Unlikely Chatting Buddies

I've been talking more and more to my parents lately. I did not expect me doing so. I went through a serious phase of hating my parents, during which times I scarcely ever spoke to them. Somewhere along the way, I don't know why, I realized not only that they were human, but also how different their circumstances were from mine when they were my age. A huge gulf stood between them and me in terms of experience.

They're struggle was so hard, that I began to realize it kept them from ever being truly able to see past it. All their flaws I realized were just scars. They weren't problems, they were just overhealed peices of themselves. I admire them now greatly. In a single generation, both of my parents climbed from the bottom to the upper parts of society. However, nothing comes without its price.

Both of them have such extraordinarily strong personalities. They are both such extremes. They are both such opposites. I don't understand how they ever came together. Though opposites attract, a strong common ground is necessary to make the attraction feasible. It wasn't so for my parents.

Three things were certain--my father was brilliant, my mother was beautiful, and neither knew how to accept themselves. The battles my father fought in his career were later shown to be near impossible victories. Though the odds looked bleak at the time, with the evidence that surfaced later, his accomplishments seemed even more unlikely. But, my dad is an asshole. There is no doubt about it. He grew up being street-smart and had the hardest time growing out of it. He never knew when to let his gaurd down--prolly b/c after he was like 3 he figured he could not afford to do so.

I remember the first time my father opened up to me. It was at a random coffee shop in one of my favorite parts of the city. I was a vagabound running from my family and spending their money. My father, however, desperate to show his love and yet unable to speak its language, agreed to meet me there despite his tiredness and the long drive to get there.

We sat there and I don't know what came over him, but he started to tell me how he first dealt with the difficulties of being him. Men are taught never to complain and my father learned this lesson well. However, he wasn't still really complaining. He was just telling me how tough it was for him to make decisions that regardless of his choice would make large amounts of people's lives much more difficult. He told me how after those lose-lose situations he would lock himself in a room and find something to physically beat and destroy.

I never realized how tough real lose-lose situations were. But when he finished telling me, I realized I'd probably want to lock myself in a room too and do the same. It showed me that my father had a heart--he just often needed to burry it in order to get the job done. There was something different about my father that night too. He was humble. I could tell that the cocky attitude of being the shit was wearing off... he was getting older and starting to accept himself by default if not as a virtue of his personality.

It was at a different time--while having dinner at his favorite restaurant--when I realized that my father always felt the need to impress me. He was insecure--he didn't know just how crazy talented I thought he was and how intimidated I was by his past successes. I think because I learned from a young age never to let anyone believe that they have impressed you.

My mother was likewise cluelss about dealing with her self. She gave up her career shortly after we were born to raise the family. I think often--my mother's looks defined large parts of her life, but she didn't realize it. She was the only girl in her large family, and had always been a tom boy. She always got along better with guys. She hated women, and women often seemed to hate her. She had the personality that most guy's found appealing in a girl--however, not the personality of a girl that a guy would marry--and she was also beautiful.

Some of my earliest memories were of my mom being approached despite the fact that she was with her kid. It seemed that some people would freak-out over her. I remember this one guy just felt so compelled to say something to her. He was very large and just unbelievably taken by her. I remember the oddity of this large dude tied up in knots in telling her what he was thinking. I got scared. It was somehow disturbing... I guess there's a psychological explanation to it... It was just weird to be around when my mother was being sexualized by another man. I am surprised that her being with me did not deter him or others.

One of the most confusing memories was when my mom foresaw two guys trying to pick her up. We were at my favorite store but she abruptly wanted to leave. Then one of the guys offered to buy the toy with which I was playing. My mother got so upset, but tried to do so without giving away her suspicion--she was too timid. Two guys???

I remember the expression on the faces of these two guys. The knowing smiles they gave to her, and how disturbed she was by the whole scenario. I remember the duality that characertized their interactions with her. To this day, I don't understand how something like that could've happened. I think my mother exuded--helplessness. We left and I was upset. My mother was just not assertive in any way. I threw a temper tantrum while leaving. I don't think it was because I was forced to leave my favorite store. Instead, I was upset because I didn't know what was going on and I wanted someone to explain. I probably did know and was just deeply perturbed. We went home via a different route. Such things seemed to happen to my mom a good bit.

When I got older, these incidents stopped. Although on random occasions--people would comment. For some reason, people also didn't feel too comfortable saying it because they could tell my mother was awkward about it. I think I definitely inherited that part of her.

Today, with all the kids out of the house, she still gets approached despite the fact that she's not young anymore. Even at work, her coworkers--younger ones--fall for her in serious ways and she has to control the damage. Ridiculous considering her age.

I'm fascinated by what is good and evil, beautiful and ugly, and the process by which good/beauty are transformed into evil/ugliness and vice versa. I would call such a process--redemptive tragedy. My parents to me are quite an example of how their strengths or weaknesses could bring them good or evil. In the end, it has been their will to continue with life and to have faith in it that allows them to get past the tragedies and to reach redemption. I hope I can do the same.