Dear Friends and Family,
Sometimes I fool myself into thinking my family is normal.
Mr. mouse and I fight. We get angry. But I don't think our disagreements are outside the bounds of normal. P seems like a perfectly normal kid, even if we know she isn't quite normal. And, my sister, who I talk to on a regular basis, is pretty normal too.
But, you don't have to go far on the family tree to begin finding the craziness.
There's my brother. The 33-year-old who lives with his parents. He's following the dream of becoming a doctor. In three months he graduates from med school and has promised our Dad that he will find a job to begin paying back his loans. If he actually does become a productive member of society, I'm more than willing to grant him normal status. If.
There's my mom, the martyr who married my Dad. Why she married him, I don't know. Why she stays with him, I don't know. Why she doesn't set boundaries, I don't know. Why she expects it to all play out okay, I don't know.
Then, there's my dad. Ultimately all of the family drama starts here. I know. I know. He grew up in a war torn country to a family that faced immense hardship. They lost their "fortune" in the occupation and the war. Illness and strife followed and eventually craziness set in.
Not to be "that" person, but I will be that person.
What I described happened to hundreds of people. An entire generation grew up in a war torn country. Everyone faced immense hardship. Everyone lost everything in the war. But, guess what, hundreds of thousands of families persevered and didn't use circumstance as an excuse let their worst selves flourish.
What's driving this post?
First, there's the 40 minute harangue I suffered at my Dad's hands on Tuesday night on what was supposed to be a peaceful bus ride home. With topics ranging from the need to respect my elders, to how I should manage my money, to what P should be when she grows up, to how I had made such poor career choices, to everything.
Let's be clear. No one gets my respect unless they earn my respect. And no one gets to keep my respect just because they're older than me. Okay. We're on the same page.
Next point. Getting money management advice from my Dad is like getting money management advice from the guy with the cardboard sign and the coffee cup full of coins. It's full of blather. If I ever followed his advice, I'd be broke overnight. My Dad should thank his stars my mom managed the money when we were growing up. She's a horrible money manager. It's just on a relative basis, he's even worse. Okay. We're on the same page here too.
On to P's career options. She's four, people. The world is going to change several times over between now and when she enters the workforce. Really, I'm going to take career advice from a person who was born during The Second World War? There's a difference between life advice and career advice. If I need to shell out useless career advice, there's obsolete advice from my generation. Do I really need to go back further for worse advice? No thanks. I'd rather wait to see how the world evolves before giving P career advice.
On to the real stickler. Me. He criticizes me. I'm the one child of his that has a job. Granted, my current job is a combination of part time work at old work and research on starting a new company. But, after working for almost two decades, I've more than earned my right to explore new options. And, my work? So what if it wasn't glamorous? I enjoyed it and it paid the bills and it allowed us to save up for retirement. What about that should I be ashamed of? Tell me. I'm all ears.
If all that wasn't enough. Then, I find out he's been harassing my Mom to no end. My mom's not perfect. But, she should be allowed to have friends. She should be allowed to see her friends. She should be able to go by herself, especially if she invites my Dad and he declines the invitation.
It all hit some new nadir last night. We know my Dad's been stewing. That's why he called me on Tuesday. That's why he called my Mom on Tuesday and then yesterday with more haranguing. And, then, last night, he gets in the car and drives to my Mom's church at 10 o'clock at night to look for the priest. I want to believe he's seeking help. But, in my cynical heart of hearts, I think it's because he's just there to stir up more trouble.
Now, I need to think through the holidays. I want to see my Mom. I want to see Mr. mouse's family. I don't mind seeing my Dad. Why, I don't really know. But, I've got no desire to have P interact with the crazy man who is her grandfather. She's too tender a kid. She's too innocent. And, I don't see how the benefit is worth the risk.
The possible benefit? She has vague memories of seeing someone once a year who is fond of her that she is told she is fond of. The risk? I get angry. Beware the wrath of a mom who's protecting her young.
On that note. Happy Thursday!
Cheers!
mouse
Sometimes I fool myself into thinking my family is normal.
Mr. mouse and I fight. We get angry. But I don't think our disagreements are outside the bounds of normal. P seems like a perfectly normal kid, even if we know she isn't quite normal. And, my sister, who I talk to on a regular basis, is pretty normal too.
But, you don't have to go far on the family tree to begin finding the craziness.
There's my brother. The 33-year-old who lives with his parents. He's following the dream of becoming a doctor. In three months he graduates from med school and has promised our Dad that he will find a job to begin paying back his loans. If he actually does become a productive member of society, I'm more than willing to grant him normal status. If.
There's my mom, the martyr who married my Dad. Why she married him, I don't know. Why she stays with him, I don't know. Why she doesn't set boundaries, I don't know. Why she expects it to all play out okay, I don't know.
Then, there's my dad. Ultimately all of the family drama starts here. I know. I know. He grew up in a war torn country to a family that faced immense hardship. They lost their "fortune" in the occupation and the war. Illness and strife followed and eventually craziness set in.
Not to be "that" person, but I will be that person.
What I described happened to hundreds of people. An entire generation grew up in a war torn country. Everyone faced immense hardship. Everyone lost everything in the war. But, guess what, hundreds of thousands of families persevered and didn't use circumstance as an excuse let their worst selves flourish.
What's driving this post?
First, there's the 40 minute harangue I suffered at my Dad's hands on Tuesday night on what was supposed to be a peaceful bus ride home. With topics ranging from the need to respect my elders, to how I should manage my money, to what P should be when she grows up, to how I had made such poor career choices, to everything.
Let's be clear. No one gets my respect unless they earn my respect. And no one gets to keep my respect just because they're older than me. Okay. We're on the same page.
Next point. Getting money management advice from my Dad is like getting money management advice from the guy with the cardboard sign and the coffee cup full of coins. It's full of blather. If I ever followed his advice, I'd be broke overnight. My Dad should thank his stars my mom managed the money when we were growing up. She's a horrible money manager. It's just on a relative basis, he's even worse. Okay. We're on the same page here too.
On to P's career options. She's four, people. The world is going to change several times over between now and when she enters the workforce. Really, I'm going to take career advice from a person who was born during The Second World War? There's a difference between life advice and career advice. If I need to shell out useless career advice, there's obsolete advice from my generation. Do I really need to go back further for worse advice? No thanks. I'd rather wait to see how the world evolves before giving P career advice.
On to the real stickler. Me. He criticizes me. I'm the one child of his that has a job. Granted, my current job is a combination of part time work at old work and research on starting a new company. But, after working for almost two decades, I've more than earned my right to explore new options. And, my work? So what if it wasn't glamorous? I enjoyed it and it paid the bills and it allowed us to save up for retirement. What about that should I be ashamed of? Tell me. I'm all ears.
If all that wasn't enough. Then, I find out he's been harassing my Mom to no end. My mom's not perfect. But, she should be allowed to have friends. She should be allowed to see her friends. She should be able to go by herself, especially if she invites my Dad and he declines the invitation.
It all hit some new nadir last night. We know my Dad's been stewing. That's why he called me on Tuesday. That's why he called my Mom on Tuesday and then yesterday with more haranguing. And, then, last night, he gets in the car and drives to my Mom's church at 10 o'clock at night to look for the priest. I want to believe he's seeking help. But, in my cynical heart of hearts, I think it's because he's just there to stir up more trouble.
Now, I need to think through the holidays. I want to see my Mom. I want to see Mr. mouse's family. I don't mind seeing my Dad. Why, I don't really know. But, I've got no desire to have P interact with the crazy man who is her grandfather. She's too tender a kid. She's too innocent. And, I don't see how the benefit is worth the risk.
The possible benefit? She has vague memories of seeing someone once a year who is fond of her that she is told she is fond of. The risk? I get angry. Beware the wrath of a mom who's protecting her young.
On that note. Happy Thursday!
Cheers!
mouse
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