warning: vulgar honesty ahead
It's hard for me to open up. I know that sounds funny to those that know me, but it's true. There is a big difference between being genuinely honest, and blunt. More times than not, I am a blunt man...I am rarely honest.
Before any red flags start popping up, let me preface by stating that for me, honesty is vulnerability. An unadulterated genuineness. What I have described is intrinsically scary to me, because the things I should be honest about that would help you understand me better, I keep hidden. Not from some ulterior motive, or manipulation, but shame. My shame. My humiliation. The things that make me human, all to human, are shameful to me. I don't mean the things that I have done in the past, and now regret. There are plenty of those. I'm talking about the things done to me that left me in a state that shows me me as a crumpled, battered mess. Broken bones and bruises. Shame and solitude; especially when those who are an authority figure in your life say you deserve it. Say that "you must me a bad boy to have that done to you. I can see why your father beats you so." Youth leaders, Pastors, Great-Grandmothers, Grandmothers, Cousins, Great-Uncles, Great-Aunts, Teachers, and the like telling you this; even to the point that you think that the God you're taught about is sided with them, and has left you alone to fight against a violent world...by yourself, and for yourself.
Then you find yourself as a grown man dealing with these same things from different people. Whether they shit on you, shriek at you, manipulate you, or disregard you it all hearkens back to one of many lonely days when you were left as a broken and battered mess by somebody who is supposed to protect you. There is no shelter, no grace, no forgiveness, or mercy; there is only survival. Those who don't get it put you and your past under an intense microscopic light, and judge you according to their own "life is fair and beautiful" interpretations; then throw you away because who you are, and how you survived does not mesh within their own myopic universe. These same people will tell you that they are there for you, or Jesus loves you, or that they love you then when they are met with the seething vulgar reality of the mess, they quickly forget and walk away.
Welcome to Hell. It isn't flames and agony here. It's abandonment by the people who say that they love you, but turn way when it counts. They take their deity with them, and on sundays they sing a few hymns, and pat themselves on the back so they can go to their sunday dinner and to bed with an ease of conscience. Back to their fair life where they are supported by those around them. Where they never have to question the sincerity of love and friendship. Where they never have to wonder if those two things are sales pitches. You think I'm judging with my cynicism? I am not. I am envious of that. It must be nice to never have to wonder.
Here on this end, though, it is a completely different story.
I am not an open person, and for good reason. The people who say I need to be open, are often inconvenienced when I am. Because the times that I need to be upfront with a person I am close to, are often the times when I have a lot of alcohol in my system. Not drunk. It takes quite a bit; but it takes a lot in me to me genuine in a way that comes naturally for the people that I know. Getting down to the nit and gritty. The kernel.
My dad is dying not from old age and peaceful, but in pain and in anxiety. He's sick and tired of being sick and tired. There are people who want to make him out to be the same violent, crazed, brutal, pompus ass he was twenty years ago. My brother got a little, but I took a lot of it. He was always smaller, and when I saw my dad go after him, I spoke up and took the blows of brick like flesh. What are you going to do you know? You're eleven, and your brother is eight; and barely sixty pounds. You know you can't take it, but you're thicker, and know that a raging, muscular 240 lb. man can do some serious damage to a small frame. So you speak up. You don't want the same thing to happen to him that has happened to you, and you take those raining blows on your head without cover. It's not a matter of pride. It's a matter of looking out for your little brother. You know what kind of hits you can take, hell, you're own father can't drop you; you know that by now. It's not arrogance. It's love.
However, that was twenty four years ago. Thirteen years ago, my pop realized that he fucked up. That he was too brutal. That in his effort to not be like his dad, he still spread a little of that violene. It was pointed out to him at a religious convention. Pop is by no means an emotional man...at least not in the way most people understand it. He's very pragmatic. When he went out for a weekend to a religious convetion he hear devout men speak on what it means to be a man, a husband, and a father. A light went off. From that time on he moved in a direction that improved himself. When he apologized for what he did to me and my brother, he didn't justify himself. He just said that he fucked up, and that he was truly sorry. We believed him. We have no reason not to. He's not one of those repeat offenders. The only difference between him then and before is that he didn't know better.
Does that make what we endured ok? No. It makes it understandable. It means that has long as we draw breath our lives are redeemable. It means that everything doesn't stay the same. It didn't take cancer to get my dad to realize what happened and make the change. It was ten years prior that jarred his brain. In our family, we aren't scared of God, and we aren't scared of a presupposed check list. We are very pragmatic, and when it's proven we are incorrect there is nothing but true contrition and a 180 degree turn. Sound familiar? If you're close enough to me, it should.
So where did this all come from? I was watching a bones episode, and booth's father is similar to my own...minus the alcohol. Especially the part where he's told "you're not your father."
It also came from going with to the doctor with my dad today, and his decision to opt out of chemo...if only for the time being.
Got a lot going though my head folks, and all I can ask from my friends is to be patient as I work through this.
Before any red flags start popping up, let me preface by stating that for me, honesty is vulnerability. An unadulterated genuineness. What I have described is intrinsically scary to me, because the things I should be honest about that would help you understand me better, I keep hidden. Not from some ulterior motive, or manipulation, but shame. My shame. My humiliation. The things that make me human, all to human, are shameful to me. I don't mean the things that I have done in the past, and now regret. There are plenty of those. I'm talking about the things done to me that left me in a state that shows me me as a crumpled, battered mess. Broken bones and bruises. Shame and solitude; especially when those who are an authority figure in your life say you deserve it. Say that "you must me a bad boy to have that done to you. I can see why your father beats you so." Youth leaders, Pastors, Great-Grandmothers, Grandmothers, Cousins, Great-Uncles, Great-Aunts, Teachers, and the like telling you this; even to the point that you think that the God you're taught about is sided with them, and has left you alone to fight against a violent world...by yourself, and for yourself.
Then you find yourself as a grown man dealing with these same things from different people. Whether they shit on you, shriek at you, manipulate you, or disregard you it all hearkens back to one of many lonely days when you were left as a broken and battered mess by somebody who is supposed to protect you. There is no shelter, no grace, no forgiveness, or mercy; there is only survival. Those who don't get it put you and your past under an intense microscopic light, and judge you according to their own "life is fair and beautiful" interpretations; then throw you away because who you are, and how you survived does not mesh within their own myopic universe. These same people will tell you that they are there for you, or Jesus loves you, or that they love you then when they are met with the seething vulgar reality of the mess, they quickly forget and walk away.
Welcome to Hell. It isn't flames and agony here. It's abandonment by the people who say that they love you, but turn way when it counts. They take their deity with them, and on sundays they sing a few hymns, and pat themselves on the back so they can go to their sunday dinner and to bed with an ease of conscience. Back to their fair life where they are supported by those around them. Where they never have to question the sincerity of love and friendship. Where they never have to wonder if those two things are sales pitches. You think I'm judging with my cynicism? I am not. I am envious of that. It must be nice to never have to wonder.
Here on this end, though, it is a completely different story.
I am not an open person, and for good reason. The people who say I need to be open, are often inconvenienced when I am. Because the times that I need to be upfront with a person I am close to, are often the times when I have a lot of alcohol in my system. Not drunk. It takes quite a bit; but it takes a lot in me to me genuine in a way that comes naturally for the people that I know. Getting down to the nit and gritty. The kernel.
My dad is dying not from old age and peaceful, but in pain and in anxiety. He's sick and tired of being sick and tired. There are people who want to make him out to be the same violent, crazed, brutal, pompus ass he was twenty years ago. My brother got a little, but I took a lot of it. He was always smaller, and when I saw my dad go after him, I spoke up and took the blows of brick like flesh. What are you going to do you know? You're eleven, and your brother is eight; and barely sixty pounds. You know you can't take it, but you're thicker, and know that a raging, muscular 240 lb. man can do some serious damage to a small frame. So you speak up. You don't want the same thing to happen to him that has happened to you, and you take those raining blows on your head without cover. It's not a matter of pride. It's a matter of looking out for your little brother. You know what kind of hits you can take, hell, you're own father can't drop you; you know that by now. It's not arrogance. It's love.
However, that was twenty four years ago. Thirteen years ago, my pop realized that he fucked up. That he was too brutal. That in his effort to not be like his dad, he still spread a little of that violene. It was pointed out to him at a religious convention. Pop is by no means an emotional man...at least not in the way most people understand it. He's very pragmatic. When he went out for a weekend to a religious convetion he hear devout men speak on what it means to be a man, a husband, and a father. A light went off. From that time on he moved in a direction that improved himself. When he apologized for what he did to me and my brother, he didn't justify himself. He just said that he fucked up, and that he was truly sorry. We believed him. We have no reason not to. He's not one of those repeat offenders. The only difference between him then and before is that he didn't know better.
Does that make what we endured ok? No. It makes it understandable. It means that has long as we draw breath our lives are redeemable. It means that everything doesn't stay the same. It didn't take cancer to get my dad to realize what happened and make the change. It was ten years prior that jarred his brain. In our family, we aren't scared of God, and we aren't scared of a presupposed check list. We are very pragmatic, and when it's proven we are incorrect there is nothing but true contrition and a 180 degree turn. Sound familiar? If you're close enough to me, it should.
So where did this all come from? I was watching a bones episode, and booth's father is similar to my own...minus the alcohol. Especially the part where he's told "you're not your father."
It also came from going with to the doctor with my dad today, and his decision to opt out of chemo...if only for the time being.
Got a lot going though my head folks, and all I can ask from my friends is to be patient as I work through this.