a lot of duty involved. I have better
examples of being a crappy son, but I'm keeping them to
myself. It's my guilt.
- And now the questions. Why do I
push away from my family? Were my parents particularly
hard on me when I was young? Did they abuse me? Was
there some sort of explosive family-son moment that caused a
rift? Or am I just an prick of a son who doesn't give two shits
about his flesh and blood? Well, there was no family
crisis or kids being chained to a cot in the basement.
Actually the last one is closest to the truth, although I really
do give a
shit. Maybe just not enough though.
- My parents and my brother are some of
the greatest people I know. It's not Cliché, it's
Truth. My mom is probably the sweetest person ever to walk
this fine earth. In 33 years, I've never heard her raise
her voice in anger or say a single negative word about
anyone. She's pleasant, happy, giving, and thoughtful
almost to a fault. As for Pops, he has a great wit with a
sarcastic streak that is always entertaining without being
spiteful or rude. He's a riot. But beyond the
laughs,
there's an honesty and a genuine caring. If I needed money
with no questions asked, he'd cash in his IRA's without
blinking. Every time I talk to him, he always asks me if
there's anything that I need. And my brother's the same way,
although he pretty much has nothing in his life except for his
wife. Kevin has been through--and is still going through--enormous
mental and financial difficulties, yet I know he'd be there for me
if I needed him. He's a great combination of my mother's
sweet gentleness and my father's humor and straightforward
honesty.
- So now the question gets even
heavier. What gives with the whole distance thing?
Well, from my perspective it's very simple. It's not that
I don't love my family, it's just that my interests, my life,
and my
passions are different than their interests, their lives and
their passions. I sort of see them as old friends who have
drifted away. No matter how I try to rationalize it,
that's what I come up with. My personal orbit of clowning
around with friends, loving Beth, playing way too much softball,
working (occasionally), and Seinfeld-like dissecting of life doesn't quite
stretch far enough into my family's orbit of vacationing in
North Carolina, making scrapbooks, going out to dinner, taking
walks, and pressing dried flowers. Sometimes, it doesn't stretch at all.
What interests them holds absolutely no interest whatsoever for
me. Yes, there's sadness and guilt on my part, but no, not enough to
make me do something about it.
And there's one thing that really is
starting to creep on me about my relationship with my
family. As my parents get closer to the end
of their lives, I can't help but to think that when they die,
I'm going to react in one of two ways: I'm either going to be overly upset and full of
great regret, or else
their passing will leave only a small mark on me.
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- I fear the second one most of all.
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copyright 2001 by gja |
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