measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Family deconstruction: Stepmonsters I started to write this as a private entry after alluding to it in my first entry this morning, but I know that if I leave it there, I'll never look at it again because it won't be in my archives. I'm still a bit too emotionally scrambled to really make much sense of my thoughts from Saturday, so this will ramble-- a lot. I came back to my mom's after visiting with my grandmother Lillian for the afternoon, and I was very, very upset. My mind was racing. My heart was racing, and I was just plain pissed off at the whole situation. Now I'm not quite sure what to think. I never really wanted to identify Anne as a "stepmonster." One of my high school friends called her step-mother that. But my situation is different. I was 24 when Anne married my father. Hardly young enough to need to really ever call her my mother, in either real or step variety. Plus, my mother is alive and we have a wonderful relationship. She's both my parent and my friend. I can talk to her about many things. Not quite everything, of course-- but almost everything. And I was extremely distressed after chatting with my grandmother. My mom and I talked about the afternoon, along with Jim (her again current boyfriend) over dinner. And even though I talked to her, I'm still not quite sure how I should be feeling about all of this. I have to understand that everything my grandmother tells me, I have to take with a huge grain of salt. This is the grandmother, after all, who I haven't been close to for the majority of my life. Still, I realize that regardless of how close we become, I don't want to see the end of her life come and get pangs of guilt for never reaching out to the woman. So I made a specific effort to connect with her back in October when Erich and I went down there. I'd forgotten a shirt when we'd left, and rather than have her mail it back to me, I suggested we get together sometime over Thanksgiving weekend for a cup of coffee and a one-on-one chat. She was thrilled. And so on Saturday I went. And it was a very good chat. It truly was. We don't sit down and catch up and just talk about things that much. Perhaps every couple of years or so at the most. And it is a shame because as frustrating as my grandmother is, she's a wonderful person to talk to. She's a very passionate, educated woman with a quick wit. Talking with her is comfortable. She can be stubborn, but she will listen to your point of view, even if she disagrees, as long as you give her the same respect in return. I'm finding that as an adult, it's much easier to relate to her because I know how to be more diplomatic. Mom says I've mellowed out. I think grandma has mellowed out. And so the two of us can talk about things. And it's interesting how in many ways, we see quite eye to eye, ranging on topics from politics to my father. It was the stuff about my father that has me in a bit of stomach knots. Remember when I posted that stuff about my personality tests? How I confirmed that my two biggest fears are of being unloved and of being abandoned? They're coming into play with my dad. They have for a while now, but my conversation with my grandmother has given the fears (that I shoved off as paranoia) some new life. Much of our talking this past weekend circled around the week in early October. Erich and I were only there a short while, but my dad and Anne had stayed a week-- a couple days before and after us. According to my dad, he'd realized that after a while, he felt like he was just getting in my grandmother's way. He'd hoped to help take care of arranging things that she might need, or doing some work to fix things up around the house, etc. But by the end of the visit, some tension was building, and dad realized that he tried too hard, and that people's space was just getting stepped on. He chalked it up as spending a couple too many days there, and I could understand that. After all, relatives visiting can be stressful. When you can't go back to your normal routine for a while, it's quite disconcerting. And I can imagine that my grandmother, in particular, would have a frustrating time since she's used to living alone (and elderly people do really depend on many routines). It was interesting to see my grandmother's side of the visit. She said flatly that it was not a good visit by my father and Anne. She was quite angry about it, too. And then she explained how Anne had been pushing her buttons the whole weekend, and how the woman just doesn't let up, but has no interest in respecting other opinions, either. That I have seen in Anne. And it pisses me off. But I ignore her obnoxiousness when she gets into one of her snits, and I make sure not to let it faze me. The issues while they were there were bred through the oh-so-current attack of accusing someone of not being patriotic. Anne pulled that on my grandmother. Huge mistake. Part of it started when I was there. As often happens at the Kent household, politics start getting discussed after dinner. My grandmother and I are both independents, voting for people rather than party. My grandmother says my grandpa (who died before I was born) was the same way. My maternal grandparents are much the same way. And despite the specific nationality differences, both sides of my family are quite similar. My maternal grandparents (and my mother) are immigrants. My grandmother Lillian was a first-generation American. Her mother immigrated from Austria. Her grandparents came later, once their homeland was swept into the now defunct Czekoslovakia (sp?). Anne, however, comes from southern tobacco money stock in North Carolina. Firm Republicans, walking the party line all the way. People who haven't been "immigrants" since at least the Civil War era. When my grandmother expressed her anger about President Bush and the way our country is going, Anne became very terse with her. Anne asked her how she felt about the army going over there, and my grandmother spoke her peace about how she feels that we're doing things half-assed (her words), and how we left Afghanistan in shambles, and now Bush wants to go over to Iraq and do the same thing. She comments about how this "terrorism" smokescreen is growing thin, and she wish that Bush would come clean and admit it's over oil and his own little bloodthirsty bit, since he's bringing our country down into the McCarthy era again. Anne then got all snippy with her, and told my grandmother how she was being anti-American and unpatriotic. Probably based on the fact that she's the mother of a ranger-school graduate. Heh. Hi Anne-- welcome to floodgates of anger, Grandmother Lillian style. My grandmother was born in 1920 on the tail of WWI, with relatives coming from overseas trying to escape the aftermath of that war. She grew up in the depression, and was the bride of a man serving in WWII, working fulltime and raising her first son (my father) who would never meet his father until he was three. My uncle Ray served in Vietnam-- two tours. My dad was a navy base doc at the same time, drafted because of his medical experience. One of my other uncles, Matt, was at the protest on the Washington Mall. My family's so seeped in patriotism of one form or another, it's scary. She watched McCarthyism, lived through the tensions after the Iron Curtain went up (in particular since she had family directly affected by it), and has watched all of the politics play before her eyes for the last 65 years. And this woman-- my father's wife-- has the unmitigated gall to call her unpatriotic. And the kicker is that she wouldn't let up. The morning after we left, Anne apparently decided to start prodding again. On the side of the milk carton, as seems to be becoming more common these days, the distributor has printed an American flag. She held it up to my grandmother and asked what she thought of it. My grandmother told her that she did not like it, and thought it was a shame that the dairy felt it necessary to use the American flag to sell milk. She also noted how she didn't like having to throw the American flag in the trash, since it was on the carton. Anne continued to prod. And it became more and more clear to my grandmother that not only does Anne have no idea when to quit, she has no respect for other people's opinions and probably hasn't even given the topics of current interest much thought to form her own. She just goes along with the party line, hook line and sinker. Which is fine, but she needs to realize that some of us aren't that flaky. And that leads to my frustration with her. Since she and my dad married in 1999, I've watched my father slowly pull further and further away from my brother and me. Often it takes four weeks or so for him to return a phone call. Yet anytime I talk to him, it seems that Anne is off somewhere seeing one of her kids, etc. Part of it I'm used to. My dad has never been that good about getting back to people. And since I started college, I've felt that Dad detached me out of the house. Much of a "out of sight, out of mind" thing, I assumed. But it's become much more pronounced, particularly in the last year and a half or so. Over the summer, Scott (my brother) sent me an email commenting on how pissed off he was with Anne, and how he felt that Dad was abandoning us. And how he felt Anne was influencing it. Apparently Anne had the gall to introduce Scott as "her son." Now-- my dad remarried when both my brother and I were at least 21. She is not, in any way, our mother. And Scott has told my mom on several occasions that Anne acts as if our mother doesn't exist-- as if she's dead. Since they married, my dad has cut off any communication with my mother. They'd had a good, civil relationship going in regards to issues with my brother and me. Now there's nothing. And the more I'm watching it, the more I'm realizing that Anne has whipped my father into her control, and if she could have her way, my brother and I would be eliminated from his life. What infuriates me is that he seems to be letting it happen. She was quite stand-offish to me. I remarked on that to my grandmother. And she nodded and told me how the last morning we were there, I'd left the kitchen, and Anne was being her usual self. Apparently she told my grandmother that she didn't like me. And my grandmother nodded-- she said it showed on her face. And it does. And I can't understand what this woman's (Anne, not my grandmother) problem is with me. Perhaps she's just so superficial that she doesn't see past the fact that I'm overweight. After all, she's one of those 5'0 tiny size zero people. She couldn't even fathom how it is to be overweight. But she doesn't like me. Remember how I said in my October entry that it was difficult to read her? Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps it was just that I didn't like the reading I was getting from her, and tried to ignore it. I have done nothing but try to be welcoming and kind to this woman, in an attempt to at least have a decent relationship with her. She is, after all, my father's new wife. She's family. And I felt it necessary-- not out of obligation, but by being a daughter respectful of my father-- to try to put a kind face towards this woman who was coming into my life as a new family member. I'd like to think that we could be friendly toward one another. But something about Anne just isn't allowing that to happen. She just does not like me, despite my politeness and my willing to help out with things while I'm home. Yet here she is, hurting my mother with comments on the phone and essentially eliminating my parents' conversations with each other (since my mother did not want her involved-- rightfully so). Hurting my brother, who is already enough of an emotional basketcase because he won't kiss her ass and call her mom. Hurting my grandmother with insults when she's a guest in my grandmother's home by calling her unpatriotic (one of the largest insults you could throw at my grandmother). How far does it really go before she's hurting my father as well? I thought he was looking much more worn out and old when I saw him in Pennsylvania. He's aged quite a bit. And I think a lot of it is due to her. I'm furious. And although I know that I really can't do anything to protect my father, I want to. I want to give her a really hard shake and knock some sense into her. It makes me dread going home. Do I really want to deal with Anne's bullshit? I hate flaky people. Absolutely hate them. While I'm home, she'll probably give me some syrupy "do you want to go do something, Em?" using the nickname that she's adopted, but pisses me off. It's the nickname that my parents use. And because of my dad, she's using it, too. And over the course of the past few months, it's grated me the wrong way when she's used it. It's forced. That nickname was one that my parents gave me as a little affection thing. I don't mind it from them, just as I don't mind (even though I normally hate the nickname) being called "Missy" by my uncle John. He's always called me that. My parents have always called me "Em," or "Emmy." It's the name they called me when I'd be crying as a little girl, or when I kissed them goodnight. With them, it's affection. It's not affection from her. And I fear that if I actually let on that I know that she doesn't like me, that I'm going to lose my dad. Because it seems to be happening anyway. And I hate it. My fear of being unloved and fear of abandonment are taking hold again. I wonder if I'm over-reacting, or if there are some shreds of truth this time around. My dad asked me on Thanksgiving (when I called *him*... never the other way around) what I wanted for Christmas. I told him I didn't know. But I do know. And I'm going to write a letter to him at work (so Anne doesn't get it), asking him for what I want: A few hours one on one with him for lunch and coffee while I'm home, because I miss my dad. After that conversation, so that I can be very clear with my father as to my feelings. THEN I might lay down my opinions on the matter to Anne. This might be my last trip home. I'm feeling like it will be. It's making me nauseous. 5:22 p.m. - 3 December 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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