Writingbolt's Creation

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As I’ve grown older, holidays have lost their charms. They’ve become overly hyped means of stimulating the economy, encrypted teases from our governments. They sure are not the warm, fuzzy festivals of glowing lights and bounties of delicious treats I once thought they were. And, no matter how you try to entice me, it’s not going to be easy changing my mind after becoming so nauseous and bitter. But, please, don’t cast me out into the street to rot. I have reasons.

If you grew up with the “gene” for being a generous provider, someone who likes to lay out a spread of delights on any given special day, you’re not me. I was raised by two clashing deities who may want to be generous but consistently pull back in some way that cripples my own generosity. At one moment, they may seem generous…and, the next, they will reveal how they cut corners or saved a buck. If they can get anything at a discount, they will try. And, if they have to pay regular/retail price, they will complain for days.

While that may all just sound like wise budget thinking, they go beyond wise budget thinking. My dad will go so far that you may call him a thief. My mom can be quite the miser and yet carelessly discard something that should have been treated with greater respect and appreciation. Gifts people thought would please her get “donated” to Goodwill, where she will retreat to spend another dollar on something that once cost five, just to add that to a pile that goes nowhere until she decides to replace it.

When we, their kids, try to do something kind and generous for others, we often get “corrected” by our parents for being too generous. We’re spending too much. We’re trying too hard. We’re just going to pay for it, later. Try as we may to be kind, generous and thoughtful, our parents will find a way to ruin the good vibes…and probably drive whoever we are attempting to please away, for good.

So, when I see others being generous, I feel sick and uncomfortable. I feel like cheap scum. I cannot just fork over money to fill a room with joys. I’m always hearing my parents talk about saving money and how my generosity won’t truly be appreciated. I cannot give someone ten presents instead of just one I think they will really like. Nor can I give someone a present I really like and hope they will like it as much. I tend to shop with the other person in mind…not myself. [And, if you’re wondering why I even bring up such a point, you just need to know my family.]

Certain holidays are particularly unpleasant. They are the parent-related special days. This includes my parents’ birthdays. [I wonder if they will be worse when my parents are no longer able to face me.]

Mothers Day is probably the worst because my mother has drained every ounce of warmth I could possibly feel on that day for her. I have no ability–zero creativity–to please her. Even if I could muster up some craft project or favor I could do her, she would find a reason to complain. That’s just how bitter and wrong she has become. If she is ever pleased by anyone, it’s really hard to know because the best she can do is put on a good face in front of guests. So, first, you have to be a guest stopping by her house. If you have to spend more than a day with her, you’ll surely see her other side. But, if you are just stopping by, you’re sure to get a silly, oblivious smile which will make you think she’s the most classy, charming woman in the world.

If you seek an explanation for what a mother could do to drain her artistic son’s ability to create happiness for her, don’t prod because I will be here all day venting my vile feelings. No therapist could handle that baggage without pushing an escape button. In short, my mother systematically held on too tight and bent me like a stress toy until I couldn’t feel comfortable with myself in any situation and couldn’t trust her for a second. That is not an exaggeration. If you leave something out for five seconds and walk away, she will home in on it and move it because you left it where it does not belong. That is how mad and eerily aware at the wrong times she can be. And, any nice things she could say are washed out by all of the harsh, ignorant and self-serving crap she pumps out in her own sort of internal distress, every day. She has been given a soapbox (to preach from), and she’s not leaving it.

My siblings, particularly my sisters, have no problem being thoughtful and creative on Mothers Day because they “left home at a normal age.” There’s a whole other ball of wax to this case that involves the proper age and conditions for doing “normal” adult things. It remains a painful divide that cannot seem to be resolved, causing my siblings to divide. I hate having to clash with my sisters who seem to always find a way to offer up gifts and other favors to my parents, especially our mother. [That’s easy when you’re mother isn’t harping on you, violating your privacy, speaking highly of the female species and letting you do as you please.] My sisters will admit their mom has plenty of “issues” but continue to appear on special days as if nothing is wrong. They look at me like I am scum when I cannot be as “generous.” And, if I try to reason with them, I might as well be on the road to a jail sentence. I have no lawyer on my side.

My mother should be happy she has caused that much discord. She enjoys drama and tragic stories, even though they get her upset. She can’t get enough of them and rarely enjoys comedy.

So, if Mothers Day is a pain, my mother’s birthday must really be difficult. Yep…

Now, my father isn’t much better. But, he gets plenty of sympathy for being as romantic and creative as he can be to counter my mom’s…ugliness. He tries so hard sometimes. But, when you hear my mother complain, you begin to wonder if Dad isn’t just trying to make up for some wrong he did…long ago…when they were a young couple and us kids were not around. You begin to wonder why you were born, at all, because, clearly, they are not happy with the kids or anything they’ve had since they met.

Even if I could offer my dad compassion for putting up with my mom and trying to be thoughtful, he has spent almost as much time being my mother’s tool. And, his vanity knows no end…yet he can be such a sickening slob! He will pick at your appearance until you bleed from your eyes…but he, himself, can let himself be in such a horrid state that you wonder if he’s even aware of himself, at all. He had some “military time” which I think affected his mentality about everything. There’s a proper way to doing everything, but I’m not sure even he knows what that is…like how to properly raise a child into a man. It’s hard to teach a son to be a man when he, himself, cannot be a respected man in his partner’s company.

[All of my “judgy” speech seems to come from him. But, both parents are too often rude and/or vile…so they should get equal blame. And, I should just jump off a cliff before I upset anyone else I’d like to be a friend.]

He has done her bidding and even picked up some of her weird, invasive habits. It’s sickening. It’s so vile that it upsets my stomach just to write about it. He is in no way a male role model for his sons. He has no backbone except when it gets him into conflict with my mom, his partner. It’s only when he listens to others who are having a good time that he crosses a line with her and lands in the “doghouse.” Dad likes to socialize and have a good time with others.

[Mom can’t seem to decide if she wants company or would rather curl up in a bitter ball in some corner. She likes to talk…oy, does she like to talk…but she struggles with listening and fair play. She will absorb your life story like a sponge and relay it to us, her kids. Mom seems okay when you decide for her and can force her into some nice clothes…almost like a child being prodded by her parents to dress up for a special day…hmm. But, she’s not the best “crowd person,” even if that crowd is just one other person. I don’t think she ever “grew up” before being expected to be an adult and parent.]

[I grew up to become such a self-conscious and anxiety-flooded freak because my parents, especially my father, couldn’t stop finding fault with me, their precious boy. One minute, they tell you that you’re valuable…the next they tear you down by telling you why you’re wrong.]

Mom moans about being lonely and can socialize just fine when put in certain public spaces…but she refuses to adapt and pushes, drives people and opportunities away. She once has neighbors as friends; I don’t think she did anything to get them as friends or keep them as friends other than putting up with surprise visits. If people didn’t knock down her door, she’d be alone and bitter. Yet, it’s the knocking down of her door that has also rattled her so often; she constantly complains how surprise visits deny her from getting household needs resolved.

Just as a vague example…

Mom goes to a store, usually some discount/resale shop, because my parents refuse to look at anything “new.” She runs into some stranger who strikes up a conversation because my parents can make themselves look so…attractive. They will talk for an hour or more. If you hear them, you’ll think this is the beginning of a nice friendship. But, while Dad might like to exchange phone numbers and see this person, again, Mom will silently turn away and go home alone to complain. It makes no sense. And, it hurts, from all sides. If you confront my mother and argue how she could have exchanged information and resumed contact with the person another day, she will give you a list of nonsensical reasons why that wouldn’t work. It’s futile to try.

So, it’s not like my mother couldn’t have friends…she just refuses to let anyone into her heart and space. I’d go so far as saying some past friends burned her so badly that she cannot recover. She was a young fool, once, and she won’t change after being “played.”

And, if my sisters think their mother has anything worth emulating, they are in trouble…as are their husbands and children…and any friends they may think they still have. If my sisters are in any way doomed to act like their mother, the rest of the world should pray for mercy. It may sound cruel, but we don’t need more people like my mother…not her dark sides, anyway.

If I try hard enough, I can remember a glimmer of a happier time when I used to think of my mother in a supernatural way. I used to compare her to Linda Carter’s Wonder Woman and may have even had an Oedipus complex. But, boy, did she tear that apart over the years! It is GONE! You can only pick on your precious son’s face, call him a liar and tear up his trust and security so often before he can no longer give you a greeting card (which she claims to want so badly), among other favors.

[The other strange thing…just one of many…is that no matter what my mother will say she wants, if you try to get it for her, she will find reason to complain. There are epic tales about women who act this way. As all of us men in the family say, there is no pleasing her. And, it’s a very sexist response. If you even mention men versus women, she will ignite and cast out all men. But, don’t think you’re safe being a woman…because, even though you won’t get her hatred, you’ll get plenty of unwanted advice about how staying home to be a mother, while your man supplies you with all the money you could want, is the best way to live. I don’t think that’s sound thinking. But, I’m sure some women will get stars in their eyes. And, that worries me.]

As for their birthdays, it should be rather obvious how they are no better than Mothers and Fathers Days. I mean, I’m at the point when and where I am questioning my own birth, my existence. What good can come from celebrating your parents when you can’t even feel great on your own birthday?…particularly when your parents appear on your birthday and no longer are those people you role your eyes at and smile, anyway, as they provide a lit cake and, maybe, a few presents.

My parents have a fun way of decimating the joy of any special day by quickly turning conversation to what isn’t being done “right” in life. As soon as you open your surprise, life gets back to “serious business,” and you might as well get used to that. New Year’s Day is probably the worst. It’s like Mothers Day but delivers the pain more quickly. There is no joyous ringing in of the new year in my family. It’s just a quick clinking of glasses and a few snacks during the ball drop before talk begins rising about tax season and all the things we should be doing to improve ourselves. It’s sort of like crafting resolutions…but with a lot of pointing fingers and blaming each other. ‘Not exactly healthy. ‘Definitely not warm, friendly family time. [And, if you see my mother leaving the area, she’s just going off on her own to think about taxes for the next few months, which she is sure to bring up in daily conversation until the due date. Isn’t she fun?]

It’s sort of like getting a gift at work. You have your cake with coworkers, if you’re so lucky, and then it’s back to work…if you can manage to pivot like that. How many of us can really enjoy cake and festivities and then get right back to work? If you say you can, you’re one very special nutcase.

I don’t even want to get upset about what I felt my life has lacked on those special days. But, just about any holiday gets sullied and ruined by my family. And, it only gets more painful when you have to focus on the roots of this family, my parents. It started with them. We started with them.

Now, I will take a deep breath and leave this where it sits. I think I’ve said…everything. I wrote this to “breathe” before facing my parents on one more of their uncomfortable special days. I needed this. And, if I’m lucky, I won’t have to explain my time away from the family to anyone. [I’m just…glad?…I had the space, time and ability to write this.]

But, if you can understand what I am saying, can you grasp what a painful life I live, if just about every holiday comes with a measure of discomfort if not pain? My own life is riddled with discomforts because of this. But, it’s even more upsetting when my discomfort pours out onto others who then turn away from me because I, in whatever way, cannot help reflecting the misery caused by my parents (and other family members). In short, anyone else who dares to walk a mile in my shoes would probably do something very unpleasant to themselves. I do not doubt that for a second. I like to take a small bit of pride for myself in being as…tolerant as I’ve been. I hope it’s all worth it, someday. If not, I’m just a fool.

I wish I could be the sort of “normal guy” who can get drunk at every special day and forget what bothers him. I wish I could go without discomfort at and after every family gathering. I wish I could be more comfortable in a group and not get mental impressions from those around me like a sensitive psychic. I wish I didn’t feel withdrawal after every happy moment with another person. Yet, wishing for that would take away what makes me special and able to be uniquely kind to people who touch my heart. So, while I may not be the best party guy, right now…I am what I am. Deal with it…please. Don’t let this spark of life and creativity die miserable and alone.