Airing some seriously dirty laundry
My family is effed up.
I don’t speak with the small man who is my father. I rarely speak with my youngest brother and the one who is just 18-months younger than me? Well. I had to extricate him from my life more than seven years ago. It sounds cruel but it was an act of self-preservation and it was one of the best moves I’ve ever made where he is concerned.
But what do you know? With the Big Bad Internets, he’s found a way back into my life and today, he left a comment on this old post. I should have known that he wouldn’t be the kind of person to just move along in his life and let me move along in mine, but I rarely think about him so I wasn’t that concerned. Now he’s resurfaced to inform me that I’m a liar (his usual schtick) and that my memories of my childhood are wrong (he’s self-absorbed like that). Fortunately, he’s decided to grace me with his defense of my right to experience my “grief” (he’s generous like that).
I’m not surprised that he couldn’t not weigh in but I am surprised to find that my anger surfaces faster than the blissful years without him in my life sped by. I thought I was over that. Apparently, it’s just under the surface and it’s currently emanating from my pores. My skin is actually tingling. And I know I shouldn’t be writing this now, that I should sit on it, give it time to settle, be more even when I hit “publish.” But I’m not waiting.
I’ll be deleting his comments (he’s busy going through and commenting on other stuff as I write this) because I’m not going to give him a voice here, but I wanted to address something he said today and as it wouldn’t be fair to take anything out of context, I’m posting the comment in it’s entirety:
I understand your pain. I too had a father that mistreated me. I am by no means trying to diminish the profound effect that having such a parent has had on your life and development as a person.
But with all due respect, your recollection of the events in the back of the BMW are, at best, misrepresentative of what happened. I would never claim to have a more accurate account, but I think mentioning your brothers as witnesses to the event as you described it is irresponsible and downright dishonest. You’re allowed to take some dramatic liberties with your writing, but please try to represent the traumatic moments that shaped all of our lives as children as honestly as possible or to make it clear that you may not remember it all as it unfolded.
I support your grief and would fight to the death anyone who would try to deny you those feelings. But if you’re going to mention your brothers, please be truthful about the memories that are less than crystal clear.
Memories are a funny thing. Sometimes it’s difficult to discern how much of a memory comes from a story repeated and handed down or from photographs or video, and how much comes from actual experience. But whatever the origin of a memory, it’s feircly presumptuous to assert that someone else’s memory is wrong. Two people can experience the same thing in entirely different ways.
For the record, my memories are crystal clear to me. And that includes memories of my brother being a most tragic character who cannot handle the truth about who he has been in my life.
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