(no subject)
Let’s see what I got for my berfday…
• 160 gig iPod
• Amazon.com gift certificate
• Book: This Is Your Brain on Music (do these people know me or what?)
• Sweater
• $5000
o_O $5000? Really?
Yeah. I didn’t win on a game show or make a fortune in real estate, though that would have been nice. The absurd hunk of money actually has a more complicated and sadder explanation.
My grandparents (that’s my dad’s parents) have been giving me $5000 checks for my birthday since I turned 18. Before that, they gave me a stock portfolio worth more money than is appropriate to share on LiveJournal. My grandpa used to be known for his stinginess, and now here he is, unloading his financial investments onto me like he's made of bills. When he first gave me a check for 5 grand, I didn’t know what to say. People say “thank you” when someone does them a small favor; how could even a ridiculously emphatic “thank you” be worth this much? I found out later that night that he cried over my speechlessness after I’d left. Crestfallen, I went to my dad for some answers, and he laid it all out for me:
Everyone can conjure an image of the King of the Mountain. Where that image comes from I have no idea, but it’s the guy who rules over his own empire and can seemingly do no wrong, at least in his own eyes. Back in the day, my grandpa was King of the Mountain, building an advertising business from the ground up and controlling his employees and clients with an iron fist. He lived and breathed his work. Apparently he would work past midnight and, as a consequence, wasn’t much of a father. The man is now 73. He still works but most of the capital has transitioned over to my dad’s advertising agency, which used to be a subsidiary of my grandpa’s until about 10 years ago. If that sounds inscrutable, just picture the “power” going from the older generation to the younger one. He has few clients left and fewer employees. It’s not that he screwed anything up-he just got older. Did he not get the memo that this is just what happens when people age? At 73, Stuart Newmark is still trying to be the king of whatever molehill his mountain is now, but is simultaneously feeling himself becoming less viable, less relevant, and less powerful every day. The money, says my dad, is his way of trying to feel appreciated and needed from whomever can still make him feel that way. Ah okay, so that’s why my lack of a proper “thank you,” no matter what my intentions were, made him so upset.
Last night my grandparents took me out for my birthday dinner at a little French bistro on Beverly Boulevard. In some ways it was a lovely meal: The food and wine were delicious, the atmosphere was relaxed and comfy, and the three of us made some interesting conversation. When they gave me my present I thanked them profusely (wasn’t going to make that mistake again), and it all came flooding back. They found out that I wanted to be a therapist, and suddenly the meal became a kind of therapy session for my grandpa, one in which he was hoping (I think) for unconditional positive regard and a gleaming pile of compliments. He called his achievements “just steps on the road” (to what? Death?), and for a solid hour my grandma and I were basically telling him the equivalent of singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” to too little avail. Being a therapist to your older family members can be tough, especially if you’re close to them and respect them a great deal. You expect them to be your heroes, your role models, and it can be a sobering realization that they’re just as fallible as their children. On the very rare occasions when my parents have admitted to me that they’re having a tough time dealing with what’s going on in their lives, I’ve had trouble remaining distant because I get struck with the kind of sadness that comes only with dealing with an ailing family member. I want my parents to be superhuman, and my grandpa-wise with experience and intellect-to be confident, or at least more put-together than I am.
Of course, I’m immensely grateful for the money-I’m saving it to buy a car when the one I currently have goes out to pasture. It’s just that, knowing what giving me the money symbolizes, and what he expects from me when I receive it, and how it may be, may be, a substitute for love…. I want to help the guy out, but what I don’t want is to be indebted to him, to be bought with $5000 yearly installments to make me his to control. I’m afraid that’s what may happen. I guess I just have to contravene that-give him what he needs and be my own person at the same time.
• 160 gig iPod
• Amazon.com gift certificate
• Book: This Is Your Brain on Music (do these people know me or what?)
• Sweater
• $5000
o_O $5000? Really?
Yeah. I didn’t win on a game show or make a fortune in real estate, though that would have been nice. The absurd hunk of money actually has a more complicated and sadder explanation.
My grandparents (that’s my dad’s parents) have been giving me $5000 checks for my birthday since I turned 18. Before that, they gave me a stock portfolio worth more money than is appropriate to share on LiveJournal. My grandpa used to be known for his stinginess, and now here he is, unloading his financial investments onto me like he's made of bills. When he first gave me a check for 5 grand, I didn’t know what to say. People say “thank you” when someone does them a small favor; how could even a ridiculously emphatic “thank you” be worth this much? I found out later that night that he cried over my speechlessness after I’d left. Crestfallen, I went to my dad for some answers, and he laid it all out for me:
Everyone can conjure an image of the King of the Mountain. Where that image comes from I have no idea, but it’s the guy who rules over his own empire and can seemingly do no wrong, at least in his own eyes. Back in the day, my grandpa was King of the Mountain, building an advertising business from the ground up and controlling his employees and clients with an iron fist. He lived and breathed his work. Apparently he would work past midnight and, as a consequence, wasn’t much of a father. The man is now 73. He still works but most of the capital has transitioned over to my dad’s advertising agency, which used to be a subsidiary of my grandpa’s until about 10 years ago. If that sounds inscrutable, just picture the “power” going from the older generation to the younger one. He has few clients left and fewer employees. It’s not that he screwed anything up-he just got older. Did he not get the memo that this is just what happens when people age? At 73, Stuart Newmark is still trying to be the king of whatever molehill his mountain is now, but is simultaneously feeling himself becoming less viable, less relevant, and less powerful every day. The money, says my dad, is his way of trying to feel appreciated and needed from whomever can still make him feel that way. Ah okay, so that’s why my lack of a proper “thank you,” no matter what my intentions were, made him so upset.
Last night my grandparents took me out for my birthday dinner at a little French bistro on Beverly Boulevard. In some ways it was a lovely meal: The food and wine were delicious, the atmosphere was relaxed and comfy, and the three of us made some interesting conversation. When they gave me my present I thanked them profusely (wasn’t going to make that mistake again), and it all came flooding back. They found out that I wanted to be a therapist, and suddenly the meal became a kind of therapy session for my grandpa, one in which he was hoping (I think) for unconditional positive regard and a gleaming pile of compliments. He called his achievements “just steps on the road” (to what? Death?), and for a solid hour my grandma and I were basically telling him the equivalent of singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” to too little avail. Being a therapist to your older family members can be tough, especially if you’re close to them and respect them a great deal. You expect them to be your heroes, your role models, and it can be a sobering realization that they’re just as fallible as their children. On the very rare occasions when my parents have admitted to me that they’re having a tough time dealing with what’s going on in their lives, I’ve had trouble remaining distant because I get struck with the kind of sadness that comes only with dealing with an ailing family member. I want my parents to be superhuman, and my grandpa-wise with experience and intellect-to be confident, or at least more put-together than I am.
Of course, I’m immensely grateful for the money-I’m saving it to buy a car when the one I currently have goes out to pasture. It’s just that, knowing what giving me the money symbolizes, and what he expects from me when I receive it, and how it may be, may be, a substitute for love…. I want to help the guy out, but what I don’t want is to be indebted to him, to be bought with $5000 yearly installments to make me his to control. I’m afraid that’s what may happen. I guess I just have to contravene that-give him what he needs and be my own person at the same time.