How does one begin to composition themselves to give honor and thanks to parents who would otherwise be deemed unworthy?
I've always known that there is and always has been a struggle in the relationship that I hold with my parents. Of course, the revelation didn't come until I was old enough to truly understand more complicated concepts and the ability to analyze them; yet nonetheless the thought has always been 'why is my family not the image of the great American family I see in the magazine;' 'why is it that I only see my father and my second family only during certain holidays;' 'why does mom work two jobs and leave us kids here at home alone;' 'why is my family not a family.'
The memories of my childhood are few and far in between. I can't say that I recall my three best friends "John, Marcus, and Billy-Joe," because they didn't exist. I don't remember having a large playroom full of toys, and the latest and greatest arcade games, because it didn't exist. Neither can I say that every Christmas I woke to loads upon loads of new things to call my own and revel in joy about, with John, Marcus, and Billy-Joe, because this simply did not exist.
Don't misunderstand, though. I'm not out to make it appear that I had the most awful and disappointing childhood. And frankly, I will be the first to admit that there are plenty upon plenties of millions of grown men and teenage young boys who are locked in cold prison cells, who had much worse experiences than I. But unlike some of them, I was so lucky...rather blessed, to not be raised in a ghetto; my parents weren't led down the hard to kill path of heavy drug usage, or even thievery. I wasn't influenced by the streets and being in a gang is not where I sought refuge. Although, being raised in a single family home with three other kids, there were the typical hard times---scarcity of food, unpaid bills, food-stamp recipient, housing assistance--but it wasn't bad enough to kill me. They say the quickest way to poverty is having children out of wedlock, and my mother had four reasons to be on that waiting list for assistance, four free lunch forms to fill out, and four child support checks to collect, and prayed to God they came through 'cause God knows some of us had some deadbeat daddies. But we made it. I'm not in jail, I'm not on drugs, heroin, speed...all the above. I'm not a Blood, I'm not a Crip. I'm not in somebody's mental asylum. Despite that though, where does the real deficiency lie? Where was I really robbed as an individual? Where wasn't I nurtured?
Not only my mother, but my father---even in his absence (which was no fault of his own)---failed to shape the man I was to inevitably become. They failed me because they never made the time to spend time with me. They never really showed me the evils and goods, the trials and the triumphs of the world. They never guided me in what was acceptable and what was not. Basically, I raised myself. They sustained me in my physical being---keeping me clothed, feed, sheltered---but I made me and the world made me who I am today. When I didn't know the answers to a question, I feed my inclination for knowledge; When I was covered and shadowed by clouds of darkness & depression, sadness and shame, I sheltered my own head. And when I felt naked without a person in the world to seek cover, I clothed my own body. Everything I know and everything I have ever known is from my own experiences, or from the mouths of other people who took the time to educate and love upon little ole' me. Somebody was caring enough, had the heart enough to say "I'm going to show this child." But for the most part I've had to learn from my own mistakes, some of which I still make today.
The education I have is because I pushed myself, I motivated myself to do better and be better than my parents were. I was motivated by what not to do, rather than what to do. I have a hard time not blaming my parents for some of the shit I go through each day of my life. Sometimes I play that "what if" game, which I hate; but how do you not, when everything you aren't is because they are not and did not. I blame them for not being involved in my life---why didn't you ask me how school was, or even if I meant someone "special" at school. I blame them for my lack in talent and for making me an inactive child---why didn't you put me in baseball, football...hell, why not ballet. Maybe I could have been a great pianist, or an all-start athlete. I blame them when I can't express myself because I lack the vocabulary, or the education that I desire because they didn't feed me knowledge at home. I blame for not informing me of the weary and wayward ways of the world. Why wasn't I educated about where I came from, my ancestors, my heritage, the persecution of my people. Why didn't you give me a good sense of pride in being a black man in a white man's world. Hell, because of that I struggled with claiming ownership to who I am and from whom I come! Why didn't you...why didn't you be a real parent, a real mom, a real dad and help make me what I could have become or should have become.
You know, this is somthing that I truly thought I could conquer in a matter of days. But out of all the things in my life right now that I am slowly, but surely gaining confidence and bravery to defeat...this is the one battle that pains me more than any. Don't get me wrong...I'm not depressed, and I'm not stressed. I'm just tryng to do better for myself and for my own life, so that I may have peace, prosperity and so that it may be well with me. But this I can't forgive. And as much as it hurts me to say it, my parents failed me and cursed me; and damnit it ain't so easy to just forgive something or someone that has always hurt you. So, really, how do I let go? I want to forgive badly, but I can't close a grave that somebody is still digging?
I've always known that there is and always has been a struggle in the relationship that I hold with my parents. Of course, the revelation didn't come until I was old enough to truly understand more complicated concepts and the ability to analyze them; yet nonetheless the thought has always been 'why is my family not the image of the great American family I see in the magazine;' 'why is it that I only see my father and my second family only during certain holidays;' 'why does mom work two jobs and leave us kids here at home alone;' 'why is my family not a family.'
The memories of my childhood are few and far in between. I can't say that I recall my three best friends "John, Marcus, and Billy-Joe," because they didn't exist. I don't remember having a large playroom full of toys, and the latest and greatest arcade games, because it didn't exist. Neither can I say that every Christmas I woke to loads upon loads of new things to call my own and revel in joy about, with John, Marcus, and Billy-Joe, because this simply did not exist.
Don't misunderstand, though. I'm not out to make it appear that I had the most awful and disappointing childhood. And frankly, I will be the first to admit that there are plenty upon plenties of millions of grown men and teenage young boys who are locked in cold prison cells, who had much worse experiences than I. But unlike some of them, I was so lucky...rather blessed, to not be raised in a ghetto; my parents weren't led down the hard to kill path of heavy drug usage, or even thievery. I wasn't influenced by the streets and being in a gang is not where I sought refuge. Although, being raised in a single family home with three other kids, there were the typical hard times---scarcity of food, unpaid bills, food-stamp recipient, housing assistance--but it wasn't bad enough to kill me. They say the quickest way to poverty is having children out of wedlock, and my mother had four reasons to be on that waiting list for assistance, four free lunch forms to fill out, and four child support checks to collect, and prayed to God they came through 'cause God knows some of us had some deadbeat daddies. But we made it. I'm not in jail, I'm not on drugs, heroin, speed...all the above. I'm not a Blood, I'm not a Crip. I'm not in somebody's mental asylum. Despite that though, where does the real deficiency lie? Where was I really robbed as an individual? Where wasn't I nurtured?
Not only my mother, but my father---even in his absence (which was no fault of his own)---failed to shape the man I was to inevitably become. They failed me because they never made the time to spend time with me. They never really showed me the evils and goods, the trials and the triumphs of the world. They never guided me in what was acceptable and what was not. Basically, I raised myself. They sustained me in my physical being---keeping me clothed, feed, sheltered---but I made me and the world made me who I am today. When I didn't know the answers to a question, I feed my inclination for knowledge; When I was covered and shadowed by clouds of darkness & depression, sadness and shame, I sheltered my own head. And when I felt naked without a person in the world to seek cover, I clothed my own body. Everything I know and everything I have ever known is from my own experiences, or from the mouths of other people who took the time to educate and love upon little ole' me. Somebody was caring enough, had the heart enough to say "I'm going to show this child." But for the most part I've had to learn from my own mistakes, some of which I still make today.
The education I have is because I pushed myself, I motivated myself to do better and be better than my parents were. I was motivated by what not to do, rather than what to do. I have a hard time not blaming my parents for some of the shit I go through each day of my life. Sometimes I play that "what if" game, which I hate; but how do you not, when everything you aren't is because they are not and did not. I blame them for not being involved in my life---why didn't you ask me how school was, or even if I meant someone "special" at school. I blame them for my lack in talent and for making me an inactive child---why didn't you put me in baseball, football...hell, why not ballet. Maybe I could have been a great pianist, or an all-start athlete. I blame them when I can't express myself because I lack the vocabulary, or the education that I desire because they didn't feed me knowledge at home. I blame for not informing me of the weary and wayward ways of the world. Why wasn't I educated about where I came from, my ancestors, my heritage, the persecution of my people. Why didn't you give me a good sense of pride in being a black man in a white man's world. Hell, because of that I struggled with claiming ownership to who I am and from whom I come! Why didn't you...why didn't you be a real parent, a real mom, a real dad and help make me what I could have become or should have become.
You know, this is somthing that I truly thought I could conquer in a matter of days. But out of all the things in my life right now that I am slowly, but surely gaining confidence and bravery to defeat...this is the one battle that pains me more than any. Don't get me wrong...I'm not depressed, and I'm not stressed. I'm just tryng to do better for myself and for my own life, so that I may have peace, prosperity and so that it may be well with me. But this I can't forgive. And as much as it hurts me to say it, my parents failed me and cursed me; and damnit it ain't so easy to just forgive something or someone that has always hurt you. So, really, how do I let go? I want to forgive badly, but I can't close a grave that somebody is still digging?
6 comments:
There is no denying your feelings that your parents in thsi particular area failed you. And there is no doubting the hurt you feel when you think of it. However to hold onto unforgiveness merely gives you a reason to remain in pain. One thing that has helped me is to try to understand what their experience might have been as a child, as a parent. Where might they have experienced hurt or pain that they could not overcome? And how that pain transfered over to a lack of attentiveness to you? Where they damaged by someone else even before you ever came to be? Try doing that as a first step towards forgiveness because holding onto resentments only poisons your current happiness.
This is an interesting post because I grew up a similar way, my mother worked alot also but she was also very involved in my life , so on that aspect I can't relate. I did grow with a stepfather who was a tyrant and now he is a much calmer person but I will never be able to feel towards him the way he would like me to. I can never forgive him because he doesn't know what he did wrong or feel like he did anything wrong. So I have just kept him in the same mindset and moved on. It doesnt concern me whether or not my coldness affects him it just is what it is and slowly but surely the whole thing has became a non-issue and things are the way they are. So just focus on you and do you and they will be aight but if they don't own up to doing anything wrong then you cant forgive them but you can move on and accept them for who they are and believe me they wont be able to surprise you.
Yeah, I think it's a really awkward position to be in when you didn't grow up in extreme poverty or abuse, yet you still feel your parents failed you in certain aspects. It's like everyone looks at you like you're petty and ungrateful to even be complaining. I think my parents remaining in a bad marriage has screwed up my love life. I've found that speaking to a psychologist about it has helped me make better decisions. More Black folks need to be involved in therapy, in my opinion.
Very interesting post.
I grew up with seven brothers, but I was the only kid my father denied. Despite the fact that I looked just like him. I hated my Dad for a long time, but realized I had to let go of that hate. Move on. I agree with Whozhe, "To hold onto unforgiveness merely give you a reason to remain in pain." And believe me man, you don't want to get comfortable in your pain. While I know that its not easy to forgive, do your best. Focus on your strenghts,the positive things about yourself, appreciate and respect the man that you are.
Dispite what you've been through. You're a strong black brother.
Be Blessed.
@ WhozHe: I understand where you're coming from, but at the same time I just can't get around the fact that if your parents weren't good to you, wouldn't you at least attempt at breaking the cycle. It's kind of hard to make excusing for my mother, esp when she continues the habitual nature of not being involved, and I think that's where the shame comes from, even after I've mentioned he faults & flaws to her.
@ two turntables: This is so much easier said than done. But I think you're right. I suppose we can't always expect to live up to "WWJD." But to some degree I do feel like ignoring it is just somewhat of a cover-up. But really, how do you expect to forgive and conquer everything that happens to you...leaving it where it's fallin', though, seems like the best solution, 'cause forgetting seems so much more feasible than forgiving.
@ Manilow: Exactly! I know to a lot of people I may seem ungrateful and shallow. And like you said, it sets me in a very awkward position, because children of poverish stricken past probably had it so much worse than I. But I'm not ungrateful, yet the emotional aspect of things is what affects me, you know. They always say that the things you say, or don't say are those things that hurt worse than anything physical. And I am so with you on Black folks needing to see some therapist...why are we so neglectful in dealing with our mental issues? Yes, we have them too, and I think a lot of us are afraid because it'll make us look "crazy," and that's only for poppin' pills white folk. But truth of the matter is, we all got something going on upstairs whether we decide to acknowledge it or not.
@ hislovecoversme: Thank you for that. Sometimes I do attempt on focusing at being too good, too much. The reality is, I'm human like everyone else and trying to defeat one battle after another, just isn't possible. Holding on to what I have, who I am, and where I am is key...and from there making efforts for fulfillment. Makes a lot of sense now.
I guess I am late to post with this one, but I can definitely relate in depth. If you still read what I post I reveal more and more about the things my parents have done to me or rather to say they care, but show it so differently that it is as if they really are saying, "fuck you". I mean everyones situation is different and to that effect....everyone handles and deals differently. Me..... I ain't going to lie....it still has me messed after years of finding out and dealing with issues that I wish I could change how I was brought up. It's crazy...I did everything right on my part growing up at least from what I knew and understood. The only thing I did understand was to be educated and do good in school. I mean I did and was never praised upon it. I guess I was one of them scared smart kids because If I got a wrong answer or brought home anything less than "B" I got a beating or yelled at. So my goal was then to conquer school. Oh I was part of the choir, did some sports, but no one came to them. I had to get other peoples parents to come see my talents. Awards, concerts, even graduations....no one came and I was left there to try to smile and look like I wasn't affected by not seeing my own mother see me succeed. I mean even to today I still feel a little bitter at the fact that when I did graduate from undergrad that no one came to see me walk after 4 years of struggle and an excellent grade point average. Even at that me being more than 15 hours away from home....no one could come and get me to take me home and I had to find an old high school friend that had to loan me money to rent a car and drive within 24 hours to my home location. Oh it was very depressing and I could go on and on about things, but I do understand your situation.
At the same time, you gotta educate yourself sometimes and realize that somethings you cannot control nor change. You got to live for you and be your own motivator. Live above all the bad things and combat the way you were grown up by being way better than your parents. Find a way to educate yourself and surround yourself around positive people that do care. It is easy to say and hard to do and live by, but it's all about growing up, developing, and entering the real world. Everything will not always be on your side, but the best story is the success story that you endured it all and still making it despite all the hardships that you may have encountered.
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