Vent Post: Mom's Car
Remember how my mom's car blew up a few weeks ago? It turns out it didn't actually blow up; it apparently sparked some and caught fire, but it didn't do much damage, except that any damage is too much for my mom to fix.
My dad, being the stand-up guy he is, bought Mom's car for the fair market price of $8,000 or so. This was, of course, after he negotiated with the insurance company and repair shop to get her a rental car (free of charge, it's actually spelled out in the policy, though the folks were apparently trying to charge her) and tried to get her to understand that $8,000 is all she has for the purchase, including sales tax.
She wasn't very happy about it, and apparently tried to tell him he owed her my car. Not a car like mine. Not the same make or model. My car, because of the divorce and because he "cheated her" out of alimony from their divorce. Except that the court papers (to my recollection) stipulated Dad was only required to pay her for five years, or until she remarried. Mom is claiming that he was supposed to pay for eight years or until she remarried, but it's irrelevant because they divorced in 2001 and she re-married in 2004.
Either way, she married before the expiration date, making it null and void, and that's still glossing over the fact that Dad paid another huge settlement to keep the house out of foreclosure when she stopped making the payments, and gave her the down payment on her new home in Spring Hill during my junior year of high school. The point is, Dad has most certainly not cheated her out of anything, especially considering that when she filed for bankruptcy six years ago, she named Dad as one of her creditors, and itemized both the loan to save the Overland Park house from foreclosure and to finance the Spring Hill house.
When Dad explained that wasn't going to happen, she decided that she wanted a car similar to mine. But with $8,000 only, that's simply not realistic. They've been car shopping for the better part of two weeks, with my grandmother in tow. My grandmother has been my mortal enemy since I could talk--it's not hard to figure out why my own mother is lacking in all things maternal. Her mother is ignorant, racist, judgmental, selfish, verbally abusive, and completely devoid of empathy. Adding insult to injury, she has a major complex about other women--I've never heard her speak poorly of any of her sons or male grandchildren, but it's a rare day indeed if she can avoid trashing one of her own daughters or granddaughters.
Grandma has never liked me because I inherited all of the qualities she hates in women. I'm opinionated, but more frustratingly (for her) I'm educated. This has lead her to tell anyone who will listen that I'm the most spoiled brat on the planet, and that my parents simply did not physically abuse me enough in childhood. Oh yes, Grandma's theory is that I'd be a good little brainwashed Jehovah's soldier if Mom and Dad had simply opted to smack me around more than they did. It's real disconnect with Grandma; I wasn't a Doubting Thomas out of rebellion, but out of being intelligent enough to question what was around me. Of having a brain that hungered for more even when those around me told me not to.
In any case, I've never particularly liked Grandma. Not only because I did develop a core liberal ideology thanks to the guidance of my father's mother, but because she would say things that simply didn't make sense to me. If God loved all of us, why wouldn't gays and Jews go to Heaven? If suicide was a sin that sent you to Hell, and your pregnancy was going to kill you, why isn't abortion okay then? And if all of these things truly were sins, wouldn't we be given a chance at redemption like Jesus did for the common thief before being crucified? These were questions that really irritated her, and her answers were usually that I was being a smart-mouthed blasphemer who needed to go to church more often.
As I've gotten older, it's gotten very difficult to take Grandma seriously. I see her as something of a victim of the times. I've heard stories that mothers in my grandmother's generation staved off sexual abuse of their daughters by refusing to let them do their hair or make-up, and so the logic went, they would not be able to "entice" their own fathers. I don't know that my own grandmother followed that philosophy, but given that she was 14 when she gave birth to my mother, and the man I've always referred to as my grandfather is actually my mother's stepfather, it wouldn't surprise me in the least. I do know when a young cousin of mine was sexually abused, she blamed the cousin's mother for failing to properly secure the child's diaper.
Anyway, my mother likes to pretend that she and her own mother are close, but my grandmother isn't really close to anyone. I don't see how she could be. She's a bitter old woman who has to face the fact that by most accounts, she's been a failure. I think she, like my mother before me, also struggles with Borderline Personality Disorder, but I think in her case, she's simply refused to address it. When she dies, I don't think I'll have a moment of sadness; I'll have a sigh of relief.
I mention her now because in exchange for the help my dad has been providing my mom on the car situation, he asked her for a copy of favorite my senior picture. The photograph was the best one ever taken of Savannah, and my copy was ruined in one of my many moves during my freshman year of college. Mom told him that was fine, as long as she got it back, and she had a whole packet of pictures set aside for me. Somehow, that signaled to my grandmother it was time to dogpile on what a shitbag I am, including her favorite tirade of how I'm a selfish, spoiled, ungrateful brat.
Dad chose to exit the car, which is fine. If there is anything I've learned in my many years of going around with Grandma, it's better not to even attempt reasoning with the unreasonable. And the truth is, I don't care what a woman I've barely seen in the last decade thinks about me. She was a terrible excuse for a mother, as evident by my own mother's shortcomings, and it's a frightening testimony that my mother may have done a better job with me. And as a grandmother, she's left a lot to be desired. Dad apologized because he said it once again reminded him of all the things I had had to put up with, for years, and that have largely gone unacknowledged by others.
After he told me the story, I shrugged and said it was typical. Not unexpected, because if you asked her not to talk negatively about anything, my grandmother would have nothing to say. Her conversation skills would dry up if she couldn't talk about why interracial marriage should be illegal, or why women invite sexual abuse by acting like harlots, or how Jews are going to have to face the wrath of God. I'm not going to go so far as to say she's incapable of love, but there isn't much of it to go around with her.
What I do know is that things haven't changed. I did see her in Kansas the last time I was there, but very briefly, and in a large gathering of people, including Scott. I'm satisfied to say I gave my daughter the opportunity to meet my grandparents, but if they never see her again, well, that's okay with me, too.
I've spent so much of my life living in hate, breathing in depression, simply existing in all the anger that comes with being an abused and misplaced child of the Earth. And I've resolved to break that cycle with my own daughter. I can't control whether or not she thinks I hate her. In fact, the likelihood is she inevitably will draw that conclusion for any punishment administered. But I can make damn sure that I always remind her that my love for her is unconditional. I can always make sure not to tell her things to make her hate herself, and how much better life has become with her in it.
My dad, being the stand-up guy he is, bought Mom's car for the fair market price of $8,000 or so. This was, of course, after he negotiated with the insurance company and repair shop to get her a rental car (free of charge, it's actually spelled out in the policy, though the folks were apparently trying to charge her) and tried to get her to understand that $8,000 is all she has for the purchase, including sales tax.
She wasn't very happy about it, and apparently tried to tell him he owed her my car. Not a car like mine. Not the same make or model. My car, because of the divorce and because he "cheated her" out of alimony from their divorce. Except that the court papers (to my recollection) stipulated Dad was only required to pay her for five years, or until she remarried. Mom is claiming that he was supposed to pay for eight years or until she remarried, but it's irrelevant because they divorced in 2001 and she re-married in 2004.
Either way, she married before the expiration date, making it null and void, and that's still glossing over the fact that Dad paid another huge settlement to keep the house out of foreclosure when she stopped making the payments, and gave her the down payment on her new home in Spring Hill during my junior year of high school. The point is, Dad has most certainly not cheated her out of anything, especially considering that when she filed for bankruptcy six years ago, she named Dad as one of her creditors, and itemized both the loan to save the Overland Park house from foreclosure and to finance the Spring Hill house.
When Dad explained that wasn't going to happen, she decided that she wanted a car similar to mine. But with $8,000 only, that's simply not realistic. They've been car shopping for the better part of two weeks, with my grandmother in tow. My grandmother has been my mortal enemy since I could talk--it's not hard to figure out why my own mother is lacking in all things maternal. Her mother is ignorant, racist, judgmental, selfish, verbally abusive, and completely devoid of empathy. Adding insult to injury, she has a major complex about other women--I've never heard her speak poorly of any of her sons or male grandchildren, but it's a rare day indeed if she can avoid trashing one of her own daughters or granddaughters.
Grandma has never liked me because I inherited all of the qualities she hates in women. I'm opinionated, but more frustratingly (for her) I'm educated. This has lead her to tell anyone who will listen that I'm the most spoiled brat on the planet, and that my parents simply did not physically abuse me enough in childhood. Oh yes, Grandma's theory is that I'd be a good little brainwashed Jehovah's soldier if Mom and Dad had simply opted to smack me around more than they did. It's real disconnect with Grandma; I wasn't a Doubting Thomas out of rebellion, but out of being intelligent enough to question what was around me. Of having a brain that hungered for more even when those around me told me not to.
In any case, I've never particularly liked Grandma. Not only because I did develop a core liberal ideology thanks to the guidance of my father's mother, but because she would say things that simply didn't make sense to me. If God loved all of us, why wouldn't gays and Jews go to Heaven? If suicide was a sin that sent you to Hell, and your pregnancy was going to kill you, why isn't abortion okay then? And if all of these things truly were sins, wouldn't we be given a chance at redemption like Jesus did for the common thief before being crucified? These were questions that really irritated her, and her answers were usually that I was being a smart-mouthed blasphemer who needed to go to church more often.
As I've gotten older, it's gotten very difficult to take Grandma seriously. I see her as something of a victim of the times. I've heard stories that mothers in my grandmother's generation staved off sexual abuse of their daughters by refusing to let them do their hair or make-up, and so the logic went, they would not be able to "entice" their own fathers. I don't know that my own grandmother followed that philosophy, but given that she was 14 when she gave birth to my mother, and the man I've always referred to as my grandfather is actually my mother's stepfather, it wouldn't surprise me in the least. I do know when a young cousin of mine was sexually abused, she blamed the cousin's mother for failing to properly secure the child's diaper.
Anyway, my mother likes to pretend that she and her own mother are close, but my grandmother isn't really close to anyone. I don't see how she could be. She's a bitter old woman who has to face the fact that by most accounts, she's been a failure. I think she, like my mother before me, also struggles with Borderline Personality Disorder, but I think in her case, she's simply refused to address it. When she dies, I don't think I'll have a moment of sadness; I'll have a sigh of relief.
I mention her now because in exchange for the help my dad has been providing my mom on the car situation, he asked her for a copy of favorite my senior picture. The photograph was the best one ever taken of Savannah, and my copy was ruined in one of my many moves during my freshman year of college. Mom told him that was fine, as long as she got it back, and she had a whole packet of pictures set aside for me. Somehow, that signaled to my grandmother it was time to dogpile on what a shitbag I am, including her favorite tirade of how I'm a selfish, spoiled, ungrateful brat.
Dad chose to exit the car, which is fine. If there is anything I've learned in my many years of going around with Grandma, it's better not to even attempt reasoning with the unreasonable. And the truth is, I don't care what a woman I've barely seen in the last decade thinks about me. She was a terrible excuse for a mother, as evident by my own mother's shortcomings, and it's a frightening testimony that my mother may have done a better job with me. And as a grandmother, she's left a lot to be desired. Dad apologized because he said it once again reminded him of all the things I had had to put up with, for years, and that have largely gone unacknowledged by others.
After he told me the story, I shrugged and said it was typical. Not unexpected, because if you asked her not to talk negatively about anything, my grandmother would have nothing to say. Her conversation skills would dry up if she couldn't talk about why interracial marriage should be illegal, or why women invite sexual abuse by acting like harlots, or how Jews are going to have to face the wrath of God. I'm not going to go so far as to say she's incapable of love, but there isn't much of it to go around with her.
What I do know is that things haven't changed. I did see her in Kansas the last time I was there, but very briefly, and in a large gathering of people, including Scott. I'm satisfied to say I gave my daughter the opportunity to meet my grandparents, but if they never see her again, well, that's okay with me, too.
I've spent so much of my life living in hate, breathing in depression, simply existing in all the anger that comes with being an abused and misplaced child of the Earth. And I've resolved to break that cycle with my own daughter. I can't control whether or not she thinks I hate her. In fact, the likelihood is she inevitably will draw that conclusion for any punishment administered. But I can make damn sure that I always remind her that my love for her is unconditional. I can always make sure not to tell her things to make her hate herself, and how much better life has become with her in it.