Envy

Green with it, I have been. When I hear, read, or see examples of people who have warm, fond memories of their parents and continue to have flourishing relationships with them, envy colors my landscape. Mom and Dad. Your world begins with this set. You may be added to a mix that includes a brother or two, a sister or two, all or nothing. Mom and Dad dictate your beginnings. Basic.

In my case the beginnings were, I believe good. I can remember back to being as young as 3 or 4, definitely 4 because I remember my first school, parts of it anyway. Mom and Dad were constant in my life then. I remember going on picnics, amusement parks, to visit my cousins and Big Mama’s house.

Mom rarely played with me, I recall. I don’t have a single, solitary memory, of her playing cards, board games, or even dancing, being silly with me. I don’t remember her ever reading to me. My dad was the goof. He liked silly songs, like Charlie Brown, Splish Splash and the like. He would dance and cavort, make silly faces and play. He was fun, until he wasn’t. Somewhere, somehow, dad got mean. He started to hit. It seemed I was getting hit more than my brothers, possibly not, but that is the perception.

Then he was gone. Because of all that led to him being gone, I, for one, was thrilled with his departure. My seven, almost eight year old brain processed the event as such, no more getting hit!Yay! I’m not quite sure how I knew that once he was gone, my time with him would all but vanish.

After dad was gone, mom grew even more sullen. She had moments of joy, some periods of UP, but mostly she was riddled with anxiety, bouts of depression and physical ailments that kept her from sustaining any long term motivation for nurturing. My brothers, eventually capitalized on the absence of any real parenting by acting out, drinking, drugging, joining gangs and participating in gang activities. I tried, as much as possible, to stay out of the way.

There were pockets of times when mom was lucid, she tried to correct the ills that had befallen the family. She screeched s o s to other family members, clergy, teachers and even though, still very angry, and bitter towards dad, tried to elicit his help, towards regaining control. He had, by this time, regained control of himself and was building quite a nice life for his new wife and his new kids.

There was temporary relief. Short-lived. Transient.

I envy women who have friendships with their mothers. My mother and I are close in that I know her well. I understand her mind. We love each other devoutly. But we are not friends, not in that way. Not in a "Hey, what are you doing Saturday, would you like to have lunch" sort of way. We are mother and daughter, she took care of me when she could, the best she could. I do the same for her. We are mother and daughter, roles slowly but surely reversing. Mom told Michael during a recent dinner, she didn't need friends, friends were too much trouble. She doesn't have many interests beyond navigating the waters of turmoil and strife.

I don’t know my dad. In the beginning, I didn’t want to know him. The older I got and the bad memories faded, the more I found myself, wanting so very much to be a part of his life and have him be a part of mine. There, again, were moments, pockets. He took me out for a fancy dinner on the occasion of my graduation from elementary school and again, from high school. His families (his mom was married twice) held a family reunion, we were both there. This is where he met my children for the first time. That was 15-16 years ago, he hasn’t seen them since.

I told a friend that I was would not play any more overtures towards my dad. I would not seek his companionship, love or approval. Anymore. At the time I meant what I said, lately, however, I’m feeling the need to reach out. Maybe it was the Saints being in town, maybe it’s the novel I’m reading where the story is set in Louisiana, maybe, just maybe it’s time again, to try again. Maybe.

I envy folks who have a treasure trove of warm, fond memories of past , and enjoy warm, fond relationships, still, with their parents.

Green, I am with envy, despite my best efforts to the contrary.