Mother

I quit my mother a long time ago.  I was already an adult, so it wasn't anything traumatic.  Although, had I been able to as a child, I would have.

I quit her because I didn't like the person she was.  She was manipulative, mean, deceptive, and a hypocrite.  Instead of taking responsibility for her life and the choices she made, she cried about it and blamed everyone else for the way her life turned out.

I know that hypocrisy seems to be an acceptable evil, but it isn't for me.  I can't think of anything more infuriating and appalling than witnessing a person that acts completely contrary to their nature when in public.  The constant lie gets old.  Maybe that's where my intolerance of lies comes from.  Who knows.

I quit her because I have no need of people like that in my life.

It's been 21 years since I've spoken to my mother.  I don't miss her at all.  I miss having a mother, but I don't miss the one I was given.  Many times I've hoped and wished for parents that I could inherit as an adult that would fill that role for me.  I came close in my last relationship.

However, it seems that now I am faced with the same situation again.  I am having difficulty with alienating this person completely, for fear of hurting my family, but I can't lie, and I can't justify making an exception for this person that I would never make for my own mother.

They are the same in many ways, and I am having difficulty accepting that.  When I quit my mother I thought I was done dealing with dishonesty.  I can only hope I make the right choice for my son.  He is the only reason I am struggling with this at all.

Mistake...

I made a mistake.  Against my husband's wishes I cosigned on a car loan for my nephew.

I talked to him extensively about what he was getting into, what it would require, what he would do if everything didn't go according to plan, and what his exit strategy would be.  I stipulated that he contact me as soon as he knew he wouldn't be able to make his payment on time.  I lectured him on responsibility and how to break away from the losing example of his father.

It seemed like everything was going to be fine.  I felt really good about giving this boy, at 19, a helping hand; an opportunity to establish a credit history, and show responsibility.  I remembered trying to buy a car at 19 without a cosigner, and the exorbitant interest rate I paid because of it.

I started paying for this mistake in the second month.  Because it is considered a high-risk loan (I've learned) the lender starts making phone calls within 10 days of being late on the payment.  It was then that I realized that I was the primary on the loan, and apparently the only one answering phone calls.  I tried to get a hold of him, but like I said, he wasn't answering his phone.  Neither could he return a phone call.  Or an e-mail.

Eventually he made the payment.  But it continued like this every month for a year.  I would receive a phone call, try to track him down, then he'd make the payment.  Rarely did he call me, and usually only after I'd gotten so mad I'd leave a nasty message on his voicemail.

And then, one month, he didn't make the payment.  I got a call warning me it was going to be 30 days late, and again I jumped through hoops to get him on the phone.  His mother finally called me to inform me that they had made payment arrangements with the lender, so it was all good.  I let it go until I found out I had gotten a delinquency notice on my credit report.  I was pissed.  I called him again.  He promised he'd get it off of my credit report.  I called him again a couple months later, and he said they had agreed to remove it.

That's when I started calling the lender.  Eight months later, they haven't removed it as promised.  Now I'm wishing every day I had not believed in this boy.

It gets worse.  Last month, he didn't make a payment at all.  When it got close to the 30 day mark, I made the payment.  I figured I'd give him a break, and when he made the payment he would then be ahead of the game.  Only, he never did.  Now we're getting close to the 30 day mark on the second month, and I've decided to repossess the car.  After getting no response to e-mail, I called a repo man to go pick up the car for me.  I even asked the police in their city to do a welfare check to make sure they were still in their house.  I then left another nasty voicemail.

Finally, he called me.  I told him I was taking the car.  He was remarkably cooperative.  He gave me the information I needed to look up the value on KBB, and I find that it's worth about $6k less than what he owes.  So it looks like I'm going to be paying for this mistake for at least 3 years to come, even after unloading the car.

If this was the first financial mistake I've ever made, I probably wouldn't be so torn up about it.  Live and learn, right?  But I seem to have a long history of "helping" people who can't seem to help themselves.  Time after time I loan money to people who are desperate, just to get them "over the hump", only to find out that the hump is really a steady incline.

A few months ago Suze Orman was on Oprah saying now is not the time to cosign for a loan.  Apparently, two years ago wasn't either.  I apparently have to learn my lessons the hard way.  Again and again.

Parents, Part 2

We moved around a lot after I was born.  I don't know if that was true before that, but during my youth we moved at least twice a year.  Sometimes it would be close enough to remain in the same school.  Most often it wasn't.  Because of this, I didn't make friends.  There was no point.  

I did realize early on that my presence had a calming affect on my mother, and she would be less violent if I was there.  Actually, I don't think I realized it consciously, but I do remember deliberately going into the room when my younger brother was being beaten, even though everything in me was screaming to run and hide.  This seemed to lessen the damage for him.  It was all I could do for him.

I do know she especially hated my two brothers, though for different reasons.  I can't attest to her feelings about my older siblings because I was much too young to know.  I do remember several occasions where my younger brother would ask why she did this if she loved us, and my reassuring him that she didn't love us, and if he could just realize that, life would be so much easier.

In seventh grade I met the first of the adults in my life that could have been a parent figure.  Mr. Stevens was my teacher, and the first adult male I'd met that was not interested in me sexually.  No.  I was never raped.  You needn't go there.

As far as I can tell, Mr. Stevens just wanted to protect me.  He mentioned once that he wished he could adopt us, but his wife had an aversion to kids, and that was impossible.  However, his meddling did lead to our first abandonment.  By this time, my mother had already come to blows with my now-adult sister, and we were no longer in contact with her.  When my teacher decided to do his mandated-reporter duty and call the police, she skipped town and left us at school.  (She did try to pick us up on her way out of town, and it was only by forcefully holding my younger brother back that I managed to get her to leave without us.)  The "plan" was to confront her and have her work with a social worker to see the error of her ways.  As it turned out, she was forewarned and had packed each of us a suitcase and had planned to skip town.  Since I didn't jump in the car with her, nor allow my brother to do so, she went without us.  

After a visit to the sheriff's office to tell our story, we ended up staying with a church family until placement could be made.  This was my lucky break, and I was actually hoping for a great family when she showed up three days later and took us back.  No charges were brought, and we ended up staying in our home for the remainder of that school year.  We did have to change schools and were not allowed to see anyone who had known us before.  She also made me promise not to try to make contact with my sister for at least a year.  She gave me a sob story about being tired of fighting, and I made that concession for her.

By the time I reached high school I was quite independent.  I managed well with her rules, and a confrontation my freshman year actually got her to find my sister for me.  This was several moves later, and we were now in Oroville.  I remember the day my sister and older brother showed up at school to see me.  It was surreal.  I didn't recognize my brother at all, and I was somewhat awkward with my sister.  However, I was happy to have her back.

It was during that year that I decided I needed to get out of the house, and I convinced my mother to allow me to go to boarding school.  Because she was ultra-religious, and believed that freedom ruined children, she found a few like-minded boarding schools for me to choose from.  One was in California, one was in Utah, and one was in British Columbia, Canada.  Naturally, I chose the furthest.

This is where I met the Fournier's.  The boarding school did not have dormitories, but rather a series of large houses where students lived with a family.  I arrived in the summer, and by freak chance ended up with this family.  I had been destined to live with another couple, but at the last minute, they decided not to stay, and everyone living with them got divided up amongst the remaining families.

This is also where I came out of myself and decided that shy and quiet was getting me nowhere, and that I should really be outgoing and happy if I wanted friends.  This worked wonderfully, and I had the best year of my life.

The Fournier's treated me like one of their own.  They had three kids, and although I knew I wasn't really one of them, it was the closest thing yet.  They let me call them Mom and Dad, and for one year I pretended they were.  I know they did love me, and treated me with more care than the other students.  I know this because Mrs. Fournier wrote me the most beautiful letter at the end of the year, which I still have, and she HATES to write.  At least, she did then.

But time goes by, and at the end of the year, they decided to go be missionaries in Africa.  It was hard to see them go.  I stayed another 1/2 year at the school, but it wasn't the same.

Over the years I've looked them up a time or two, but hadn't found a trace of them until now.

Since coming of age, I decided my last chance was through marriage.  My sister's mother-in-law loves her like a daughter, and they seem to have a very close bond.  She's been in that family for many years, and although it took some getting used to, I think she has assimilated nicely.  I know it isn't the same thing, but it's close.  She has also found her biological father, and although that will never turn into a real father/daughter relationship, that connection has changed her (even if she doesn't realize it).

When I was 21, my mother left for good.  She sent each of her kids a letter asking not to be contacted or looked for, that she was tired of being a parent and wanted her freedom.  At the time, my youngest sister was 11, and she was left at home for CPS to find.  Although this isn't true of all of my siblings, I have respected her wish and have not made contact.

I am married now.  My husband has wonderful parents.  I love them, and they love me.  I have no doubt of that.  And although they are my family now, the parent/daughter connection was never made.  There is nothing wrong with that.  I am not complaining.  They are wonderful people.

I probably shouldn't be writing this.  I don't want to hurt anyone, or cause embarrassment.

I've often wondered what it would be like to have that presence in my life.  That person you could always count on.  I don't even know what you would count on them for, once you become an adult, but I see how even grown people are with parents, and I know that relationship is special.

In the last few years I have been surrounded by people who love me fiercely.  I have no doubt that I am loved, and I have been extremely blessed by the quantity and quality of that love.

I am not suggesting that I have been slighted or am somehow worse off than anyone else.  I am not looking for sympathy.  I have had a wonderful life since becoming an adult.  

I am merely curious.  Like I said, this is something I think about often, and I knew I would write about it sooner or later.  Forgive me if I've hurt or offended.

Parents, Part 1

This post has been bouncing around in my head for a week now.  I spoke to someone a week ago on the phone whom I used to regard as the closest thing to a parent.  I've had a couple of instances in my life where that feeling was awakened, but this couple was definitely the strongest and closest I've ever been to having parents.

I'm not sure where this post will go, or how long it will end up.  It might have to be told over several days.  However, I do know that I should put in some disclaimers.  So here goes:

If you do not want to know any really personal details about me, you should not read further.

If listening to a person tell about their life makes you squeamish, you should not read this.

If you are a part of this story, and don't care to rehash the past, you should not read this.

That being said, this all started last week, like I said, when I got the call.  This is someone I recently discovered through Facebook, and have had FB and e-mail conversations with since then.  I really wanted to hear from his wife, even though I had no idea what I would say to her, and knowing that she doesn't like to write, I gave him my phone number, and hoped that she'd call.

He called instead, and it was wonderful to hear his voice.  I realized through the conversation that he and his family probably had no idea what an impact they had on my life.  How do you make something like that known?  It's too personal to share aloud, really.

So I've been thinking about parents, and what they mean to a person.  I think, even in adulthood that people are still connected to their parents.  I've known people, and heard stories from others, that have lost their parents early in adulthood, and even though they are grown, they still feel bereft, and lost for a time without that presence in their lives.

I know several people who are still quite close to their parents, and talk to a parent on a weekly, if not daily basis.

So what is this bond?

I lost my parents early in life.  They are not dead, although they might as well be.  My father left me when I was barely two, and from what I've heard about him, he is not someone I would want to know, even now.  My mother, unfortunately, did not leave, although I was probably around five when I realized she was not a nice person, and I did not have to like her.  This is one of my earliest memories.

My mother was abusive, physically and emotionally.  When I was around five, I remember being dropped off with my younger brother at an in-home daycare facility.  It could have been a babysitter, but I remember there being several other children, which is why I think it was probably a daycare.  It was just for the day, and to my knowledge was the first time I had been left in the care of another.  I had no family other than my siblings, but my sister, who is ten years older than I, usually took care of us, so I'm not exactly sure why we were left in this place.  Maybe my sister was in school.

I remember being terrified.  I was a shy child.  I know that is hard to believe for those of you who know me now, but I was.  Quiet, and shy.  New experiences scare me.  So I sat alone in a corner, and sucked on the crook of my elbow the entire time we were there.  As a result, I gave myself a hickey.  At the time, I didn't know what a hickey was.

When my mother picked us up, she was furious about the hickey.  She beat me quite thoroughly right there in the street because of it.  Not knowing what the big deal was, I could only decide that she was unreasonable, and not a nice person.  I think that moment changed my life.  Ever after that, I could distance myself from her.  Granted, she gave me lots of reasons to reinforce my decision.  I think kids are resilient, and they protect themselves in many ways.  She was a source of pain, and it seemed easy enough to detach and distance myself from that.

As I got older, this distance helped me.  I loved to read, and I would lose myself in the fantasy or fiction of other people's lives.  However, I also saw how other people lived, and I knew what I lived every day was not the only way.  It was not normal.  This knowledge along with the belief that my mother did not love me, and therefore I did not need to love her back, made it hard for her to get to me.  Sure, the beatings stung, but as they didn't seem to get her the desired affect, they grew fewer and less intense.

I have huge gaps in my memories, so it's hard to say when and how things changed, but I do remember a few things.  My oldest siblings were all between 8-11 years older than me, and were out of the house before my memories start to solidify.  I remember the night my sister being kicked out, for the second and last time.

I have to note here that I will forever be grateful for my sister.  She looked after me, and was my primary caregiver for as long as she lived with us, and for many years after she would do everything in her power to protect me.  I attended a conference recently where a respected neurologist talked about the studies that have been conducted on touch with small children.  He showed the effects of positive touch and negative touch with a series of MRI scans of the brain.  It turns out that children who receive only negative forms of touch or no touch at all have stunted brain growth and development.  A scan of two brains, one normal and one from an abused child showed that the brain size of the abused child was actually much smaller in size than that of the child considered to be living in a "normal" loving home.  I have no doubt that it was her care in my early years that allowed me to grow, thrive, and become who I am.

To be continued....

Family

Christmas is over, and although it got off to a shaky start, the day ended up being perfect representation of what this holiday means to me.  From 8 am to 8 pm I was surrounded by family.

My sister and her husband came to my house to do our annual stocking exercise.  This part of Christmas was almost cancelled this year, in my decidedly un-Christmas attitude, and a desire to not spend recklessly on stuff we neither want nor need but fits the criteria of "stocking stuffer".  Thankfully, my husband objected to that plan, and we agreed on a compromise of not purchasing useless filler junk, but rather thoughtfully selecting things we hoped were useful, or little things that we use every day anyway.  The idea was not to spend money on things that would ultimately end up in the trash within days.  I think we succeeded, and although we probably still spent more than we should have, it was worth it to not miss this part of Christmas morning.

We also use this time to exchange our gifts to each other, so my sister and husband went home to play with her new wii fit while we went to my husband's parent's home to exchange gifts with them.  This is ultimately where we spent the rest of the day.  My husband's parents also hosted his aunt, uncle, cousins AND dinner, so we spent the rest of the day there.  My sister and her husband joined us there for dinner in the early afternoon and stayed until the end of the day.

For the first time in a long time (my memory is shaky, so this could have been last year) the whole family was able to spend much of the day together.  This included my husband's brother and his wife and kids, his sister and her husband and kids, and my sister and her husband.  For some reason, I don't remember the logistics of that happening in quite some time.   It was nice.

We even managed a cursory salute to Jesus for my son (although I think he'd moved on from his thought of celebrating Jesus, because he didn't seem overly impressed) with a reading of the birth story in Luke, and a hilarious "Happy Birthday Jesus" cake made by his grandmother.

So, thank you to my family for making time to be together.  It is ultimately what makes this day special for me.