Floating Leaf (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
floatingleaf) wrote2010-09-10 11:15 pm
floatingleaf) wrote2010-09-10 11:15 pm
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it's a good thing my parents can't read this journal :)
So, instead of yet another terribly mundane and insignificant post, let's do the next installment of the 30-day meme.
Bahhh. I'm sure I've given my parents more "detail" in this journal already than they would be pleased to know.;) HOWEVER... this time I'm going to focus more on their own lives/personalities than on the way we relate to each other. This will be about where they're both coming from, in a broad sense - which ultimately leads to where I am coming from.
My mother's childhood - a fact which she always liked to emphasize - was drastically different from mine. Born in 1944 to a poor, illiterate farmer and his wife (whose education consisted of a few years of elementary school), she had to work in the fields even as a little girl (she was the second of four siblings, with no more than 2-3 years in between). At one point she had to walk several miles to school every day, carrying a lantern if it was still dark outside in the mornings, and wearing thin tights and a skirt even in the dead of winter (girls simply did not wear trousers back then) - which is a story she always told me when I wanted to skip school because of something trivial, like a runny nose.:) She was always "the good girl" - quiet, obedient and honest to a fault, giving her best to everything she was expected to do, never cutting herself any slack, never skipping homework, never complaining, suffering in silence when things went wrong. She once broke a finger while ice-skating on a frozen lake and never told anyone, because "her parents had enough problems already". (The finger healed, but it is crooked to this day.) So yeah... I suppose you're getting the picture. There was never any excuse for laziness or carelessness in her mind - hardship was not something to be avoided, but embraced and endured without making a fuss. Not all her siblings are like that, even though they all grew up under the same conditions. They are hard-working people, mostly, but I think none of the others display the same level of voluntary self-sacrifice. She's often said her brothers - and especially her younger sister - used to talk her into doing their own chores, because they all knew she wouldn't say no (so as not to cause a fuss and give more grief to their parents). She wasn't happy about that, but she clenched her teeth and endured. She was the responsible one, after all. Yes, she is definitely one of those people who carry the weight of the universe upon their shoulders. It's an early-formed habit that can't be ditched, I'm afraid. That's why she's still busy planning her own daughters' lives, long after they both grew up and moved out. But I digress.
My dad was a little luckier - he was the only child and his mother spoiled him rotten, especially after his father died when dad was 14 (the guy had stomach ulcers, was operated on and then decided to leave the hospital and WALK home - several miles - before being officially released; unsurprisingly, the stitches opened, the wounds got infected and within days he was gone). He was a late child, too - grandma was 36 when she had him - so he was the absolute focus of her existence and simply could do no wrong. Now that I think about it, I am actually pretty impressed that my dad turned out to be a decent guy after all, under the circumstances.:) By which I mean he isn't terribly full of himself or anything - but I am also beginning to realize that back when my parents met, he obviously didn't have what it took to be a "head of the household". He was a shy, sheltered geeky boy in his early twenties who wrote poetry, painted, collected analog records and fixed household appliances for fun (I still remember grandma telling us proudly how he once took apart a radio and then put it back together again - and it worked!... LOL; for some reason, that story now reminds me of Pearl's husband & mother-in-law from A Walk on the Moon...:P). He never had to work on a farm (his father had been a lawyer), take care of younger siblings, or shiver during the winter in tattered clothes. He fell in love with the attractive, strong-willed redhead (my mom looked rather dashing back in the sixties, judging by the old black'n'white picture collection), but I suppose he sort of assumed she would be the one in charge of household and stuff when they got married, and would take care of him just like his mother had done. It might not have been a conscious assumption - this was (and still is, probably) a pretty common scenario in Poland, after all (in this case reinforced by his upbringing). Which is not to say he didn't try to be a good husband - he probably tried as hard as he knew how, if you know what I mean. But he simply hadn't achieved the level of maturity/responsibility that she had (because life had forced it on her years before). Which led to many bitter disappointments early on (of course, back then, as a little girl, I had no clue what all the frequent loud arguments and "silent days" afterwards were about - I am only figuring it out now, in hindsight, aided by occasional casual remarks made by various family members). Btw, I don't think mom was ever in love with him - she used to tell me herself that she married him because he was a "nice guy", and because she thought he would make a good father (and it was "time" to get married and have kids already, so she couldn't afford to "pick and choose" much longer, anyway). Which he did, as far as I am concerned. But I can only judge by the way he acted towards me - always with the utmost kindness, never making me feel like I wasn't "good enough" (which is how my mother made me feel all the time, ever since I can remember - not that she was aware of it... but I digress again). From her perspective, it must have looked quite different, since she was the one who had to make all the tough decisions. She's often said bitterly how he was still a little boy, engrossed in his many hobbies, never worrying about where the money for said hobbies was going to come from. I remember how angry I used to feel when she criticized him - because to my young, clueless childish self daddy was perfect. He was a kindred soul - I could understand him, because I was also a quiet, shy, geeky girl engrossed in my many hobbies. He never wanted me to be someone else than who I was. So if she had issues with him, that automatically meant she had issues with me too ("you're just like your dad" always sounded like an accusation, anyway). It took me many years to begin to understand that she must have felt very lonely and overwhelmed with her new role of wife and mother, and that he probably wasn't of much help (she has told me, fairly recently, about how he used to lie to her about the amount of money he spent on books/music/art supplies etc.; money that certainly wasn't "in surplus" and should have been saved for more practical things). Which sort of explains my own lack of financial responsibility (must be in the genes, lol) - but, conveniently enough, I don't have children to support (thank God!...:P). Anyway, digressions aside - they were both as good parents as they could possibly be, all things considered. They were young and clueless, each in their own way - and not a very good match, personality-wise (now THAT is the understatement of the century... LOL). They struggled with communication (one of the few things they do have in common is difficulty in expressing their feelings: my dad is naturally secretive, and my mom just assumes that everyone should somehow magically be able to read her mind). Btw, the only reason I am able to communicate better with my father is because I am so much like him; my mother can't read me, and for many, many years I couldn't read her either - not that I tried too hard after assuming she somehow didn't approve of me as a person, and there was nothing I could do to change that. I distanced myself from her emotionally, which was my way of coping - and she pretended not to see it, which was her way of coping. But I've written about this before, and probably will again. What I'm trying to say now is that both my parents tried as hard as they knew how to be good parents, and I certainly appreciate it. It is fucking difficult to be a parent - I, for one, don't seem to have the courage to even consider trying it... LOL. But then, I tend to overthink everything and eventually decide it's too much of an effort, anyway.:P Which is a twisted way of combining my parents' genes: the overthinking itself certainly comes from my mother, but the reluctance to commit to difficult tasks and lack of determination in pursuing goals is definitely my dad's legacy. I often say they each passed on to me their least desirable personality traits; but I suppose being smart, open-minded and honest counts for something, and those particular characteristics came from them, too.:)
Bahhh. I'm sure I've given my parents more "detail" in this journal already than they would be pleased to know.;) HOWEVER... this time I'm going to focus more on their own lives/personalities than on the way we relate to each other. This will be about where they're both coming from, in a broad sense - which ultimately leads to where I am coming from.
My mother's childhood - a fact which she always liked to emphasize - was drastically different from mine. Born in 1944 to a poor, illiterate farmer and his wife (whose education consisted of a few years of elementary school), she had to work in the fields even as a little girl (she was the second of four siblings, with no more than 2-3 years in between). At one point she had to walk several miles to school every day, carrying a lantern if it was still dark outside in the mornings, and wearing thin tights and a skirt even in the dead of winter (girls simply did not wear trousers back then) - which is a story she always told me when I wanted to skip school because of something trivial, like a runny nose.:) She was always "the good girl" - quiet, obedient and honest to a fault, giving her best to everything she was expected to do, never cutting herself any slack, never skipping homework, never complaining, suffering in silence when things went wrong. She once broke a finger while ice-skating on a frozen lake and never told anyone, because "her parents had enough problems already". (The finger healed, but it is crooked to this day.) So yeah... I suppose you're getting the picture. There was never any excuse for laziness or carelessness in her mind - hardship was not something to be avoided, but embraced and endured without making a fuss. Not all her siblings are like that, even though they all grew up under the same conditions. They are hard-working people, mostly, but I think none of the others display the same level of voluntary self-sacrifice. She's often said her brothers - and especially her younger sister - used to talk her into doing their own chores, because they all knew she wouldn't say no (so as not to cause a fuss and give more grief to their parents). She wasn't happy about that, but she clenched her teeth and endured. She was the responsible one, after all. Yes, she is definitely one of those people who carry the weight of the universe upon their shoulders. It's an early-formed habit that can't be ditched, I'm afraid. That's why she's still busy planning her own daughters' lives, long after they both grew up and moved out. But I digress.
My dad was a little luckier - he was the only child and his mother spoiled him rotten, especially after his father died when dad was 14 (the guy had stomach ulcers, was operated on and then decided to leave the hospital and WALK home - several miles - before being officially released; unsurprisingly, the stitches opened, the wounds got infected and within days he was gone). He was a late child, too - grandma was 36 when she had him - so he was the absolute focus of her existence and simply could do no wrong. Now that I think about it, I am actually pretty impressed that my dad turned out to be a decent guy after all, under the circumstances.:) By which I mean he isn't terribly full of himself or anything - but I am also beginning to realize that back when my parents met, he obviously didn't have what it took to be a "head of the household". He was a shy, sheltered geeky boy in his early twenties who wrote poetry, painted, collected analog records and fixed household appliances for fun (I still remember grandma telling us proudly how he once took apart a radio and then put it back together again - and it worked!... LOL; for some reason, that story now reminds me of Pearl's husband & mother-in-law from A Walk on the Moon...:P). He never had to work on a farm (his father had been a lawyer), take care of younger siblings, or shiver during the winter in tattered clothes. He fell in love with the attractive, strong-willed redhead (my mom looked rather dashing back in the sixties, judging by the old black'n'white picture collection), but I suppose he sort of assumed she would be the one in charge of household and stuff when they got married, and would take care of him just like his mother had done. It might not have been a conscious assumption - this was (and still is, probably) a pretty common scenario in Poland, after all (in this case reinforced by his upbringing). Which is not to say he didn't try to be a good husband - he probably tried as hard as he knew how, if you know what I mean. But he simply hadn't achieved the level of maturity/responsibility that she had (because life had forced it on her years before). Which led to many bitter disappointments early on (of course, back then, as a little girl, I had no clue what all the frequent loud arguments and "silent days" afterwards were about - I am only figuring it out now, in hindsight, aided by occasional casual remarks made by various family members). Btw, I don't think mom was ever in love with him - she used to tell me herself that she married him because he was a "nice guy", and because she thought he would make a good father (and it was "time" to get married and have kids already, so she couldn't afford to "pick and choose" much longer, anyway). Which he did, as far as I am concerned. But I can only judge by the way he acted towards me - always with the utmost kindness, never making me feel like I wasn't "good enough" (which is how my mother made me feel all the time, ever since I can remember - not that she was aware of it... but I digress again). From her perspective, it must have looked quite different, since she was the one who had to make all the tough decisions. She's often said bitterly how he was still a little boy, engrossed in his many hobbies, never worrying about where the money for said hobbies was going to come from. I remember how angry I used to feel when she criticized him - because to my young, clueless childish self daddy was perfect. He was a kindred soul - I could understand him, because I was also a quiet, shy, geeky girl engrossed in my many hobbies. He never wanted me to be someone else than who I was. So if she had issues with him, that automatically meant she had issues with me too ("you're just like your dad" always sounded like an accusation, anyway). It took me many years to begin to understand that she must have felt very lonely and overwhelmed with her new role of wife and mother, and that he probably wasn't of much help (she has told me, fairly recently, about how he used to lie to her about the amount of money he spent on books/music/art supplies etc.; money that certainly wasn't "in surplus" and should have been saved for more practical things). Which sort of explains my own lack of financial responsibility (must be in the genes, lol) - but, conveniently enough, I don't have children to support (thank God!...:P). Anyway, digressions aside - they were both as good parents as they could possibly be, all things considered. They were young and clueless, each in their own way - and not a very good match, personality-wise (now THAT is the understatement of the century... LOL). They struggled with communication (one of the few things they do have in common is difficulty in expressing their feelings: my dad is naturally secretive, and my mom just assumes that everyone should somehow magically be able to read her mind). Btw, the only reason I am able to communicate better with my father is because I am so much like him; my mother can't read me, and for many, many years I couldn't read her either - not that I tried too hard after assuming she somehow didn't approve of me as a person, and there was nothing I could do to change that. I distanced myself from her emotionally, which was my way of coping - and she pretended not to see it, which was her way of coping. But I've written about this before, and probably will again. What I'm trying to say now is that both my parents tried as hard as they knew how to be good parents, and I certainly appreciate it. It is fucking difficult to be a parent - I, for one, don't seem to have the courage to even consider trying it... LOL. But then, I tend to overthink everything and eventually decide it's too much of an effort, anyway.:P Which is a twisted way of combining my parents' genes: the overthinking itself certainly comes from my mother, but the reluctance to commit to difficult tasks and lack of determination in pursuing goals is definitely my dad's legacy. I often say they each passed on to me their least desirable personality traits; but I suppose being smart, open-minded and honest counts for something, and those particular characteristics came from them, too.:)