Family at Holidays.
Mom and I have an ackward relationship, at best.
She thinks I do fetish and “such” modeling. Yep, that was the best I could do.
The Morman Church looks after Mom and my youngest brother. They have given to the church all their family lives and bless this church, they take care of their own no matter what. I got a call from the Morman Church saying my youngest brother watched too much porn and they wanted to know what to do about it. [Insert silent gasping inside, hoping my youngest brother hadn’t found my porn] I told them I didn’t think watching porn was bad, as long as he was doing his job and handling his life responsibly. He wasn’t and that is another topic I am not writing about now.
Anyways, no, I did not say I did porn. Sigh. Please, Forgive me.
And no, I am not Morman. I went to my Grandma’s church.
I have a broken immediate family. Dad was an abuser. Mom was an enabler. Most of my life I just didn’t talk to them. My brother and I were brought up by Grandma (on my Mother’s side). My brother was in a body cast from 6 weeks to 3 years, so, yes, my Dad really was that bad. They had one more son. He was raised by them. He was taken away when he was 11 years old and given back because they could not find a home that would keep him. Yes, he really was that ill behaved. There was a lovely call in the middle of the night once, it was Mom and she was hysterical because my brother was beating up Dad. I asked her what did she expect would happen? The Law of the Jungle always rules in violent homes.
Dad died several years ago. No, I didn’t go to the funeral, even though the Morman Church called and asked me to go. I didn’t have a relationship with him, so, there was no one to miss or grieve for. This is a healthy choice more people should make for themselves (IMHO).
My Mom sent me a big box of memories of my Dad, his High School diploma, Navy pictures, etc. Included was 2 of the ugliest afghans I’d ever seen. She had said she wanted to knit me one. I bought yarn for her, two complimentary colors of green. I love green. There was this continous conversation from her about didn’t I want some contrasting bright color, like ornage splashing threw it. I hate orange. I told her no. So, she made an afghan out of other yarn in color combinations I hate and sent it to me. Non-consensual domination. I made a date for lunch and drove the box back to her. She didn’t last 30 minutes without saying something vile to me.
In her defense, Grandma used to do this out of the blue also. You go along having a decent conversation and then the truck slams you in the side pocket.
This is why I always laugh when someone says they want to do humilation and degredation play. My family members are experts and they know my buttons. On the upside, I learned to be with people and not get hooked by vile words coming out of their mouth. (And yes, I do played with people that are experts in their own right, what a wild ride.)
Anyways, I told Mom “that wasn’t a very nice thing to say, I will be going now.” She replied “We haven’t gone to lunch. Aren’t we going to lunch?” I told her I don’t take people that say vile things to me to lunch. It isn’t respectful of me to me to do that, so, it’s time for me to leave now. I gave her back her box.
That was the last time I saw her. I should try again. Maybe for her birthday.
I know. The thing is, I never give up hope. She is my Mom. Three hours of good conversation is a good dream.
I sent her a nice birthday card this year. It was filled with lots of bright (gaudy, IMHO) colors. I was sure she would love it. She did.
I sent her a Harry and David basket today. I think she’ll like it and not give it to my youngest brother. The Morman Church calls me periodically and complains that people give her gifts and she gives these gifts away to my brother. They want to know how to stop it, they ask me what to do about it. I tell them not to expect her to behave any different than she always does. She is 84. One can hope, there is always hope.
To love someone is to accept them the way they are and the way they are not.
Blood family. You get what you get with this group as far as I can tell.
My brother, the one I grew up with loves coffe more than I do. Imagine that? I sent him a nice card and a Starbucks Gift card.
Whatever your story, what ever your family issues. We all are in this together.
May your Holidays be filled with love, as much love as your heart can hold.
I am so very very grateful for my life. I love my life. I thank each of you for your generous support.
Yes, I have close friends that are “chosen family”. I fretted over what the perfect gift for them would be. I am wrapping presents tonight.
Happy Holidays! Good cheer to you!