When the Smoke Clears

Not to bring everyone down, but as the general consensus for today’s theme among our little blog-group here is Family Day, it’s time to chime in. This isn’t some feel-good 24/7 site. This is my writing and as much of my world as I care to reveal.

Regular readers will be able to point to the friendship I have with my mother. I clearly like her, not just love her, and I respect her. These bonds formed when I became an adult.

Okay, we’re done with gushy family goodness. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.

She and I even decided a number of years ago we would not do holidays with people who, if we weren’t related to them, we wouldn’t spend time with them; there’s no reason for it. And she will be the first person to tell you I am who I am in spite of, not because of, my upbringing. The childhood years were far from hugs and puppies.

There’s a reason I almost never mention any other family, nor do I talk much about my time with my mom growing up. I have a cousin I feel very close to. I know my grandfather truly loved me, only grandson or not, though he rarely showed it. And there you have it. Others… not so close. I’ve managed to tune out my grandmother’s constant negative comments. It’s just her way of showing affection. I’ve managed to deal with my mother’s absence while growing up. Which part of the parental units am I leaving out?

There’s a reason I’m so sensitive about the front of my neck. I once punched a girlfriend in the head 3 or 4 times before I realized what I was doing when she touched me there while I was sleeping. I had warned her multiple times and felt incredibly bad, but of course things didn’t last long after that. When punishment, or even just having a bad day and needing to take it out on the kid, includes choking, sometimes to unconsciousness, the kid develops some sensitivities.

There’s a reason I have not been comfortable around men until my 30s. There’s a reason when people grow close to me, I tend to put up my guard even more, often pushing them away, constantly suspicious of their real motives. It’s even happening right now as I type. There’s a reason when I finally am close to people I sit with envy at their table. It all comes down to family.

I envy greatly the bonds between Butterbar and his little brother and I know the details of the strains on relationships between other siblings of my friends, though I still envy the connections. They have something I never will. Never. But I can be the safety boat for those adrift once in a while, pulling them from the cold depths, keeping them secure for a time, helping them get warm until they get back to shore, to their ties.

However, I have friends, a few very close friends. Sometimes months might pass between contact because of geography but it never feels that we grow distant. These are whom I rely on for my sense of family and belonging at times, though I still feel I am not completely a part of those lives. I cherish pictures of them and their children. Often the pictures make it to the big wall.

That will have to be my family for now, but I welcome your stories. As proof of the purpose of this day, families eating together, I very rarely sat to eat with anyone in my family. When I did it was usually tense and silent. I don’t begrudge you, perhaps a little jealousy, but I am here to listen. Hug your children. Show them how to love each other. I know it’s not all smooth-going, but you are together.

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