So who am I? History repeats itself in families and so to undertstand more completely who I really am, I must take into consideration my family of origin and their stories because their histories laid the foundation for who I was to become. In essence, I am all of them, plus the impact and influence of all of my unique life experiences.
Most significantly, I was influenced by the household I was born into which consisted of my mother, my maternal grandmother and grandfather, and my mom's brother Rick who was also living in the home that I came into when I was born.
I was my mom's first-born child and the first grandchild which made me the center of the Universe. My early childhood put me in a world where my needs were met. I had four primary parents because of living with my mom's family, and so there was always someone available to care for me.
Even though my mom was young - a teenager - when I was born, she was kind, nurturing, attentive, and loving. My grandparents and uncle were also very loving, patient and kind with me. My father was in the Service when I was born, so it would be a few years before he would enter my life.
When I think back to those very first few years of my life - and I DO have memories from that time - I recall feeling genuinely and purely happy with no anxiety about the world around me. My world was a safe and secure place where I was at liberty to be me.
When my father's time in the service came to an end and he arrived in our household, I recall feeling uneasy, threatened, and unsure. As a young father with his own history of dysfunctional family dynamics, he believed I was his property and that his job as a parent was to be the disciplinarian. His main function was to give me orders that I was to follow. Obedience without question. I both feared and resented his presence in my world and would often run to my mother, grandmother, grandfather, or uncle. That was when I learned that sometimes, even those who loved me most could not always come to my rescue.
I remember sensing that my father was jealous of the strong bond between me and my mom and he was also both jealous and resentful that I had bonded to my uncle and grandparents. He could see that in my two-year-old mind, they were my parents and he was not. I loved them; I feared and avoided him.
I realize now, looking back at my history, that the addition of my father to my childhood family constellation forever impacted my conclusions about men. Excluding my grandfather and uncle, I then learned that men were mean, threatening, angry, not to be trusted but to be obeyed. I learned that men were the ruling gender and that they wielded power and authority. I learned that they could inflict emotional pain at their discretion and often without obvious rationale.
While I have memories of this time in my life, they are somewhat fuzzy and involve feelings more than specific events. The first actual event-based memory that I have of my father came a year or two after his return home when we (my mom, dad, and I) were living alone as a nuclear family in an apartment.
In the first memory, my mom had sewn me a beautiful blue velvetine winter coat. There was some left-over fabric and she used it to cover a cigar box. She gave the now-beautiful box to me as a special "treasure box" and I was ecstatic! It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I liked it for both it's rich color and pleasing tactile properties. When my dad came home from work and saw it, I remember him liking it. In fact, he liked it so much that he decided that HE wanted it, and so he took it from me. I remember my mom protesting, telling him that she had made it for me. I was crying. No one had ever stolen from me before. But he won. The beautiful treasure box was no longer mine. I learned that men could have their way.
My second memory of my father was from the same time period. He was at work and my mom had been making fried chicken for dinner. When the chicken had been battered and floured and put to the side, my mom decided to take a break. It would be a short while before it would all have to be cooked. I asked her if I could "cook" with the left-over egg mixture and bread crumbs and she told me I could. So, while she rested on the couch, I went into the kitchen feeling very grown up and began to "cook." I remember looking in the refrigerator for other things that I could add to the egg mixture and I found a bottle of hot sauce. I added it to the eggs and took pleasure in the change in color and smell of my "recipe."
Soon, my dad came home from work. Dinner had been cooked and we sat down to eat. My dad went to the refrigerator to get his bottle of hot sauce, but it was gone. When he found out that I had taken it when I was "cooking," he became very angry. Once again, my mother came to my defense, but my dad over ruled. He pulled down my pants, put me over his knees, and spanked me. I had never been spanked like that before. I don't think I had ever been spanked at all! I learned that evening at the age of three that men could also humiliate and physically inflict pain...and that there was nothing a woman could do about it.
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