My court testimony, or cross-examination rather, lasted a very long time. I was on the stand for at least an hour. What was good was that I wasn't shaking and I didn't have a knot in my stomach. I want so much for this all to end, I was willing to do whatever I could that day to bring closure to any part of this divorce proceeding.
At one point we were discussing the cell phone fiasco of last summer. Bill's attorney asked me if I had called Bill when he ran up the cell phone bill. I said no, Kyle had, that at the time Kyle was acting as a liaison between us. He asked why I hadn't called Bill myself. I replied that we had restraining orders. He still asked why I hadn't called Bill about the cell phone problems. I said because I couldn't call him because of the restraining orders. Then he said that I wasn't restrained from calling Bill. I said the orders were mutual. He said they weren't. It was at this moment I looked down at my attorney and saw he was shaking his head 'no' to me. You're kidding, I thought. They aren't mutual? I could have called him? If Bill wasn't allowed to come near me, it doesn't make sense that I would be allowed to approach him. But I guess another type of logic is used here. It also makes sense. I'm not dangerous and pose no threat to Bill. So, for that reason, I can approach and contact him. But here's the practical part: it's not a good idea for Bill and me to be in touch at all. If I initiate a phone call, or an email, it would put me in a situation where I could get sucked back in to what I lived with for so long. It would seem that Bill could possibly start 'working' me, or just trying to lay guilt trips on me. He was always relentless in the pursuit of getting his way. And he was really good at breaking down my resolve. He sister says he thinks several steps ahead of the rest of us, and sets people up when they don't even realize what's going on. He has things planned so far in advance, you don't see it coming until it's too late and you're trapped. I don't want to open myself up to that again. It's best we leave things the way they are. The good news is that if I do inadvertently drive by him, or arrive at a place where he is, I won't be in any trouble. I'd probably leave the place anyway, but at least I wouldn't be violating any court orders. If I get fed up with taking care of his dog, I can just pick up the phone and tell him to come and get the dog NOW. I can if I want----and I am REAL tired of taking care of his dog-----but I don't want. It's better I just go ahead and treat these as mutual restraining orders.
Speaking of restraining orders, I might have to call my ex-husband. The other one. I'll know more after I talk to the retirement system's legal office. He said he was going to relinquish his entitlement to my retirement for the years we were married but I don't think he actually went through with it. It might be good to break the ice with him. But I don't want to see him again......
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
The Trust Network
Last week my counselor starting talking about the 'trust network'. The 'trust network' is her description of the complex role trust plays in a union. This trust network goes very deep and spans all kinds of areas of a relationship. Once the trust gets broken, or the network is violated by one or more parties, it is damaged. It's like an electrical circuit with a kink in one of the wires. If it is not repaired, the circuit isn't able to function correctly. Left unrepaired that kink, however tiny it might be, is likely to turn into a break,and will destroy the system. And, as I learned when I was buying a car stereo, a system is only as good as its weakest link. When I think about it, I marvel at how complex this trust network is, and if one part of it isn't right, other parts won't work correctly either. In a relationship, the large issues are the more obvious: lying, stealing, cheating. They almost go without saying. They can put the 'trust network' completely out of order. It's the other, more subtle areas that can be harder to detect. In particular, I think about insults and criticisms. They damage the system; in time they can break down the network. I am just going to explore a couple of small things I can see eroded my relationship to Bill.
In our early years, Bill used to tell me I wasn't supportive. He was in law school, under a lot of academic pressure and studied non-stop. At that time I had a very poor self-image. I was so closely out of my first marriage and bewildered by what had made me want to end that, that in my very confused state I would believe anything Bill told me. Bill had been a shoulder to lean on, he was a good listener, a great conversationalist and he had won my confidence. He could get inside my head and, when he felt his own insecurities pop up, he would project those on me. Of course, I didn't know it at the time. I figured that out much later on. But in the beginning I trusted him. Since I trusted him, I felt he was being honest with me and I strove to improve myself based on what he said. If he said I wasn't supportive enough of him in his studying, I would feel bad and try to do more to 'be supportive'. If he told me I didn't take care of business, I would believe him and try to become more efficient. If he told me something I did annoyed him, I would try to stop doing that. But the point here is that the criticisms cut into what would become our trust network. In time I found myself being a little skittish, afraid of being criticized. Subconsciously I tried too hard to please. I didn't want the criticism so I avoided the behavior that might elicit it. As I look back, I see how that damaged the circuit. To shield myself from it, I was at times evasive, at times reluctant to share my vulnerabilities. I didn't share as openly with him as before because I couldn't trust I would be supported and I couldn't trust the information wouldn't be thrown in my face at some future point in time.
Years ago I heard someone refer to these small behaviors as 'little murders'. How powerful that description is! They are so small, so subtle, they go underground and into the subconscious so fast, that over a period of years, they slowly erode the network. They are insidious, so insidious, in fact, that I wonder what I would need to do in the future to stop them if I saw them coming in another relationship.
In our early years, Bill used to tell me I wasn't supportive. He was in law school, under a lot of academic pressure and studied non-stop. At that time I had a very poor self-image. I was so closely out of my first marriage and bewildered by what had made me want to end that, that in my very confused state I would believe anything Bill told me. Bill had been a shoulder to lean on, he was a good listener, a great conversationalist and he had won my confidence. He could get inside my head and, when he felt his own insecurities pop up, he would project those on me. Of course, I didn't know it at the time. I figured that out much later on. But in the beginning I trusted him. Since I trusted him, I felt he was being honest with me and I strove to improve myself based on what he said. If he said I wasn't supportive enough of him in his studying, I would feel bad and try to do more to 'be supportive'. If he told me I didn't take care of business, I would believe him and try to become more efficient. If he told me something I did annoyed him, I would try to stop doing that. But the point here is that the criticisms cut into what would become our trust network. In time I found myself being a little skittish, afraid of being criticized. Subconsciously I tried too hard to please. I didn't want the criticism so I avoided the behavior that might elicit it. As I look back, I see how that damaged the circuit. To shield myself from it, I was at times evasive, at times reluctant to share my vulnerabilities. I didn't share as openly with him as before because I couldn't trust I would be supported and I couldn't trust the information wouldn't be thrown in my face at some future point in time.
Years ago I heard someone refer to these small behaviors as 'little murders'. How powerful that description is! They are so small, so subtle, they go underground and into the subconscious so fast, that over a period of years, they slowly erode the network. They are insidious, so insidious, in fact, that I wonder what I would need to do in the future to stop them if I saw them coming in another relationship.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
What's Going Well
Today I woke up to a revelation: I have fallen into an undesirable pattern in these writings. In making this egregious mistake, I have put myself in a 'glass is half empty' position, and it doesn't sit well with me. Not only in my faith, but in secular life, not recognizing what's going well,--- no, not FOCUSING on what's going well, the blessings, the gifts, the great things that are there every day, those things I take for granted,--- can plop me into a malcontent state. So here I sit, with eroded gratitude and plummeted emotions. Time for a paradigm shift.
Yes, my interminable divorce is lousy. My finances are where I never planned them to be, I have tennis elbow I am continually icing and stuff in my bronchia for which I take a very slow-working inhaler twice a day, Kyle didn't breeze through EMT school and my dad is a pain. There is plenty of that in this blog. As I read through, it falls just short of being a diatribe. But enough of that already. Let's start looking closely at the good stuff.
I have been at my job since February 3, 1975, same district, same school, with a two-year break in the later 70's to move to NYC where I had the priceless opportunity to work in the private education sector and see a completely different side of teaching. Back at my school after NYC, I brought higher standards and greater expectations of what children can do in school as well as what parents can contribute to learning. I struggled my first several years as a teacher. But I worked incredibly hard. I have a tenacity for my job that has rarely allowed me to feel defeated in its continual challenges.
This year, maybe my 37th or so, has been as remarkably different on some levels than I could have ever imagined. As usual, I have some very needy students who require more than their share of attention, but no one is mean. Some are egocentric, but they all can be exceedingly kind. They get to work as a group far better than most classes I've had. They show effort, and some of them show caring and helpfulness that warm my heart. One little girl has a capacity to be sympathetic that is both appropriate and sincere. She also mimics my voice while we're singing, but adds in a vibrato that verges more on a wobble/tremulo you throw a cat through, delighting in her experience and her love for vocal music. Another little girl notices nuance like few kindergarteners I know and, although pretty wiggly, she has a burgeoning talent for art that will grow into something remarkable. She also likes to yell out, "Show us your bat wings!" when I'm wearing short sleeves. P is one of the brightest young men I have ever known, and possesses a maturity that is forever causing me to marvel. He's the go-to guy in whole-group lessons I know I can finally ask when no one else can answer a question. A quiet, sweet girl is the fourth I have had of a family of five. On the first day of school, her mother embraced me and remarked in Spanish how happy she was that all of her children have been in my class (there is still one at home). This little girl is hard-working, honest and conscientious in a way that tells me that no matter how hard it is for her to learn subject matter, she will work at it as diligently as any person possibly can, and she will persevere until she has met whatever standards we have for her. Another child, S, is simply an angel. When I think of 'still waters run deep', he is exactly that. Yesterday we were painting wood birdhouses with acrylic paint for holiday gifts. Kindergarteners and paint must always be done with great care but kindergarteners and ACRYLIC paint is not too unlike handling nuclear waste. There is garb to don and very distinct procedures you must follow. He had painted his birdhouse the day before, but came up to me yesterday and quietly said, "I want my mother and father to be proud of me. I want to do a better job. I want to paint my birdhouse again." I looked to the ledge where I had put the drying projects from the previous day. As I spotted his, it didn't seem to look poorly done. It looked like the typical work of a five-year-old, something a parent would rejoice in receiving and knew his parents would be thrilled with it. But apparently, he wasn't satisfied. I took it down and set him up again; he re-painted it with more care, this time following the grain of the wood in his brushstrokes and covering each little bit of wood with paint. I asked him if he was happier with it now and he said yes. Em's family works with a local Christian charitable organization and I can tell she has been taught to love all people. I doubt she would ever harm a friend let alone a bug. She has a sweetness that says 'I will accept you as you are'. A new student comes from a battered women's shelter. He is withdrawn, quiet. He has seen things done to his mother no child should ever have to see, not even in a horror flick. I know that as soon as he understands our room is a safe environment, he will come out of his shell, relaxing and maybe going to the other behavioral extreme. As annoying as that might be for the person who has to run the classroom, it will be a healthy sign. It will signal the beginning of him discovering who he really is and the departure from his past. I don't know how long he will be with us but the children immediately embraced him, shepherded him around the class, our yard, and the school, introducing him to new teachers when we first entered their rooms, and engaging him in activities. This is a good place for him, and his mother and I have conversations about the need to keep him here and not cause any huge school-related transitions for him as she reaches the end of her time in the shelter. I could spend weeks writing character profiles on my students. Looking closely at who they are is a very pleasant and satisfying experience.
One thing that is off-the-charts this year is the parents in my room. Cal it 'rising to the occasion' or 'stepping up to the plate', whatever it is has been a shocking delight. At Back to School Night two mothers approached me and said they wanted to share the job of room parent. They have worked hard. One of them meets with me once a month, I tell her what's going on in the room, what I need help with, anything I want parents to know, and then she goes home, writes it all up, and sends it out in a newsletter she emails to all the parents. I can then follow-up on a website another mother helped me design on Shutterfly, complete with calendar, announcements, homework assignments and sign-up sheets. The other room parent and the woman who set up the webpage post photos of all our class events. Two of them set up a 'co-op' in our school's parent room where parents agree to watch younger siblings for each other to free-up parents to help in their children's classrooms. I now have parents helping for at least one portion of every day. This means that some parents have seen the holiday cards and gifts we're making, so when they enter the room, I say, "You never saw this." They say, "OK," and we laugh. They have given gift cards I never dreamed I'd get, not for myself but to buy classroom supplies, from the local teacher's supply store, Staples, craft stores, and the supermarket. It is a teacher's dream.
I also have a cadre of 'legacy' students. These are children whose parents I had as kindergarteners. It is common to have siblings of former students, but not so common to have their progeny. One probably lives out of the district but uses his parents' address to get his son in the school. He seems to have wonderful memories of his year with me, which I think was about the time Laura was born, and begged to have his child in my class. He signs up to volunteer, paid the portion of our Adopt-A-Class that was not met by other parents, and donated all the food and supplies for our holiday gingerbread house party. He's also a plumber and when our annual Friendship Feast ended with the annual clogging up of my workroom sink, he went to his truck, got whatever was needed, and cleared the clog. He picks his child up at the boy's mother's every morning, feeds him breakfast (because apparently the mother doesn't), and brings his lunch back to eat with him almost every day. My 'legacy students' all come from a section of town that's nestled between the cemetery and the south end of the local freeway. In a town that's known usually for its celebrities and high-end lifestyle, few know there is poverty as well. When I started working here, this neighborhood had tremendous transiency. Children would be in school for mere weeks, possibly months, and then they would be gone. Their families lived in crowded substandard housing and even took shifts sleeping in the beds. During the two short years I lived in NYC, the city enacted a powerful, pro-tenant rent control program and the transiency came to a grinding halt. For this reason, generations of families now live in apartments and attend the same schools as their parents and grandparents did. Rents are fabulously low but so is upkeep and landlord maintenance. Selling buildings in that neighborhood is tantamount to 'unloading'. But for the families there, it ensures a security and sense of community for which they long and is reminiscent of their lives in Mexico and Central America. In many cases, the younger generations have succeeded, gone to college, gone into better professions than their parents and their own bought homes. In others, the children have not risen much beyond the levels of their parents.
All these children and their parents bless me, even the former students whose family lives are dysfunctional. I rejoice in seeing their faces after the intervening decades and feel a strong bond with them and their children. Sometimes I can look in a child's face and see their parents' faces when they were in my class and I get an inward smile. There is a joy in this connectedness I feel. They are blessings. These children and their parents, they bless me and enhance my life. The recent changes in my life has opened me up to an increased appreciation for the other lives that I touch and who in turn touch me, and I am extremely satisfied.
Yes, my interminable divorce is lousy. My finances are where I never planned them to be, I have tennis elbow I am continually icing and stuff in my bronchia for which I take a very slow-working inhaler twice a day, Kyle didn't breeze through EMT school and my dad is a pain. There is plenty of that in this blog. As I read through, it falls just short of being a diatribe. But enough of that already. Let's start looking closely at the good stuff.
I have been at my job since February 3, 1975, same district, same school, with a two-year break in the later 70's to move to NYC where I had the priceless opportunity to work in the private education sector and see a completely different side of teaching. Back at my school after NYC, I brought higher standards and greater expectations of what children can do in school as well as what parents can contribute to learning. I struggled my first several years as a teacher. But I worked incredibly hard. I have a tenacity for my job that has rarely allowed me to feel defeated in its continual challenges.
This year, maybe my 37th or so, has been as remarkably different on some levels than I could have ever imagined. As usual, I have some very needy students who require more than their share of attention, but no one is mean. Some are egocentric, but they all can be exceedingly kind. They get to work as a group far better than most classes I've had. They show effort, and some of them show caring and helpfulness that warm my heart. One little girl has a capacity to be sympathetic that is both appropriate and sincere. She also mimics my voice while we're singing, but adds in a vibrato that verges more on a wobble/tremulo you throw a cat through, delighting in her experience and her love for vocal music. Another little girl notices nuance like few kindergarteners I know and, although pretty wiggly, she has a burgeoning talent for art that will grow into something remarkable. She also likes to yell out, "Show us your bat wings!" when I'm wearing short sleeves. P is one of the brightest young men I have ever known, and possesses a maturity that is forever causing me to marvel. He's the go-to guy in whole-group lessons I know I can finally ask when no one else can answer a question. A quiet, sweet girl is the fourth I have had of a family of five. On the first day of school, her mother embraced me and remarked in Spanish how happy she was that all of her children have been in my class (there is still one at home). This little girl is hard-working, honest and conscientious in a way that tells me that no matter how hard it is for her to learn subject matter, she will work at it as diligently as any person possibly can, and she will persevere until she has met whatever standards we have for her. Another child, S, is simply an angel. When I think of 'still waters run deep', he is exactly that. Yesterday we were painting wood birdhouses with acrylic paint for holiday gifts. Kindergarteners and paint must always be done with great care but kindergarteners and ACRYLIC paint is not too unlike handling nuclear waste. There is garb to don and very distinct procedures you must follow. He had painted his birdhouse the day before, but came up to me yesterday and quietly said, "I want my mother and father to be proud of me. I want to do a better job. I want to paint my birdhouse again." I looked to the ledge where I had put the drying projects from the previous day. As I spotted his, it didn't seem to look poorly done. It looked like the typical work of a five-year-old, something a parent would rejoice in receiving and knew his parents would be thrilled with it. But apparently, he wasn't satisfied. I took it down and set him up again; he re-painted it with more care, this time following the grain of the wood in his brushstrokes and covering each little bit of wood with paint. I asked him if he was happier with it now and he said yes. Em's family works with a local Christian charitable organization and I can tell she has been taught to love all people. I doubt she would ever harm a friend let alone a bug. She has a sweetness that says 'I will accept you as you are'. A new student comes from a battered women's shelter. He is withdrawn, quiet. He has seen things done to his mother no child should ever have to see, not even in a horror flick. I know that as soon as he understands our room is a safe environment, he will come out of his shell, relaxing and maybe going to the other behavioral extreme. As annoying as that might be for the person who has to run the classroom, it will be a healthy sign. It will signal the beginning of him discovering who he really is and the departure from his past. I don't know how long he will be with us but the children immediately embraced him, shepherded him around the class, our yard, and the school, introducing him to new teachers when we first entered their rooms, and engaging him in activities. This is a good place for him, and his mother and I have conversations about the need to keep him here and not cause any huge school-related transitions for him as she reaches the end of her time in the shelter. I could spend weeks writing character profiles on my students. Looking closely at who they are is a very pleasant and satisfying experience.
One thing that is off-the-charts this year is the parents in my room. Cal it 'rising to the occasion' or 'stepping up to the plate', whatever it is has been a shocking delight. At Back to School Night two mothers approached me and said they wanted to share the job of room parent. They have worked hard. One of them meets with me once a month, I tell her what's going on in the room, what I need help with, anything I want parents to know, and then she goes home, writes it all up, and sends it out in a newsletter she emails to all the parents. I can then follow-up on a website another mother helped me design on Shutterfly, complete with calendar, announcements, homework assignments and sign-up sheets. The other room parent and the woman who set up the webpage post photos of all our class events. Two of them set up a 'co-op' in our school's parent room where parents agree to watch younger siblings for each other to free-up parents to help in their children's classrooms. I now have parents helping for at least one portion of every day. This means that some parents have seen the holiday cards and gifts we're making, so when they enter the room, I say, "You never saw this." They say, "OK," and we laugh. They have given gift cards I never dreamed I'd get, not for myself but to buy classroom supplies, from the local teacher's supply store, Staples, craft stores, and the supermarket. It is a teacher's dream.
I also have a cadre of 'legacy' students. These are children whose parents I had as kindergarteners. It is common to have siblings of former students, but not so common to have their progeny. One probably lives out of the district but uses his parents' address to get his son in the school. He seems to have wonderful memories of his year with me, which I think was about the time Laura was born, and begged to have his child in my class. He signs up to volunteer, paid the portion of our Adopt-A-Class that was not met by other parents, and donated all the food and supplies for our holiday gingerbread house party. He's also a plumber and when our annual Friendship Feast ended with the annual clogging up of my workroom sink, he went to his truck, got whatever was needed, and cleared the clog. He picks his child up at the boy's mother's every morning, feeds him breakfast (because apparently the mother doesn't), and brings his lunch back to eat with him almost every day. My 'legacy students' all come from a section of town that's nestled between the cemetery and the south end of the local freeway. In a town that's known usually for its celebrities and high-end lifestyle, few know there is poverty as well. When I started working here, this neighborhood had tremendous transiency. Children would be in school for mere weeks, possibly months, and then they would be gone. Their families lived in crowded substandard housing and even took shifts sleeping in the beds. During the two short years I lived in NYC, the city enacted a powerful, pro-tenant rent control program and the transiency came to a grinding halt. For this reason, generations of families now live in apartments and attend the same schools as their parents and grandparents did. Rents are fabulously low but so is upkeep and landlord maintenance. Selling buildings in that neighborhood is tantamount to 'unloading'. But for the families there, it ensures a security and sense of community for which they long and is reminiscent of their lives in Mexico and Central America. In many cases, the younger generations have succeeded, gone to college, gone into better professions than their parents and their own bought homes. In others, the children have not risen much beyond the levels of their parents.
All these children and their parents bless me, even the former students whose family lives are dysfunctional. I rejoice in seeing their faces after the intervening decades and feel a strong bond with them and their children. Sometimes I can look in a child's face and see their parents' faces when they were in my class and I get an inward smile. There is a joy in this connectedness I feel. They are blessings. These children and their parents, they bless me and enhance my life. The recent changes in my life has opened me up to an increased appreciation for the other lives that I touch and who in turn touch me, and I am extremely satisfied.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Towards a Future
Although they had my ring dipped in white gold several weeks ago, Kyle and Laura seemed to be stalled in moving forward with an engagement. He was in EMT school, she was working and trying to help him study. We hit a snag in the schooling. It turns out he is slightly dyslexic and the reading, studying and written work were overwhelming to him. He was going to class early every night and working with a study group, meeting with his teachers, etc. We made flash cards and I was helping him outline his textbook chapters but he was getting very low scores on his tests. As a 'family' project I thought the studying was great but he soon lost heart and, in time, became almost paralyzed. I know the feeling: you reach a point where you're so far behind, you're doing so poorly, you just stop. Why bother? Despite his great personality, his ability to talk to just about anybody, and his talents for what some might call 'B.S.', I could see he was defeated. I remember I had felt that way in algebra, and then again in geometry. When you don't get it, you don't get it. And when you feel that way, you give up. Laura, on the other hand, understood his predicament but didn't see how it connected to his proposal----or non-proposal, let's say. She started 'mentioning' it. She became sullen. He got annoyed and couldn't understand why she was being so bitchy, and he didn't want to propose to someone who was being so unpleasant, which made her more difficult. And so the cycle went. They were at an impasse and there was a point where I wondered if their relationship was going to splinter. Or, was this situation going to gnaw at the foundation of their trust network, maybe ruining the marriage before it even got started? I had begun to be concerned this was going on too long. After all, he had initially told me he wanted to propose on their trip to Yosemite in August.
Then there was an evening when they hashed it out. I'm not a big fan of the way they argue, but who am I to tell someone how to manage a relationship? Thankfully, they took care of it in their room. I think they both shared some very vulnerable parts of themselves and developed a new respect for one another's own struggles, and in the morning they were their old selves again. Whatever they did, they cleared the air.
The next two weeks went by and I could tell Laura was still hurt he still hadn't popped the question. Then he had a terrible absess and had to visit the emergency room a few times. She tended to him, changed the bandages, cleaned the injured site, and he was miserable with the accompanying infection. He was laid up for at least a week.
When he was well, he took her to dinner, then down to the beach with blankets, and did the deed. In the moonlight. On a clear and beautiful December evening.
We were all relieved.
Once he had made the commitment, he was happy. He was thinking of weddings and who would be the best man, where to have a ceremony, and whether or not to just go down to city hall or do the whole church thing. Life was normal again. EMT school didn't work out the way he had hoped, but they're still young. He was introduced to the staff at an office where some friends work, the owner took an immediate liking to him, and there is a possibility that for the time being, he will get to use his talents in another field. It has been hard for him not to work. It's been almost a year now. He's not the kind of guy who can sit around the house. He doesn't like not working. He has been restless and has spoken often of getting a job, but Laura has talked him out of it because his EMT school tuition wouldn't have been taken care of if he had been working. There is a baby on the way, there is a possibility of work, they are at peace. We are replacing the drop ceiling in the garage with drywall so they're staying in the house here for a while. In a couple of weeks, they'll move back out there and Laura will be able to continue her nesting. I think we might be calming down around here. It would be nice.
Then there was an evening when they hashed it out. I'm not a big fan of the way they argue, but who am I to tell someone how to manage a relationship? Thankfully, they took care of it in their room. I think they both shared some very vulnerable parts of themselves and developed a new respect for one another's own struggles, and in the morning they were their old selves again. Whatever they did, they cleared the air.
The next two weeks went by and I could tell Laura was still hurt he still hadn't popped the question. Then he had a terrible absess and had to visit the emergency room a few times. She tended to him, changed the bandages, cleaned the injured site, and he was miserable with the accompanying infection. He was laid up for at least a week.
When he was well, he took her to dinner, then down to the beach with blankets, and did the deed. In the moonlight. On a clear and beautiful December evening.
We were all relieved.
Once he had made the commitment, he was happy. He was thinking of weddings and who would be the best man, where to have a ceremony, and whether or not to just go down to city hall or do the whole church thing. Life was normal again. EMT school didn't work out the way he had hoped, but they're still young. He was introduced to the staff at an office where some friends work, the owner took an immediate liking to him, and there is a possibility that for the time being, he will get to use his talents in another field. It has been hard for him not to work. It's been almost a year now. He's not the kind of guy who can sit around the house. He doesn't like not working. He has been restless and has spoken often of getting a job, but Laura has talked him out of it because his EMT school tuition wouldn't have been taken care of if he had been working. There is a baby on the way, there is a possibility of work, they are at peace. We are replacing the drop ceiling in the garage with drywall so they're staying in the house here for a while. In a couple of weeks, they'll move back out there and Laura will be able to continue her nesting. I think we might be calming down around here. It would be nice.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Reinventing History
My counselor says Dad has a form of dementia. It's a subtle form and she says it explains a lot of the things I tell her about Dad. But here's the latest: he is reinventing some of the major events of our lives. And they usually are created in a way that makes him look good and others look bad. With his short-term memory shot, I find myself in a situation where I have to listen to the new versions of history getting repeated. There are two very recent (and by recent, I mean he's just started saying these in the last month or two)'recreations' that I am finding particularly hurtful:
1) He says my mother was pregnant with her second husband's child when they got divorced. This is not true. My mother divorced him because he was the one who wanted a divorce and 'let' her divorce him. This was apparently a good thing for her back in 1959. She remarried in 1961, and rumor has it she was pregnant. She told me she and my stepfather got married in Mexico in June but didn't tell anyone until Labor Day. My brother was born the following March. I think they really got married on Labor Day because I remember going to lunch with her on the June date she said wad the day they went to Mexico for his 'quickie' divorce from his first wife and their so-caled Mexican wedding. It sucks to have a kid with a great memory for stupid details; it can make your parenting lies blow up in your face. Whatever the case, she wasn't pregnant in early 1959 when Dad asked for a divorce. And let's not forget the elephant in the living room! My dad was gay! He had fallen in love with another man and he wanted to somehow pursue that relationship. Homosexuality was illegal back then, and if my mother had exposed him, he would have been put in jail, lost his livelihood, and then we all would have ended up on the streets. Letting her 'ask' for a divorce was part of the charade. Even after a divorce, he would have been our meal ticket. She needed to cover for him and agreed to do it. And for years she fiercely hid his secret. I gained so much admiration for her when I finally discovered what had really happened between her and Dad. After all she endured, he doesn't need to throw her under the bus.
2) He says that on my wedding day, we waited and waited for Bill, that we didn't know where he was, and finally had to drag him out of a poker game. Now it's completely true that Bill is addicted to gambling, and specifically poker. Poker is the mistress that ruined our relationship, the woman to whom he would run off time after time. He didn't gamble continually; his gambling was episodic. He would go for long periods of time without visiting a casino, and then one day,"Bam!" He'd come home unusually late. Or I would call him and he wouldn't answer his cell phone for hours. Or he'd make excuses for being away in the middle of the day. He'd say he was at the movies. He'd be late to pick up Laura from school when he supposedly didn't have anything he was going to do that day. Each episode would catch me by surprise because the time between these episodes be quite long, sometimes over a year and I would have been lulled into our routine, would not be suspicious, and my guard would be down. But on our wedding day, Bill and I stayed upstairs at my aunt and uncle's house, we dressed for our wedding together, drove to the ceremony together, and we weren't late. In fact, we were early. When Dad told me his latest version of my wedding day, I said, "Dad, the marriage was bad enough without you having to tell lies about our wedding day!" He said, "Well, then, what WERE we waiting all that time for?" "We didn't wait for anything, Dad! Bill and I drove to the wedding together. Nobody was late."
1) He says my mother was pregnant with her second husband's child when they got divorced. This is not true. My mother divorced him because he was the one who wanted a divorce and 'let' her divorce him. This was apparently a good thing for her back in 1959. She remarried in 1961, and rumor has it she was pregnant. She told me she and my stepfather got married in Mexico in June but didn't tell anyone until Labor Day. My brother was born the following March. I think they really got married on Labor Day because I remember going to lunch with her on the June date she said wad the day they went to Mexico for his 'quickie' divorce from his first wife and their so-caled Mexican wedding. It sucks to have a kid with a great memory for stupid details; it can make your parenting lies blow up in your face. Whatever the case, she wasn't pregnant in early 1959 when Dad asked for a divorce. And let's not forget the elephant in the living room! My dad was gay! He had fallen in love with another man and he wanted to somehow pursue that relationship. Homosexuality was illegal back then, and if my mother had exposed him, he would have been put in jail, lost his livelihood, and then we all would have ended up on the streets. Letting her 'ask' for a divorce was part of the charade. Even after a divorce, he would have been our meal ticket. She needed to cover for him and agreed to do it. And for years she fiercely hid his secret. I gained so much admiration for her when I finally discovered what had really happened between her and Dad. After all she endured, he doesn't need to throw her under the bus.
2) He says that on my wedding day, we waited and waited for Bill, that we didn't know where he was, and finally had to drag him out of a poker game. Now it's completely true that Bill is addicted to gambling, and specifically poker. Poker is the mistress that ruined our relationship, the woman to whom he would run off time after time. He didn't gamble continually; his gambling was episodic. He would go for long periods of time without visiting a casino, and then one day,"Bam!" He'd come home unusually late. Or I would call him and he wouldn't answer his cell phone for hours. Or he'd make excuses for being away in the middle of the day. He'd say he was at the movies. He'd be late to pick up Laura from school when he supposedly didn't have anything he was going to do that day. Each episode would catch me by surprise because the time between these episodes be quite long, sometimes over a year and I would have been lulled into our routine, would not be suspicious, and my guard would be down. But on our wedding day, Bill and I stayed upstairs at my aunt and uncle's house, we dressed for our wedding together, drove to the ceremony together, and we weren't late. In fact, we were early. When Dad told me his latest version of my wedding day, I said, "Dad, the marriage was bad enough without you having to tell lies about our wedding day!" He said, "Well, then, what WERE we waiting all that time for?" "We didn't wait for anything, Dad! Bill and I drove to the wedding together. Nobody was late."
Friday, December 9, 2011
More Dad
Life with Dad continues to deteriorate on some levels. His short-term memory is shot and he recognizes that fairly well. What baffles me is his critical slant. It rears its ugly head on almost a daily basis. He'll snipe at one of us. Why? We frequently don't know but, knowing his mindset as well as I do, I understand where it comes from. In his earlier years, a critical thought was usually his first thought about a person or a situation, and blame could easily be cast thus putting the other person on the defense. But back then he had what I call a 'social filter' and would tuck away that first thought and what would come out of his mouth would be something socially acceptable. And when negative thoughts were verbalized, they were usually done so to family members and, being the patriarch in a patriarchal family, family members were quick to kowtow in order to be readmitted into his good graces. (This is also common of people who hold a family's purse strings but not something Dad practiced, and for that I am thankful.) Now Dad feels that because he is 91, he should not be confronted and his behavior should not be questioned. This attitude is so internalized and automatic, that he seems stunned when one of us reacts to his unkind comments. The other night he told me he didn't put in his hearing aids because he didn't think we would be having dinner together. It was Sunday. If there's one night of the week when we dine together, it's Sunday. I called him a liar. This isn't something I do. In fact, I have never called my father a liar before. I did it a bit lightheartedly. But it was true, and he was stunned. He hates being called on his fibs, but he is fibbing more often. He hates being called on his bad, critical behavior. Again, he was the patriarch of a patriarchal family. When his father died in 1969, Dad took on the patriarchal mantel and in time grew quite comfortable with it. In that family, no one questioned the patriarch. He could say, act, or do anything he felt appropriate and be beyond reproach. Times have changed. Not everyone agrees with that. Respect is something that has to be earned and re-earned. It isn't automatic. Bad behavior is bad behavior, and Dad isn't coming to grips with that very gracefully.
The saga goes on. He makes a nasty, critical comment, expects it to be heard, taken in, and left without question. We respond honestly, and he looks shocked. If Kyle confronts him on it, he tries to pull the age card. "How can a 24-year-old talk that way to a 91-year-old?" Remnants of a time gone by, Dad isn't able to play the respect-your-elders game his forefathers played. On a few levels, that's bad for him. On most levels, I (we) think a person should be accountable for their behavior. Just because you're the eldest doesn't make any behavior excusable. You can't snipe and expect no reaction. Our world doesn't run that way. A century ago it did. Was it better then? I doubt it. But here's where it gets sticky. And I will admit I am torn about where I should fall on this: as one gets older and loses not only one's ability to function physically, many lose their social filters. Instead of tucking away his first, critical thoughts, Dad now says them. How much of Dad's snarky comments should be credited to that? And, if he truly has lost his social filter, why does he continue to defend his comments? Is that part of the gradual dementia he's experiencing? How much should I confront him? How much should I defend him? I find myself frequently unsure of how I should respond to his criticisms and to the kids' reactions to those criticisms. Dad fully defends himself. He evens retells things to paint himself as blameless even when I heard those incidents and know exactly what he did. Here's a further concern: If my dad was my biggest supporter, from let's say the time I was sixteen until the present, how much do I honor him as he deteriorates? Seriously, this is a big thought in my head. Is he only as good as his most recent behavior? If he is now a grumpy old man, does that negate the years of support and generosity? I don't think so. And I have tried to embark on new conversations with Laura about the role my dad played in making me the person I am, the one thing that separated me from being the professional I am today from being a clerk at Rite Aid, and one of the few consistently reliable elements in my life. Does three years of being difficult erase four decades of being my rock? When I look at him that way, I have to give an unequivocal no. When I look at the challenge of living with him in the moment, the answer becomes more difficult. There's a part of me that avoids him. It's the same part of me that doesn't want to hear the nasty remarks. Or have to answer the same questions over and over again. It's the part of me that clenches her teeth when he wants to talk to me alone because I know that no matter how positive the conversation starts out, there will be the inevitable dig at some other household member. It is another version of 'waiting for the other shoe to drop'. He can't be just sweet. We can't have just a nice, comfortable, mutually-supportive time alone. There is always the inevitable cutting remark. It can exhaust me.
But I feel there has got to be a way for us to go on. There has to be a way I can keep him in this home to honor what he was for me. I have often thought that he spent the time after he divorced my mother trying to make up for the damage that caused. He had hoped my and my sister's lives would be happy after our mother remarried and had other children. I know he wanted to think our stepfather had provided us with a good, secure existence. When it became apparent that that new life was rife with insecurity and financial woes, he stepped in to fill in the gaps. My sister and I always knew he would provide. I had a continual sense of him trying to say 'I'm here for you. I may have left your mother, and I may have thought you were doing okay, but I am here for you now and always.'
My thoughts about my father are equally as disjunct as this blog entry.
The saga goes on. He makes a nasty, critical comment, expects it to be heard, taken in, and left without question. We respond honestly, and he looks shocked. If Kyle confronts him on it, he tries to pull the age card. "How can a 24-year-old talk that way to a 91-year-old?" Remnants of a time gone by, Dad isn't able to play the respect-your-elders game his forefathers played. On a few levels, that's bad for him. On most levels, I (we) think a person should be accountable for their behavior. Just because you're the eldest doesn't make any behavior excusable. You can't snipe and expect no reaction. Our world doesn't run that way. A century ago it did. Was it better then? I doubt it. But here's where it gets sticky. And I will admit I am torn about where I should fall on this: as one gets older and loses not only one's ability to function physically, many lose their social filters. Instead of tucking away his first, critical thoughts, Dad now says them. How much of Dad's snarky comments should be credited to that? And, if he truly has lost his social filter, why does he continue to defend his comments? Is that part of the gradual dementia he's experiencing? How much should I confront him? How much should I defend him? I find myself frequently unsure of how I should respond to his criticisms and to the kids' reactions to those criticisms. Dad fully defends himself. He evens retells things to paint himself as blameless even when I heard those incidents and know exactly what he did. Here's a further concern: If my dad was my biggest supporter, from let's say the time I was sixteen until the present, how much do I honor him as he deteriorates? Seriously, this is a big thought in my head. Is he only as good as his most recent behavior? If he is now a grumpy old man, does that negate the years of support and generosity? I don't think so. And I have tried to embark on new conversations with Laura about the role my dad played in making me the person I am, the one thing that separated me from being the professional I am today from being a clerk at Rite Aid, and one of the few consistently reliable elements in my life. Does three years of being difficult erase four decades of being my rock? When I look at him that way, I have to give an unequivocal no. When I look at the challenge of living with him in the moment, the answer becomes more difficult. There's a part of me that avoids him. It's the same part of me that doesn't want to hear the nasty remarks. Or have to answer the same questions over and over again. It's the part of me that clenches her teeth when he wants to talk to me alone because I know that no matter how positive the conversation starts out, there will be the inevitable dig at some other household member. It is another version of 'waiting for the other shoe to drop'. He can't be just sweet. We can't have just a nice, comfortable, mutually-supportive time alone. There is always the inevitable cutting remark. It can exhaust me.
But I feel there has got to be a way for us to go on. There has to be a way I can keep him in this home to honor what he was for me. I have often thought that he spent the time after he divorced my mother trying to make up for the damage that caused. He had hoped my and my sister's lives would be happy after our mother remarried and had other children. I know he wanted to think our stepfather had provided us with a good, secure existence. When it became apparent that that new life was rife with insecurity and financial woes, he stepped in to fill in the gaps. My sister and I always knew he would provide. I had a continual sense of him trying to say 'I'm here for you. I may have left your mother, and I may have thought you were doing okay, but I am here for you now and always.'
My thoughts about my father are equally as disjunct as this blog entry.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
In Court
When I was a child there was a TV show called 'Day in Court". At the beginning of each day's episode they would announce it saying each word loudly and clearly as if there were a period between each one: DAY. IN. COURT! And then there would be a loud percussive sound like a gavel banging. I think of that every time I sit in the courtroom waiting for it all to start. As a kid I would watch the show when I stayed home ill from school. We had a big two-story house and our guestroom was where Mom would put us when we were sick. It was a really dark and somber place and for some reason, it had a TV. 'Day in Court' was usually followed by 'Divorce Court'. My mother would never let me watch 'Divorce Court'. Of course, she later spent quite a bit of time in divorce court. Divorces were long, arduous, days-long hearings back then. It was before no-fault divorce and much of the arguments centered around why people were getting divorced. Affairs were the titillating precipitating events that piqued people's interests. Now there is no real interest in why people get divorces, at least not in the courtroom. 'Day in Court' was more of a potpourri of civil cases. I don't think they had criminal cases, but maybe they did. Was it rehearsed? Was it live? I don't know.
I was glad I only had to be in court for a half day this time. There was a more palatable beginning and end time for me. And, (joy oh joy!), Bill's attorney actually showed up and did his job.
As we waited outside for the bailiff to unlock the courtroom, I asked Laura to forward to my attorney a 'rental agreement' Bill had sent her. She said, "Oh, I forgot about that. I never read it. It was an attachment to an email." As she started to read it, it became clear that this wasn't a rental agreement for a new place Bill was going to rent, but a promise to her from him. He said that whatever the court demanded she pay in rent, he would send her that amount in a check. My attorney told her he wanted her to testify and read that on the witness stand. And she did. I guess it was just to show how slippery Bill can be. It would, I guess, also show that he really didn't need the extra money, that maybe it was just an attempt to squeeze me some more.
I was the only other person to testify that day. I was on the stand for a long time. Bill's attorney was trying to figure out why I say I am $3K in the hole every month. He was trying to find it in my records. In cross, my attorney helped me testify that it doesn't come in regular $3,000 intervals, and that some months are more costly than others, such as summer and when things like property taxes are due. I got a little flustered with that one. But I think I had my day in court. Not my DAY. IN. COURT! but I got to have my say. I got to mention gambling several times. I got to explain why I didn't make Bill the beneficiary on my life insurance policy back in 2002, why he was removed from my health benefits, why he was removed from the cell phone plan, why I shouldn't be ordered to pay his attorney's fees. It went almost as well as it could have. I chastised Bill and his attorney from the stand for sitting in that courtroom in September with full knowledge that my auto insurance was expired and never mentioning it to me. I told them if Bill needed money for legal costs, he could use some of his share of my tax shelter to pay them himself. We'll see how that works; they're already asking for it.
But once again we didn't get finished. We lost about a half an hour because the judge spent the time rereading our past hearing out loud. Wasn't he supposed to go over that stuff in his chambers before we started? If we have to do that again, it will take him an hour to go through previous testimony. The clerk was absent that day, that courtroom was going to be 'dark' the next day, and the attorneys were going to have to call in to set a date for our continuance. The judge thought that we could finish it sometime this month. Bill's attorney said he wasn't available. The clerk only offered one date in January, and someone couldn't make it. That left February, and he only offered us the 28th. So there you have it. I seem to be having a very long, arduous, days-long hearing. Just like in the 1950's.
I was glad I only had to be in court for a half day this time. There was a more palatable beginning and end time for me. And, (joy oh joy!), Bill's attorney actually showed up and did his job.
As we waited outside for the bailiff to unlock the courtroom, I asked Laura to forward to my attorney a 'rental agreement' Bill had sent her. She said, "Oh, I forgot about that. I never read it. It was an attachment to an email." As she started to read it, it became clear that this wasn't a rental agreement for a new place Bill was going to rent, but a promise to her from him. He said that whatever the court demanded she pay in rent, he would send her that amount in a check. My attorney told her he wanted her to testify and read that on the witness stand. And she did. I guess it was just to show how slippery Bill can be. It would, I guess, also show that he really didn't need the extra money, that maybe it was just an attempt to squeeze me some more.
I was the only other person to testify that day. I was on the stand for a long time. Bill's attorney was trying to figure out why I say I am $3K in the hole every month. He was trying to find it in my records. In cross, my attorney helped me testify that it doesn't come in regular $3,000 intervals, and that some months are more costly than others, such as summer and when things like property taxes are due. I got a little flustered with that one. But I think I had my day in court. Not my DAY. IN. COURT! but I got to have my say. I got to mention gambling several times. I got to explain why I didn't make Bill the beneficiary on my life insurance policy back in 2002, why he was removed from my health benefits, why he was removed from the cell phone plan, why I shouldn't be ordered to pay his attorney's fees. It went almost as well as it could have. I chastised Bill and his attorney from the stand for sitting in that courtroom in September with full knowledge that my auto insurance was expired and never mentioning it to me. I told them if Bill needed money for legal costs, he could use some of his share of my tax shelter to pay them himself. We'll see how that works; they're already asking for it.
But once again we didn't get finished. We lost about a half an hour because the judge spent the time rereading our past hearing out loud. Wasn't he supposed to go over that stuff in his chambers before we started? If we have to do that again, it will take him an hour to go through previous testimony. The clerk was absent that day, that courtroom was going to be 'dark' the next day, and the attorneys were going to have to call in to set a date for our continuance. The judge thought that we could finish it sometime this month. Bill's attorney said he wasn't available. The clerk only offered one date in January, and someone couldn't make it. That left February, and he only offered us the 28th. So there you have it. I seem to be having a very long, arduous, days-long hearing. Just like in the 1950's.
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