Good Thing You Can Pick Your Friends
My family is completely fucked up. And very poor. No one wonders why I drink. My friends often ask, “What happened to you? How did you turn out the way you did?”
A few days ago I called my oldest little brother to wish him a happy birthday. I called him at work because he doesn’t have a phone at home. He and his wife would rather spend money on pot than things like utilities. Or counseling. They never repaid me the month’s rent I lent them a few years ago, either. Not that I ever expected to see that money again.
Telephone conversation with Bro #1:
Me: Hi Sweetheart! Happy birthday!
Bro #1: Thanks. I wanted to call you on your birthday, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Me: That’s okay. I understand. Is there a better way for me to reach you?
Bro #1: Not really. I don’t have a home phone. I don’t have a cell phone. I don’t have shit.
Me: What’s your address?
Bro #1: xxx State Road, Midwest. That’s my address for the time being, anyway. Son is bigger than a house.
Me: I’m so sorry. You have to do something, Bro #1.
Bro #1: I can’t do anything or all hell breaks loose.
Me: You are his father.
Bro #1: I might have made him but I’m not raising him.
Me:
Me: Do you have all of my phone numbers?
Bro #1: Yeah, I think so.
Me: Why don’t you call me and we can get together sometime? Maybe we can meet after work. We could meet halfway.
Bro #1: Yeah.
Me: Will you be at Niece #1’s birthday party on Sunday?
Bro #1: Yeah, I think so.
Me: I’ll see you then.
Bro #1: (Through tears) I gotta go. I’m busy.
This was the first conversation I’ve had with Bro #1 since last Christmas. Our family is not close. It was fractured beyond repair long ago. I can’t say exactly when that happened; it was years in the making. I rarely talk to my siblings and, if I’m honest, I have to admit that I only talk to and see my mother out of a sense of guilt and obligation. I don’t like feeling this way, but that’s just the way it is. Both of my “fathers” are dead. Maybe some day I’ll tell you that glorious story.
Bro #1 has always been a large person and his wife is large too. Bro #1’s son is eight years old, and obscenely obese. His weight is somewhere around 130 pounds. My mother recently bought him size 16 husky pants and they did not fit. Don’t eight-year olds wear something like, um, size 8? Anyway, his size is his immediate problem. He also likes to wear women’s clothes and make up, and kill animals. I’m not so worried about the cross-dressing. I am seriously worried about the cat killing.
After our conversation, I sent Bro #1 a birthday card to his for-the-time-being address. In it was a hand-written four-page letter, begging him to get counseling. Bro #1 has very serious anger issues. Most of these issues are from childhood but his wife added to them. In 2001 while I was lying in the hospital, Bro #1's wife had an affair with a black man, God forbid, and got pregnant. As I heard the story months later, they were leaving for the abortion clinic and Wife started to have severe pains and ended up miscarrying the baby. Bro #1 has never forgiven her for this and never let her forget it. Now, his quietly-psychotic wife is threatening to leave him for the umpteenth time. This time, I think she’s actually going to do it. This has sent Bro #1 over the edge, again. In the meantime Nephew sits in front of the television, ever stuffing food into his mouth, ignoring his parents' dirty fighting.
I have a B.A. in psychology. Instead of majoring in something that would actually prepare me for a job that would make me some cash, the family dynamics worked their magic and sent me straight into classes of fucked-up students with fucked-up professors. I loved my classes. I was even asked to join Psi Chi, the national psychology honors fraternity, because I did so well in my psych classes. I didn’t have to work all that hard at it. All that shit made complete sense to me.
I am 40 years old and have never been pregnant. (Thank you, Planned Parenthood.) I used to want to have children. (That's why I’m divorced. After four years of talking about our future family, my husband changed his mind and decided he no longer wanted to be a father. He didn’t want to go to counseling either. Maybe I'll get around to telling that story sometime, too.) I wanted to make a family that was happy, or, at least not emotionally crippled. That ship has now sailed. I no longer want children.
I realize that my not being a parent makes it hard to hear advice from me regarding children, so I very, very rarely give it. But, since Bro #1 raised the issue of his son in our phone conversation, I gave him some unsolicited advice. In my letter to my brother I wrote, “I realize that I am not a parent. But, I am an expert on having a fucked-up life, and I know one when I see it.” I went on to say . . . well, I said a lot. It may not have been the best thing to do, but it needed to be said. This is the second such letter that I have written to Bro #1. The first was after the Attempted Murder Of A Kitten, which followed The Killing Of A Kitten.
What follows is a little background.
A couple of years ago I was visiting Bro #1 in his rented trailer and I learned that Nephew had recently sprayed his kitten with weed killer. You may be asking yourself, Why the hell could a child get his hands on weed killer? Um, yeah.
The kitten survived the first assault, but got very ill. Of course Nephew’s parents told him what he did was bad, weed killer would hurt the kitty, you don’t want to hurt your kitty; do you?
The kitten did not survive the second assault.
As if killing one kitten wasn’t enough, Nephew got a new kitten. You may be asking yourself, Why the hell would you give a kitten killer another kitten? Um, yeah.
One afternoon Bro #1 comes home to find his wife sleeping and his son unattended. He also finds the freezer duct-taped closed. When he untaped and opened the freezer, he found a very cold kitten. When he asked Nephew why he put the kitty in the freezer the answer was, “He was getting on my nerves.”
When I heard of this latest incident, I flipped right the fuck out. I spent hours on the phone finding no- and low-cost social service and counseling agencies in their county. I compiled an extensive list of the agencies complete with names, addresses and phone numbers. I printed out research on childhood animal cruelty and killing. Conventional wisdom on the issue is that most children who do this to animals are neglected and/or abused. They are helpless to control their abusive situation and act out by executing their learned abusive behavior on the only thing they can: the family pet. Shocker.
I called Bro #1 and asked him if we could get together. I wanted to talk to him alone, without his wife.
Both Bro #1 and his wife are fucked in the head. The difference is my brother knows he’s fucked up and is willing to try something, whereas his wife thinks everything is fine. She would never really admit to herself that her family has serious mental and emotional issues.
Bro #1 called me back and told me it was their anniversary and they were going to try to do something. We never got together and we never talked about it.
At the time all this happened my mother was in the hospital. (She has to go to the hospital about twice a year for bronchitis or pneumonia or a combination of the two because she likes to smoke, a lot, and she's been doing it with a vengeance for 4o years.) That night when I went to visit her, I left all the information with her and she gave it to my brother the following day. She told me that my brother read and was receptive to the information. However, I doubt one single number on that list was ever dialed.
After this I know my brother’s wife thought, Who the fuck is she?
Back to the present.
In the letter I said that Nephew is being neglected and he will end up hating both of his parents for not taking care of him. He is a child who is not capable of making adult decisions and needs to have good decisions made for him. He needs discipline. He needs structure. He needs counseling. The whole family needs counseling. Please get counseling. It is imperative. I know you love your son. I know you do not want him to grow up with shitty parenting like we did. I know we had lousy childhoods, but at some point you have to stop blaming the past and start changing the future. You can change your life. I love you. I am not judging you. Life is hard. Nothing is easy. I know how you feel. I have been in the depths of depression and despair. Please get help. Please call me. Let’s talk.
I hope he gets that letter before his wife does.
Like DD used to say, “We put the fun in dysfunctional.” I can’t wait until the birthday party this weekend.
A few days ago I called my oldest little brother to wish him a happy birthday. I called him at work because he doesn’t have a phone at home. He and his wife would rather spend money on pot than things like utilities. Or counseling. They never repaid me the month’s rent I lent them a few years ago, either. Not that I ever expected to see that money again.
Telephone conversation with Bro #1:
Me: Hi Sweetheart! Happy birthday!
Bro #1: Thanks. I wanted to call you on your birthday, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Me: That’s okay. I understand. Is there a better way for me to reach you?
Bro #1: Not really. I don’t have a home phone. I don’t have a cell phone. I don’t have shit.
Me: What’s your address?
Bro #1: xxx State Road, Midwest. That’s my address for the time being, anyway. Son is bigger than a house.
Me: I’m so sorry. You have to do something, Bro #1.
Bro #1: I can’t do anything or all hell breaks loose.
Me: You are his father.
Bro #1: I might have made him but I’m not raising him.
Me:
Me: Do you have all of my phone numbers?
Bro #1: Yeah, I think so.
Me: Why don’t you call me and we can get together sometime? Maybe we can meet after work. We could meet halfway.
Bro #1: Yeah.
Me: Will you be at Niece #1’s birthday party on Sunday?
Bro #1: Yeah, I think so.
Me: I’ll see you then.
Bro #1: (Through tears) I gotta go. I’m busy.
This was the first conversation I’ve had with Bro #1 since last Christmas. Our family is not close. It was fractured beyond repair long ago. I can’t say exactly when that happened; it was years in the making. I rarely talk to my siblings and, if I’m honest, I have to admit that I only talk to and see my mother out of a sense of guilt and obligation. I don’t like feeling this way, but that’s just the way it is. Both of my “fathers” are dead. Maybe some day I’ll tell you that glorious story.
Bro #1 has always been a large person and his wife is large too. Bro #1’s son is eight years old, and obscenely obese. His weight is somewhere around 130 pounds. My mother recently bought him size 16 husky pants and they did not fit. Don’t eight-year olds wear something like, um, size 8? Anyway, his size is his immediate problem. He also likes to wear women’s clothes and make up, and kill animals. I’m not so worried about the cross-dressing. I am seriously worried about the cat killing.
After our conversation, I sent Bro #1 a birthday card to his for-the-time-being address. In it was a hand-written four-page letter, begging him to get counseling. Bro #1 has very serious anger issues. Most of these issues are from childhood but his wife added to them. In 2001 while I was lying in the hospital, Bro #1's wife had an affair with a black man, God forbid, and got pregnant. As I heard the story months later, they were leaving for the abortion clinic and Wife started to have severe pains and ended up miscarrying the baby. Bro #1 has never forgiven her for this and never let her forget it. Now, his quietly-psychotic wife is threatening to leave him for the umpteenth time. This time, I think she’s actually going to do it. This has sent Bro #1 over the edge, again. In the meantime Nephew sits in front of the television, ever stuffing food into his mouth, ignoring his parents' dirty fighting.
I have a B.A. in psychology. Instead of majoring in something that would actually prepare me for a job that would make me some cash, the family dynamics worked their magic and sent me straight into classes of fucked-up students with fucked-up professors. I loved my classes. I was even asked to join Psi Chi, the national psychology honors fraternity, because I did so well in my psych classes. I didn’t have to work all that hard at it. All that shit made complete sense to me.
I am 40 years old and have never been pregnant. (Thank you, Planned Parenthood.) I used to want to have children. (That's why I’m divorced. After four years of talking about our future family, my husband changed his mind and decided he no longer wanted to be a father. He didn’t want to go to counseling either. Maybe I'll get around to telling that story sometime, too.) I wanted to make a family that was happy, or, at least not emotionally crippled. That ship has now sailed. I no longer want children.
I realize that my not being a parent makes it hard to hear advice from me regarding children, so I very, very rarely give it. But, since Bro #1 raised the issue of his son in our phone conversation, I gave him some unsolicited advice. In my letter to my brother I wrote, “I realize that I am not a parent. But, I am an expert on having a fucked-up life, and I know one when I see it.” I went on to say . . . well, I said a lot. It may not have been the best thing to do, but it needed to be said. This is the second such letter that I have written to Bro #1. The first was after the Attempted Murder Of A Kitten, which followed The Killing Of A Kitten.
What follows is a little background.
A couple of years ago I was visiting Bro #1 in his rented trailer and I learned that Nephew had recently sprayed his kitten with weed killer. You may be asking yourself, Why the hell could a child get his hands on weed killer? Um, yeah.
The kitten survived the first assault, but got very ill. Of course Nephew’s parents told him what he did was bad, weed killer would hurt the kitty, you don’t want to hurt your kitty; do you?
The kitten did not survive the second assault.
As if killing one kitten wasn’t enough, Nephew got a new kitten. You may be asking yourself, Why the hell would you give a kitten killer another kitten? Um, yeah.
One afternoon Bro #1 comes home to find his wife sleeping and his son unattended. He also finds the freezer duct-taped closed. When he untaped and opened the freezer, he found a very cold kitten. When he asked Nephew why he put the kitty in the freezer the answer was, “He was getting on my nerves.”
When I heard of this latest incident, I flipped right the fuck out. I spent hours on the phone finding no- and low-cost social service and counseling agencies in their county. I compiled an extensive list of the agencies complete with names, addresses and phone numbers. I printed out research on childhood animal cruelty and killing. Conventional wisdom on the issue is that most children who do this to animals are neglected and/or abused. They are helpless to control their abusive situation and act out by executing their learned abusive behavior on the only thing they can: the family pet. Shocker.
I called Bro #1 and asked him if we could get together. I wanted to talk to him alone, without his wife.
Both Bro #1 and his wife are fucked in the head. The difference is my brother knows he’s fucked up and is willing to try something, whereas his wife thinks everything is fine. She would never really admit to herself that her family has serious mental and emotional issues.
Bro #1 called me back and told me it was their anniversary and they were going to try to do something. We never got together and we never talked about it.
At the time all this happened my mother was in the hospital. (She has to go to the hospital about twice a year for bronchitis or pneumonia or a combination of the two because she likes to smoke, a lot, and she's been doing it with a vengeance for 4o years.) That night when I went to visit her, I left all the information with her and she gave it to my brother the following day. She told me that my brother read and was receptive to the information. However, I doubt one single number on that list was ever dialed.
After this I know my brother’s wife thought, Who the fuck is she?
Back to the present.
In the letter I said that Nephew is being neglected and he will end up hating both of his parents for not taking care of him. He is a child who is not capable of making adult decisions and needs to have good decisions made for him. He needs discipline. He needs structure. He needs counseling. The whole family needs counseling. Please get counseling. It is imperative. I know you love your son. I know you do not want him to grow up with shitty parenting like we did. I know we had lousy childhoods, but at some point you have to stop blaming the past and start changing the future. You can change your life. I love you. I am not judging you. Life is hard. Nothing is easy. I know how you feel. I have been in the depths of depression and despair. Please get help. Please call me. Let’s talk.
I hope he gets that letter before his wife does.
Like DD used to say, “We put the fun in dysfunctional.” I can’t wait until the birthday party this weekend.
posted by nottotaled at 12:25 PM
3 comments
