Early History: Life with Mother

Since I'm on a family kick, I might as well talk about my mother as well. Trainwreck, pure and not-so-simple. Her history is partly mythic, lost in the mists of time and rumor. I don't know how much of her problems are psychological so I'm being as gentle as I know how.

With my mother, as is the case with many junkies who started using at an early age, arrested development set in and -- in my unqualified opinion-- she pretty much stopped maturing emotionally somewhere around age 16.

Think of yourself when you were 16. You were a good person of course but maybe not so much on the social skills, and a little heavy on the narcissism. Maybe your judgment in men or women wasn't the greatest and you might have not played well with others, especially those you viewed as competition, which --if you were a girl-- was every other female in the world. You had very little self-realization and a whole lot of self-pity. We've all been there --I know I have--it's a rite of passage and eventually most people get over it. Not so my mother.

In a way, I totally understand my mother. She had me when she was very young, and women tend to be a jealous bunch, especially when it comes to daddy. From the day I was born I had the great fortune (and misfortune) to be her father's favorite --not favorite grandchild-- favorite person period.

I left home the weekend before I turned 18, technically "kicked out" although I had been planning on leaving for months. I've seen my mother once since then, about 8 years ago when she and her husband visited me in college to --wait for it--exorcise the demons out of me.

Demons. Right. At that point I was Anglican, living with an aspiring priest, and leading a senior high youth group. If I had demons they were the best part of me. Still might be.

The rest is just personality. I didn't ever have much tolerance for manipulative women, women who make themselves small and weak to attract men. Maybe it's just that I could never get away with it, but that particular tactic --a favorite in my mother's repitoire--always got to me. My mother had little patience with women in general. We just never got on.

Like my father, I wish her the best but can't say I really love her, I do wish the best for her and someday, maybe we'll be able to be friends.

this post has been repeatedly warned to not use wire hangers