What's Good For Him
When I was growing up our family always had dinner together. I would sit next to my father (who sat at the head of the table) and listen to my parents talk about their days. My mother was usually complaining about the women at work or something her mother did/didn't do while she was growing up and/or about her younger sister Jackie (my mother's parents' third daughter and her arch nemesis). In between news programs, my father would comment on the state of the world and various things. He'd ask us what we learned in school that day and/or how we were doing in school (the most important thing to my father, with money coming in as a close second). My older sisters weren't honor students (not that they aren't bright) so when he got to me there was a lot of pressure. When I told him how I was doing (no matter how much effort I'd put into my "gifted" education) he always brought up Carlos' daughter.
Carlos was a co-worker of his and his daughter(s) were honor students. They managed to make all A's & B's, went off to excellent schools, and graduated in record time while maintaining Dean's list status. Over the years, my sisters and I tired of being compared to Carlos' daughter(s). When we tried to tell my father that we weren't Carlos' daughters, he ignored us and reiterated that we should be hungry for higher education. My sisters, one after another, disappointed my father academically. It didn't help that I was classified as "gifted" at a fairly young age.
On one hand, this made me my father's favorite. On the other, it breeded jealousy from my mother and sisters. When I performed at a lower level than what my family thought I should, my sisters would tell me, "You're daddy's last hope!" to push me to do better in school. What it did was leave me feeling like I was carrying an incredible burden.
When I flunked the 8th grade (for various emotional reasons), I realized that my doing well in school wasn't about my parents' having something to brag about at work to their colleagues. Even though I'd often wondered if Carlos did the same thing to his daughter(s) each night at his dinner table, I realized that if I didn't do well in school, I (not my parents') would be the one to suffer. So I buckled down, put my nose to the grindstone, and worked my @$$ off in high school. I diligently pursued a full scholarship (which my parents' repeatedly told me was the only way out of their house [aka, the freedom I was born to crave] and into college). Along the way, I cautiously reported my grades to my parents. Although I'd been an honor student in elementary school, I never quite made the cut while taking honors and AP classes in high school, but that didn't stop me from seeking my father's approval.
When I took AP chemistry senior year, I struggled to earn the grades I thought I should make. I thought that because my father was a practicing research chemist, the knowledge would flow into my brain by osmosis. When it didn't, I studied longer and harder. I knew that if I was ever going to hear "good job!" from my father, it would be by doing well in that class (never mind that I was required to take 4 other AP classes just to graduate from my college prep. high school). When I finally made an A on an AP chemistry exam, I was so excited that I rushed down to the school office to call my father at work with my test result.
"Daddy! I made a 96 on my chemistry exam!" I hopefully shared.
"That's good!" my father said with pleasure. "But don't rest on your laurels. Keep it up! You should've been doing this well all along." My hopes were dashed. After all I'd done, as hard as I'd worked, I still wasn't good enough for my father.
Even though I did get a full college scholarship, and made the Dean's list both semesters freshman year, I never felt good enough for my father's love and approval (I'm sure he said something about Carlos' daughter(s) when I told him I made a B in English first semester...never mind that it was that fall that I was diagnosed with a learning disability that deterred my reading comprehension skills). Shortly thereafter, I sought the comfort of my now ex-husband's arms and heart. Needless to say I got pregnant, which devastated my father. After I told him, he didn't speak to me for months. My mother and sisters shared his disappointment...all of them afraid that my impending baby's arrival would ruin my chances of finishing school and certain I'd lose my scholarship.
I didn't want to have a baby. I'd gotten pregnant just to assure myself that "my pipes still worked", allaying the fears (of infertility due to STDs) my mother had dumped on me when she realized I'd become sexually active while away at school (being a practicing midwife and women's health professional, she knew WAY too much about the risks of experimental sex). When I looked at the pregnancy test and saw it was positive, I was scared. I knew I wasn't ready to be a mother (and really never wanted to be a mother), but my character kicked in. I didn't want to kill my baby (by having the abortion my sister suggested I have), and I knew that if I was going to be an adult...a truly fully grown woman...I was going to have to take responsibility for my actions. So I told myself, "I was grown enough to have sex, I'm grown enough to deal with the results." Needless to say, my father stopped comparing me to Carlos' daughter(s).
I continued with my education and my pregnancy, with little to no help from my family, little to no reassurance from my parents, and no positive reinforcement from my father. Fear was all I heard from him. "You'll lose your scholarship!" he reiterated when I decidedly told my family I was having the baby. It didn't help that my baby's daddy was muslim and a bad match for me (yeah, yeah, yeah...they were right...but when you're 19, pregnant, and not feeling good enough, you'll take encouragement anywhere you can get it, and my future ex-husband was the only one giving me anything emotionally positive at the time).
At Thanksgiving, my parents' pressured my baby's daddy and I to marry before the baby was born (and no, it wasn't the 1950's, they were just old fashioned). My father told me he didn't want me ruining the family name. I was ambivalent about marriage (having never been certain I ever wanted to marry...given my independent spirit and all), but I felt extreme pressure from my peops (including all three of my married sisters). So I pressured my baby's daddy. He wanted to wait. I listened to my mother and thought he didn't really love me. At 4 1/2 months pregnant, just before Christmas I sought acceptance from my parents once again.
"Can I bring [insert my ex-husband's name here] home with me for Christmas?" I cautiously asked my mother.
"Ask your father," my mother said in a sort of chicken shit way. Knowing I'd get no support from her, I hopefully awaited my father's approval.
He got on the phone and I reiterated my question. "Only if he's your husband," my father flatly replied. I called my soon to be son's father and told him what happened. He reiterated that he wanted to wait. We disagreed. We argued. We fought. Finally he said, "Alright! That's it. I'm calling the courthouse and making an appointment. I'll be over to get you so we can catch the bus downtown." The whole time I was scared! I didn't want to get married. I didn't want to have a baby, but it was too late to change that. But I really didn't want to get married!
When he showed up to collect me and we made our way to the bus stop, I realized he was serious. I was getting what I'd demanded, marriage before baby, and I wasn't certain if it would be the right thing to do. All the way into town on the bus, I was plotting ways to escape.
"We're on the #7 bus which will drop us off right in front of the courthouse which is next to the bank. If I tell him I'm going to the bank to get money and send him into the courthouse, I can run across the street and catch the #2 bus home before he even realizes I'm gone." I tried to shake him, but he insisted on going to the bank with me. Plan A failed, so I came up with plan B.
The matrimony office is just down the hall from the bathroom. I'm 4 1/2 months pregnant...if I tell him I have to go to the bathroom & I'll meet him inside in a few minutes, I can sneak out the courthouse and still have enough time to catch the next bus home. After I used the restroom I peaked out the restroom door. Damn if he wasn't standing right in front of it with his back to the door. Plan B was foiled!
I started thinking long and hard. The window! I hurried over to the window and looked out. Although we'd entered through the front door on what seemed like the first floor, the back of the building was two stories up! If I jumped, I'd likely injure myself and maybe hurt my baby. Plan C, not an option. So I married him, and our son was born the following spring.
I didn't do the best I could've done in school if I hadn't got married, had a child and divorced, but I did well enough (even after having to repeat a few classes) to keep my scholarship through the full 5 years. I did have to take out a loan the last year, but I was determined to prove my family wrong. As of this spring, I'll celebrate 10 years of service with my company (9 calendar years but supplimented by my over 1 year of service while on internship each summer while in school) after being hired as a chemical engineer.
I realize this is a long blog entry, but I'm writing it for Shorty. Not too long before I put him on the plane last week, he asked me about my childhood and why I never talked about it. "Because it sucked!" was what I wanted to say, but instead realized I didn't talk about it because there were no other adults in the house for me to share it with, & I didn't want to burden my son with my bitter memories. I'm writing this now so that as he grows older and matures, he can read this and have a better understanding of his mother.
I spent most of my life trying to be good enough for my father. I gave up trying and sought love from the wrong source bringing about a child I didn't really want to have, but decided to take responsibility for anyway. When that child's father was no longer a consistent part of his life, I pursued a safe and comfortable life from my son, as close to the material things I'd grown up with. I also continued to seek love from a man (ironically named Carlos) to fill the void my father's emotional absence left. I moved to IA in search of better schools from my son, a next step for my career, and when I realized I would never be good enough for Carlos either.
Now that I'm here, I've tried only to encourage my son to do his best (which was what I needed as opposed to comparison), which I'm obviously failing at since my son needs more love and attention than I can give him right now (could it be that he senses my deep seeded ambivalence about motherhood?). I've also tried to teach my son responsibility (the whole reason he's here in the first place), and I have a responsibility to do what's best for him. That's why he's in LA now and I'm here writing this. I'm not sure he's mature enough to understand it all, but hopefully in the future he won't compare his children to someone else, he'll forgive his children when they make mistakes, leave the door open if he has to put them out when they're headstrong and/or lazy, and take responsibility for his actions. And by reading this, I hope he learns that none of it's about being good enough for me or anyone else. It's about doing what's good for him. Now I'm going to do what's good for me...and the rest of the world be damned!
Carlos was a co-worker of his and his daughter(s) were honor students. They managed to make all A's & B's, went off to excellent schools, and graduated in record time while maintaining Dean's list status. Over the years, my sisters and I tired of being compared to Carlos' daughter(s). When we tried to tell my father that we weren't Carlos' daughters, he ignored us and reiterated that we should be hungry for higher education. My sisters, one after another, disappointed my father academically. It didn't help that I was classified as "gifted" at a fairly young age.
On one hand, this made me my father's favorite. On the other, it breeded jealousy from my mother and sisters. When I performed at a lower level than what my family thought I should, my sisters would tell me, "You're daddy's last hope!" to push me to do better in school. What it did was leave me feeling like I was carrying an incredible burden.
When I flunked the 8th grade (for various emotional reasons), I realized that my doing well in school wasn't about my parents' having something to brag about at work to their colleagues. Even though I'd often wondered if Carlos did the same thing to his daughter(s) each night at his dinner table, I realized that if I didn't do well in school, I (not my parents') would be the one to suffer. So I buckled down, put my nose to the grindstone, and worked my @$$ off in high school. I diligently pursued a full scholarship (which my parents' repeatedly told me was the only way out of their house [aka, the freedom I was born to crave] and into college). Along the way, I cautiously reported my grades to my parents. Although I'd been an honor student in elementary school, I never quite made the cut while taking honors and AP classes in high school, but that didn't stop me from seeking my father's approval.
When I took AP chemistry senior year, I struggled to earn the grades I thought I should make. I thought that because my father was a practicing research chemist, the knowledge would flow into my brain by osmosis. When it didn't, I studied longer and harder. I knew that if I was ever going to hear "good job!" from my father, it would be by doing well in that class (never mind that I was required to take 4 other AP classes just to graduate from my college prep. high school). When I finally made an A on an AP chemistry exam, I was so excited that I rushed down to the school office to call my father at work with my test result.
"Daddy! I made a 96 on my chemistry exam!" I hopefully shared.
"That's good!" my father said with pleasure. "But don't rest on your laurels. Keep it up! You should've been doing this well all along." My hopes were dashed. After all I'd done, as hard as I'd worked, I still wasn't good enough for my father.
Even though I did get a full college scholarship, and made the Dean's list both semesters freshman year, I never felt good enough for my father's love and approval (I'm sure he said something about Carlos' daughter(s) when I told him I made a B in English first semester...never mind that it was that fall that I was diagnosed with a learning disability that deterred my reading comprehension skills). Shortly thereafter, I sought the comfort of my now ex-husband's arms and heart. Needless to say I got pregnant, which devastated my father. After I told him, he didn't speak to me for months. My mother and sisters shared his disappointment...all of them afraid that my impending baby's arrival would ruin my chances of finishing school and certain I'd lose my scholarship.
I didn't want to have a baby. I'd gotten pregnant just to assure myself that "my pipes still worked", allaying the fears (of infertility due to STDs) my mother had dumped on me when she realized I'd become sexually active while away at school (being a practicing midwife and women's health professional, she knew WAY too much about the risks of experimental sex). When I looked at the pregnancy test and saw it was positive, I was scared. I knew I wasn't ready to be a mother (and really never wanted to be a mother), but my character kicked in. I didn't want to kill my baby (by having the abortion my sister suggested I have), and I knew that if I was going to be an adult...a truly fully grown woman...I was going to have to take responsibility for my actions. So I told myself, "I was grown enough to have sex, I'm grown enough to deal with the results." Needless to say, my father stopped comparing me to Carlos' daughter(s).
I continued with my education and my pregnancy, with little to no help from my family, little to no reassurance from my parents, and no positive reinforcement from my father. Fear was all I heard from him. "You'll lose your scholarship!" he reiterated when I decidedly told my family I was having the baby. It didn't help that my baby's daddy was muslim and a bad match for me (yeah, yeah, yeah...they were right...but when you're 19, pregnant, and not feeling good enough, you'll take encouragement anywhere you can get it, and my future ex-husband was the only one giving me anything emotionally positive at the time).
At Thanksgiving, my parents' pressured my baby's daddy and I to marry before the baby was born (and no, it wasn't the 1950's, they were just old fashioned). My father told me he didn't want me ruining the family name. I was ambivalent about marriage (having never been certain I ever wanted to marry...given my independent spirit and all), but I felt extreme pressure from my peops (including all three of my married sisters). So I pressured my baby's daddy. He wanted to wait. I listened to my mother and thought he didn't really love me. At 4 1/2 months pregnant, just before Christmas I sought acceptance from my parents once again.
"Can I bring [insert my ex-husband's name here] home with me for Christmas?" I cautiously asked my mother.
"Ask your father," my mother said in a sort of chicken shit way. Knowing I'd get no support from her, I hopefully awaited my father's approval.
He got on the phone and I reiterated my question. "Only if he's your husband," my father flatly replied. I called my soon to be son's father and told him what happened. He reiterated that he wanted to wait. We disagreed. We argued. We fought. Finally he said, "Alright! That's it. I'm calling the courthouse and making an appointment. I'll be over to get you so we can catch the bus downtown." The whole time I was scared! I didn't want to get married. I didn't want to have a baby, but it was too late to change that. But I really didn't want to get married!
When he showed up to collect me and we made our way to the bus stop, I realized he was serious. I was getting what I'd demanded, marriage before baby, and I wasn't certain if it would be the right thing to do. All the way into town on the bus, I was plotting ways to escape.
"We're on the #7 bus which will drop us off right in front of the courthouse which is next to the bank. If I tell him I'm going to the bank to get money and send him into the courthouse, I can run across the street and catch the #2 bus home before he even realizes I'm gone." I tried to shake him, but he insisted on going to the bank with me. Plan A failed, so I came up with plan B.
The matrimony office is just down the hall from the bathroom. I'm 4 1/2 months pregnant...if I tell him I have to go to the bathroom & I'll meet him inside in a few minutes, I can sneak out the courthouse and still have enough time to catch the next bus home. After I used the restroom I peaked out the restroom door. Damn if he wasn't standing right in front of it with his back to the door. Plan B was foiled!
I started thinking long and hard. The window! I hurried over to the window and looked out. Although we'd entered through the front door on what seemed like the first floor, the back of the building was two stories up! If I jumped, I'd likely injure myself and maybe hurt my baby. Plan C, not an option. So I married him, and our son was born the following spring.
I didn't do the best I could've done in school if I hadn't got married, had a child and divorced, but I did well enough (even after having to repeat a few classes) to keep my scholarship through the full 5 years. I did have to take out a loan the last year, but I was determined to prove my family wrong. As of this spring, I'll celebrate 10 years of service with my company (9 calendar years but supplimented by my over 1 year of service while on internship each summer while in school) after being hired as a chemical engineer.
I realize this is a long blog entry, but I'm writing it for Shorty. Not too long before I put him on the plane last week, he asked me about my childhood and why I never talked about it. "Because it sucked!" was what I wanted to say, but instead realized I didn't talk about it because there were no other adults in the house for me to share it with, & I didn't want to burden my son with my bitter memories. I'm writing this now so that as he grows older and matures, he can read this and have a better understanding of his mother.
I spent most of my life trying to be good enough for my father. I gave up trying and sought love from the wrong source bringing about a child I didn't really want to have, but decided to take responsibility for anyway. When that child's father was no longer a consistent part of his life, I pursued a safe and comfortable life from my son, as close to the material things I'd grown up with. I also continued to seek love from a man (ironically named Carlos) to fill the void my father's emotional absence left. I moved to IA in search of better schools from my son, a next step for my career, and when I realized I would never be good enough for Carlos either.
Now that I'm here, I've tried only to encourage my son to do his best (which was what I needed as opposed to comparison), which I'm obviously failing at since my son needs more love and attention than I can give him right now (could it be that he senses my deep seeded ambivalence about motherhood?). I've also tried to teach my son responsibility (the whole reason he's here in the first place), and I have a responsibility to do what's best for him. That's why he's in LA now and I'm here writing this. I'm not sure he's mature enough to understand it all, but hopefully in the future he won't compare his children to someone else, he'll forgive his children when they make mistakes, leave the door open if he has to put them out when they're headstrong and/or lazy, and take responsibility for his actions. And by reading this, I hope he learns that none of it's about being good enough for me or anyone else. It's about doing what's good for him. Now I'm going to do what's good for me...and the rest of the world be damned!
posted by N'j at 7:52 PM
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