A little early, I know
I had brunch with my dad this morning, following our recent issues. Going to brunch was definitely the right thing to do, but I don’t know that I’m happy I went. I certainly don’t feel any better.
We basically talked in circles for an hour. I attempted, once again, to explain why and how his behavior was hurtful for me. Even though I don’t doubt that he loves me, the way we interact still causes me a lot of pain.
And, over and over, he repeated his favorite refrains: “I can’t change what I feel. My feelings are just as valid as yours. You’re asking me to change over night. I had a son for 23 years. I’m trying.”
Continue reading 'When are feelings not valid?'»
Pretend you can see my dad!
My father marched at the 1968 Democratic National Convention. He went to Washington to see Dr. King speak. His work as a defense attorney has helped demonstrate the unjustness of the death penalty and his was one of the cases referenced by Gov. Ryan when he issued a moratorium against capital punishment. In my mind, I still sometimes imagine my dad like I did when I was ten: the Good Lawyer protecting the innocent from Evil Cops, fighting for Civil Rights and Other Important Issues Warranting Capitalization.
Life rarely that simple. Family certainly isn’t.
There was a slowly dawning sense of discomfort during my teenage years, as I started to notice the times my dad would talk about clients he knew were guilty but would receive reduced sentences based on police misconduct. Now, to be perfectly clear, I think police misconduct is almost always a greater societal problem than the guilty person getting a break. Better ten guilty men go free, and all that. I still believe my dad is one of the Good Guys, and that even the guiltiest among us deserves fair and competent counsel. But my dad is also a more nuanced and complicated individual than I as able to acknowledge as a child.
Still, I sometimes expect him to see all civil rights and justice issues the way I do. Which made speaking with him tonight something like banging my head against a wall. The discussion began, as so many do, with talk of breasts.
Continue reading 'Banging my head against a wall'»
I’ve been using OSX (Leopard) for about a month now, and I’m still (mostly) enjoying it. It’s pretty, it’s smooth, iPhoto is growing on me, and it was a good decision. Particularly since my old computer simply didn’t work anymore… Anyway, now that it’s been a while, most of the annoyances I had at first have passed. But not all of them! So I thought I’d share the few things that still consistently bother me.
Continue reading 'Mac frustrations, a month later'»
I was out the other night with my mom, her friend, and her friend’s son, S. He and I were friends when we were in second or third grade, and hadn’t seen each other in maybe fifteen years. I wasn’t dying to go out with everyone, but my mom had said her friend – S’s mom – had been asking to the point where it was getting awkward. So I finally agreed.
After dinner, the four of us were walking toward the beach to have some ice cream. My mom asked if my shoes were rubbing, as my ankles were red. I said that, yes, they were rubbing a little bit but that I was fine and she shouldn’t worry about it. (This isn’t actually the noteworthy part of the story, but is there any stronger way to say “I’m fine” to a parent? Maybe in a different language? With flashing lights?)
S looked at my shoes and said, “Did she ask if those don’t fit because they’re women’s shoes, and you used to wear men’s?”
Continue reading 'Shoely You’re Joking'»
I’m sitting at home. I got to the bowling alley (at 8:50, inevitably) with a message on my voicemail saying that people were going to EU’s before bowling, at which point I sent MG a text saying “I am going home” and, well, went home.
MG is now calling me (five times so far) and I, like the mature and reasonable adult that I am, am ignoring her calls.
I hate getting this angry over petty things.
I hate feeling stressed about an hour in one direction or the other.
I hate feeling obligated to do things I don’t want to do.
I hate my body, and the way my body makes me feel, and what it is.
I can look back over the last twenty-plus years and rarely have I asked, “Why me?” but right now I can’t find the energy to care about liking myself for who I am or getting behind the positive things going on in my life or all of the other self-actualizing things I should be doing.]
But I sure as hell can sit here and hate myself, and wish I wasn’t living at my mom’s anymore (less than three weeks left!) so that I didn’t have to deal with her on top of everything else.
So there.
-R
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