Memoirs of an Addict Pt. V

All that my mother wanted in life was to be a mom.  As a child grows there is a shift in the dynamic in the relationship they have with their parents.  This is a natural progression, we go from viewing parental figures as providers and protectors to our equals.  Of course, this is stupidly simplified and there are quarrels and disappointments along the way. Children rarely, if ever, turn out how their parents envisioned.  The circle of life continues and the resulting product is ideally a fully self-sustaining adult. My mother’s evolution did not follow this template. Her parents dictated her decisions as a result of this.  This was done in equal parts necessity and convenience. My grandparents financially provided for us after my parents divorced when I was five. She made a pact, a pact I assume to be common throughout her life.  The rich rule over the poor and the borrower is a slave to the lender, Proverbs 22:7.

My mother’s greatest flaw was indecisiveness closely followed by a propensity for manipulation.  Another facet of her personality is that she was, is, materialistic to the point of obsession. She would bitch about child support and take my dad to court, or threaten to at the very least. As a kid, I couldn’t understand the pettiness of it all.  The rational association for me at the time, 5 to 16 years old, was that there was a dollar amount attached to my brother and me. I never could understand her emphasis on the all mighty dollar. Speculating now, I believe it to be rooted in her own insecurities as well as her desire for stability. In any event, the characteristic, money lust, transferred to me.  Money like sex, drugs, and all forms of mindless self-indulgence lead consequently to a soulless, godless, meaningless, miserable existence. Chasing such things establishes a destructive Catch 22. Where you think these objects are the source of happiness. Let me tell you from years of pursuit, they are not. They fade, whereas happiness is eternal.

 

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My Dad and Stepmom (Teri) at my Wedding Rehearsal

When taken individually my mom and my dad are good people and made great parents.  When taken together they were turbulent, explosive, and volatile. Like a chemistry experiment where you take two substances stable in their own right that undergo a violent chemical reaction when brought together.  My brother and I were the byproducts of said experiment. Both of my parents were the youngest of there siblings. It’s something I’ve always known but never took the time to think of. My mum came after two boys to a mother who desperately wanted a girl. My dad comes from a Greek family, grandfather would not stop having kids until he had a son and I might speculate he would have stopped immediately after having one. I read somewhere if the youngest gets babied they may turn out spoiled or manipulative. I don’t want to go too far down the rabbit hole, these chronological ramblings will be expanded on in greater detail later. There’s a surreal dimension to conceptualizing the branches of your existence. By that I mean looking at oneself organically, Like a family tree in a sense, but so much more.   The reality is my parents sacrificed a lot for me growing up.  Almost to a fault.

 

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