(Submitted by Anonymous)
My first bit of advice to anyone that’s ever had to deal with ruling parents even into your adulthood would be this: Honesty is pretty overrated and it should be used sparingly in the dysfunctional family relationship.
I remember Dad coming over to visit — he never asked — he never called first — he just showed up (as was his way) — after my son was born. Dad was pretty well known for laying it on ungawdly thick, and this occasion was no different in that he proceeded to tell me how proud he was of me — about how responsible I was — about how noble and just and right it was to be married and having children — It got thicker, but I’m sure you get the point.
Upon after sitting quietly while he piled it on thick, it was my turn to talk. I asked him point blank, How come you didn’t call first before coming over? He gave me that quasi confused stare of his and continued to talk some more. He didn’t say anything, he just talked (again — as was his way).
I was polite, and cordial for the sake of my new wife and son. Soon, the visit was over and he left — waving bye bye and talking in that patronizing cutesie little voice of his to my new wife and son.
Laying in bed later that night, I couldn’t help but think of just how seemingly odd the visit was earlier in the day, and then it hit me. Dad wanted my son. No, he didn’t want him in the right here and now sense, he wanted another child to confuse — another human being to play his little mind games with — another person to manipulate.
Hindsight is always 20/20, and I never saw this coming. Sure, I didn’t trust the man already, but once I thought it over a bit, I made up my mind that I didn’t want my new son anywhere near my Dad. No visits, no holidays, no birthday gifts — nothing.
Of course it was too late. Dad had already barged his way in my domestic affairs, and colored everybody’s world perfectly pink, soft and fuzzy, easy peasey. His lips of honey were dripping with deceit.
When I look back at this episode of my life, I realize that there can be such a thing as being too honest. I was fairly gullible at the age of 22, and with everyone telling me to be honest all the time, I obliged, much to my eventual undoing.
I trusted my first wife in the beginning, and I told her about Dad. She looked at me somewhat shocked, and shook her head. But he’s so nice, she said, to which I replied, Sure he’s so nice — now — you’ve only just met him — Once he figures out what your weakness is, he’ll put the screws to you — He’ll assist greatly in the demise of our marriage.
I could sit here and go on and on about all of the things I should have done or should have said and so on. But the writing for me was on the wall, and I was doomed to failure before I ever got out of the gate.
My second eldest brother comes to mind here.
If I had only done then, what he ended up doing later, I might have had a chance.
As it all stands today, my chances are golden. No one around to spread the untruths or to manipulate or to mess around with my child’s mind.
There is so much I’ve done in these 50 years of mine that’s good, and no one in the family will ever know it. I don’t talk because I’ve learned that experience is a rather merciless teacher. I learned years ago to keep my mouth shut about any of my successes. Though I did slip-up once as I recall. I had mentioned to my sister that I finish concrete, and had been for years — HA — whoops — my bad.
The only honesty that matters is mine. My current wife visits her family quite often. It’s a good relationship they have, and far be it from me to ever get into the middle of that.
My end? Way different story. My Moms head nearly exploded when she learned by accident that I was married to my current wife. You didn’t marry that girl did you?, were her exact words. Too bad that Mom was too wrapped up in herself to share in our collective joy.
Today’s faux honesty is such that says that my Dad was a kind, caring, decent man. That’s all my current wife needs to know. I’m fine with that — it works.
I know it’s a lie when I say that Dad was a kind, caring, decent man, but hey, when life gives me lemons, I make lemonade. Life has plenty enough challenges than for me to be burdening my wife with all of the uselessness that Dad was.
My current wife met Mom only once, and as soon as Mom started in with the family rumor mill, it was time for us to go. I didn’t have to say much to my current wife about my Mom that she didn’t already learn first-hand.
Through the years it’s been sort of trial and error. I tried Mom out on a bank manager from Colfax I was dating once — missed the mark with Mom on that one, and there were a few others too. I learned in those years not to date anyone that might have something in common with any of my siblings. Less conversation that way. My current wife has absolutely nothing in common with either parent or my siblings — questions are never asked because there is no common ground from which to launch the question.
It was always quite a site to see Mom whenever I brought home a rich girl. Here Mom was, thinking that I needed to marry money, like my second eldest brother did. It showed how much Mom really knew me (she didn’t know me at all). If I don’t get it on my own, then I don’t get it. A concept that was about as far removed from Mom (and my Dad), as the earth is from the sun or more.
Over the years I’ve learned that the only honesty that mattered was to myself.
sourced – Personal diary entry by Anonymous as it was written in December of 2007
