vanblah

From this thread: <a href="http://www.tfproject.org/tfp/showthread.php?t=106050">Help the lurkbastids decide whether to procreate...or not!</a>

This is almost too personal to write about but it got me thinking a while back and I'd like to share it.

My parents never wanted children. My mother was very forthcoming about this when I was about 16 years old. My father has never really admitted it. It's something that my siblings and I have felt throughout our entire lives.

I'm not going to paint a picture of abuse or neglect--in fact our lives were pretty uneventful except for this one thing. I've also come to terms with it to a certain extent.

So to set this up I need to give a little history:

My father was born during WWII. His dad was fighting in Europe somewhere at the time of his birth. Not too uncommon at the time. I'm sure it caused my grandmother to cling to her newborn son a little too much; I'm sure that was to be expected. Her second child was a girl born just about 9 months after my grandfather returned from overseas. Again, no surprises. Unfortunately, my grandfather was suffering from a little post traumatic stress and it caused my grandmother to take "nerve pills" ... specifically, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thalidomide">thalidomide</a>. When she became pregnant again the doctors actually INCREASED the dosage to "help her with the stress of pregnancy." When the "baby" was born it was little more than a lump of meat. My grandmother, already on the verge of severe depression, was pushed completely over the edge. The only thing that mattered to her anymore was her son--my future dad. My dad was raised by an insane, doting mother. He NEVER had to lift a finger for anything. The word spoiled doesn't do the situation justice. Oh, and that crazy old lady you see tearing up magazines at the supermarket because they show pictures of "almost naked" women? That was my grandmother. The grandmother I knew, anyway.

My mother was also born during WWII, but her father was too old to go to war. They were strict Catholic parents raising their children in a strict Catholic household ruled by a miserable, drunken son-of-a-bitch. I don't know as much about my mother's parents lives because they were so much older and a little out-of-touch by the time I was old enough to ask them. My account of them is mostly from my mother. I do know that my mother's mother was a very kind, gentle woman who's only shortcoming was an inability to stand up to her husband. My mother was beaten by her father, I do know that ... but no more than you'd expect for a child coming up during the 50's. Still, she hated her father and at 17 took the only way out she knew she could: by marrying my father.

Within a year she was pregnant with my older brother. Throughout the pregnancy and after he was born my father's mother (crazy grandma) constantly shadowed my mother. As my mother tells it, there was NEVER a time when my grandmother wasn't there telling her everything she was doing wrong. This caused all kinds of tension between my mother and her son, my mother and my father and especially my mother and her mother-in-law. This was way beyond the normal nosy mother-in-law. My mother and father separated for a while, but eventually got back together and ended up having me. After my birth my mother slipped into post-partum depression. Where was my crazy grandmother now? Still raising my four-year-old brother. Where was my father? Who the hell knows? Probably out buying some new car or clothes or whatever. I was left in a crib while my mother sat crying for days on end. This went on for about the first year of my life.

A year later my mother left. I had just turned two. My dad already had a new girl lined up. She was about 20 years old. And before you start calling my dad a womanizer (he is), you should know that my mother already had some other guy lined up as well. This new woman moved in and tried her best to deal with an asshole of a 6-year-old and a withdrawn 2-year-old. By all accounts, I was a quiet, sweet child. Funny.

It took about four years for my step-mother to realize what a mistake she made, but by then she was pregnant with my younger brother. Things were pretty uneventful for the most part, but there was an undeniable coldness from her. Of course, the fact that I had become pretty vocal about my desire to go live with my mother didn't help. My mother would never have allowed that, of course, she was too busy running all over the fucking country having cool experiences and "discovering herself." My dad practically denied that his children ever existed except for when it served his needs. If there was some kind of city event that took place we all showed up: look at my dad's perfect family.

So there's the short history as I have pieced it together.

My childhood was uneventful but lonely. My earliest memories are of spending my Summer days moping around by myself and wishing I could be anywhere but home. I don't remember much of school or anything like that. I just remember the melancholy. Again, it's not the same as how people remember the bad times. There really weren't many bad times ... but there weren't a lot of good times either.

As a result I had SERIOUS issues with being alone. Just like my father I went from girlfriend to girlfriend; only our reasons were different. He did it to escape his mother, but couldn't live without her. I did it to find my mother, but never could live with her. To a certain extent my mother's series of boyfriends and marriages can be described as getting back at her father. She can be a real fucking bitch.

It took me the better part of a decade to let go of the whole "it's my parent's fault" thing. We are who we are because we CHOOSE to be that person; it can take serious effort but you can overcome your fears. Man my 20's sucked donkey balls. Every bad thing that happened to me I blamed on my parents. Then one day, I realized that it just wasn't true. It was a nice way to explain it, but it was the wrong way. Mostly, the bad things happened because I tried to please everyone ... I just wanted to be loved. It's why I love performing on stage. If I was a bad musician I wouldn't get the love.

The person I am today is so much different than the person I was that I don't really even recognize myself anymore. There are times when I still feel like the lonely, unloved child but I've learned to recognize it and deal with it. I rationalize it. I've learned to say no. I've learned that just because someone has a criticism of me doesn't mean that they don't like me. I've learned that some people just won't like me no matter how hard I try.

The one thing I'll probably never get over though is the <i>desire</i> to be loved.