Sunday, May 23, 2010

What Do You Wear to a Communion Open House Anyway?

(Fair Warning: Long convoluted post, I promise I come to the point eventually)

When I was fourteen years old there was two things I wanted more than anything in the world (besides David Cassidy's love, that is).

I really wanted an older brother and a baby sister.

You see, I had had enough of being the oldest.

Of being resonsible.

Of being responsible for my two younger brothers.

My mother was pregnant at the time, so there was a 50/50 chance on the baby sister. I believe I talked about Angie earlier.

A sister! Hazzah!

The older brother, however, seemed pretty much impossible. Seriously now, how was my mother supposed to pull that one off? Go back in time? Have a baby at oh, 12?

Anyway.

Round about this time, 1975, (Yes boys and girls I am an old lady) my father sat me down and told me that he had been married before he had met my mother.

Really?

Oh, and they were married in the Catholic Church and her name was Mary and they had a son.

WHAT?

It seems the marriage didn't work out. They were both so young and my father was a bit of a hot head in those days. They divorced and she disapeared with their son.

For 15 years.

That's right. For 15 years my father didn't know where he was or if he was o.k.

He hired a PI when I was young who was only able to find out that Mary had travelled to California. After that, they disapeared.

It seems Mary remarried (say that three times really fast) and told everyone that Phillip's father was deceased. Her new husband adopted him and raised him.

After they divorced she returned to Chicago. By then he was in High School.

A few years later, Phillip was looking at some photos from a dance that one of his buddy's parents had gone to.

He asked him who one of the men were in the pics.

"You know, he looks like how I always pictured my real dad. What's his name?"

Well it was his real dad. The father who hadn't died in the '60's. Who was very much alive.

After confronting Mary, he found out the truth. The jerk that raised him, abused him. Locked him in the attic when he misbehaved, was not his father.

Rudy was his father. And he had brothers and a sister he never knew existed.

How sad.

From 1975 to 1982, Phillip and his new wife and kids were a constant presence in our lives.

Angie and her "niece" Kelly played together.

My nieces and nephew hung all over me like all of the other little kids. (I was a baby magnet, I tell ya).

And we were one big happy dysfunctional modern family.


Until Dad's death.

Then Phillip and his family pretty much disapeared. I see a trend here.

It seems that immediately following the funeral, when Phillip questioned Tony giving away some of Dad's things, Tony told him to mind his own business. That he wasn't really part of the family.

It crushed him.

I never knew it happened until recently.

I had no idea how he or his family was doing. They moved from the city and all of my cards and letters were returned.

Until Facebook.

We have an unusual last name. There's only a handful of us left so finding us was fairly easy.

We have since met again and have been in touch through Facebook.

What does this have to do with an Open House you might ask......

The SgtMaj and I are going to my brother's house today for an Open House to celebrate their grandson's Communion. (Legally he is their son, but that's another story).

I figure I'll wear a work outfit. I'm assuming the other guests will be coming from church and will be dressed appropriatlely.

I think.

The last time I attended Mass there were people in jeans.

It disturbed me.

I am an old lady

Saturday, May 15, 2010

On Friends and Facebook

Now that I have Mother Bashing out of my system I plan to put the psychologist/philosopher hat back on.

An incident yesterday on Facebook made me think about friends and relationships and how we are multi-faceted beings and maybe all of the different people in our lives really shouldn't meet.

WHEW! Did that make any sense? Any at all?

Let me explain.

You know whenever you attempt to bring different friends from different areas in your life together (let's say you plan a dinner party and invite your very best old friend from high school and then your cubicle mate from work and someone from your mom's group).

Confused yet?

And these are all people that have meaning to you...you share a history with them all, but in different ways.

And they hate each other. "Who was that idiot you sat me next to?" "Don't tell me you really like her" "You've been friends since high school? You have nothing in common"

etc. etc.

Kind of like a wedding, eh?

That is how Facebook is. You have relatives and friends. Co-workers and acquaintances all in one little corner of your friend's list. If you brought them together in a room you would be exhausted.

But yet, they can interact and talk amongst themselves.

At will.

Now you may ask: Where am I going with this?

Yesterday an old friend of my sister posted something on her wall about my sister.

Something hurtful that my sister said.

Something for which she has apologized for repeatedly in the last six months.

And all of this woman's other people proceeded to rip into my sister. It went on most of the day and some very hurtful things were said all around.

Should Facebook be a tool for airing dirty laundry?

It's basically a giant electronic gossip mill. In posting things that are bothering you, you open yourself up to the scrutiny of the masses.

And the results are not always pretty.

And I am stuck in the middle.

For we are now talking about my loyalty and love for my sister vs. the love I feel for someone I have seen as another little sister.

For this reason I haven't commented at all on Facebook.

I don't want to make it any worse than it is.

But it's a shame that the dirty laundry of a 30 year old friendship was hung up for all the world to see.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Mother's Day

I wasn't quite sure what to say about Mother's Day. This is our first without Mother, so of course my thoughts have been with her.

On relationships and their failings. On lost opportunities.

You see, we had a strained relationship at best. While I loved her, I didn't always like her.

There, I said it.

I have had problems with her life choices, her passive aggressive nature. How much of this was the result of her upbringing as the youngest daughter of a divorced woman in the '40's? I don't know.

She was just a baby when she married and gave birth to me. Did this affect her parenting abilities? Absolutely.

She was a very nervous mother. She was unsure of herself when I was young. Since she was so unhappy with her situation, she took her frustration out on me.

If I wasn't perfect, I was punished. I had to be clean and neat at all times. Quiet and unobtrusive.

My compulsive tendencies were born from this. I expect perfection from myself, and when that is impossible, I agonize over it.

When she gave birth to my siblings I was expected to take care of them. Which I did. I am the one that would get up in the middle of the night to feed and sooth them. Even on a school night.

So much of who I am is a result of her parenting. Or lack thereof.

So on this first Mother's Day without you Mom, I say this:

I never understood you. I disagreed with how you raised me, and especially my siblings. I never understood the yelling, the spankings, your total lack of drive or ambition.

I certainly didn't understand how self-destructive you were. I never will.

But I do love you, and I miss you.

Your shortcomings became my triumphs.

Being your daughter made me into a better mother, a better sister, a better wife.

Certainly a better communicator.

Rest in Peace Mom.