The crimes of the father...
Thinking on the incredible impact that we have on our children (by we, I mean the collective we as a loosely affiliated society, and me, personally as an individual within that larger group).
Well, as any sentient adult knows, there is no way to avoid being screwed up by your parents, that said, there are issues and then there are ISSUES. Right? I would have loved, for example, for my parents to have shielded me less, to have forced me to be more self-sufficient at an earlier age. What age would that be? You wonder, no, I did leave the country to live in another hemisphere alone at 16, but in this sense, I mean economically. Dad never let me work shitty jobs for shit wages during school because he sat me down and did the math and it made more sense for him to support me, and pay my $6 an hour wage himself and let me dedicate that time to my studies. Don't get me wrong, I am not ungrateful, in fact perhaps too grateful, but I think in some ways it spoiled me too much, not because I am not a hard worker, but because it turned me into a work snob, that is, my expectations are way too fucking high for everything. I expect fulfillment, not just remuneration. Now, in fact, I like what I do, for the moment, but I also have this deep fear of some day being cast out, unable to do what I love or want and being totally incapable to support myself in any other way. It has also created this inordinate sense of pride, a sort of "I don't want anyone's else's help" attitude, despite that I would be lying to myself if I didn't accept that I have the absolute luxury of knowing that should I need to fall from my tight-rope there is a safety net, albeit 300 feet below me.
But, despite Dad's workaholism and my Mom's neuroses (and her deeply generous and loving majority) I never felt anything but safe in my house. I was never treated unkindly by anyone but myself (at home) and yet I still turned out the way I am, with all kinds of codependency issues and a deep sense of unworthiness of love. And I KNOW that they did not do that to me, and I want to know why! But what most breaks my heart is that I can't fix, or even fathom, the pain of people whose fathers (or mothers though all the hurting men I know -and there are so many- received their punishment directly from their fathers) treated them unkindly. I was observing several fathers in action yesterday and I was fascinated. Fathering is a skill so underestimated in its importance, and it is so fundamental to a sense of complete self, I think.
Listening to Beleza Tropical and this song seemed to speak exactly to me with relation to this train of thought.
Cálice
Composição: Chico Buarque e Gilberto Gil
(refrão)
Pai, afasta de mim esse cálice
Pai, afasta de mim esse cálice
Pai, afasta de mim esse cálice
De vinho tinto de sangue
Como beber dessa bebida amarga
Tragar a dor, engolir a labuta
Mesmo calada a boca, resta o peito
Silêncio na cidade não se escuta
De que me vale ser filho da santa
Melhor seria ser filho da outra
Outra realidade menos morta
Tanta mentira, tanta força bruta
(refrão)
Como é difícil acordar calado
Se na calada da noite eu me dano
Quero lançar um grito desumano
Que é uma maneira de ser escutado
Esse silêncio todo me atordoa
Atordoado eu permaneço atento
Na arquibancada pra a qualquer momento
Ver emergir o monstro da lagoa
(refrão)
De muito gorda a porca já não anda
De muito usada a faca já não corta
Como é difícil, pai, abrir a porta
Essa palavra presa na garganta
Esse pileque homérico no mundo
De que adianta ter boa vontade
Mesmo calado o peito, resta a cuca
Dos bêbados do centro da cidade
(refrão)
Talvez o mundo não seja pequeno
Nem seja a vida um fato consumado
Quero inventar o meu próprio pecado
Quero morrer do meu próprio veneno
Quero perder de vez tua cabeça
Minha cabeça perder teu juízo
Quero cheirar fumaça de óleo diesel
Me embriagar até que alguem me esqueça
I don't want to be responsible for an unhappy or incomplete child, and so I let her be away from me, despite her wailing that she can't bear to be away from her mommy, despite my loneliness in her absence (though we spent the afternoon swimming and biking and for a few brief moments I felt really, deeply content with the world, looking out at the mountains under a blue sky). It is amazing what a mysterious bond we have with our children. I only hope that I am doing the right thing for her, if for nothing else.
Well, as any sentient adult knows, there is no way to avoid being screwed up by your parents, that said, there are issues and then there are ISSUES. Right? I would have loved, for example, for my parents to have shielded me less, to have forced me to be more self-sufficient at an earlier age. What age would that be? You wonder, no, I did leave the country to live in another hemisphere alone at 16, but in this sense, I mean economically. Dad never let me work shitty jobs for shit wages during school because he sat me down and did the math and it made more sense for him to support me, and pay my $6 an hour wage himself and let me dedicate that time to my studies. Don't get me wrong, I am not ungrateful, in fact perhaps too grateful, but I think in some ways it spoiled me too much, not because I am not a hard worker, but because it turned me into a work snob, that is, my expectations are way too fucking high for everything. I expect fulfillment, not just remuneration. Now, in fact, I like what I do, for the moment, but I also have this deep fear of some day being cast out, unable to do what I love or want and being totally incapable to support myself in any other way. It has also created this inordinate sense of pride, a sort of "I don't want anyone's else's help" attitude, despite that I would be lying to myself if I didn't accept that I have the absolute luxury of knowing that should I need to fall from my tight-rope there is a safety net, albeit 300 feet below me.
But, despite Dad's workaholism and my Mom's neuroses (and her deeply generous and loving majority) I never felt anything but safe in my house. I was never treated unkindly by anyone but myself (at home) and yet I still turned out the way I am, with all kinds of codependency issues and a deep sense of unworthiness of love. And I KNOW that they did not do that to me, and I want to know why! But what most breaks my heart is that I can't fix, or even fathom, the pain of people whose fathers (or mothers though all the hurting men I know -and there are so many- received their punishment directly from their fathers) treated them unkindly. I was observing several fathers in action yesterday and I was fascinated. Fathering is a skill so underestimated in its importance, and it is so fundamental to a sense of complete self, I think.
Listening to Beleza Tropical and this song seemed to speak exactly to me with relation to this train of thought.
Cálice
Composição: Chico Buarque e Gilberto Gil
(refrão)
Pai, afasta de mim esse cálice
Pai, afasta de mim esse cálice
Pai, afasta de mim esse cálice
De vinho tinto de sangue
Como beber dessa bebida amarga
Tragar a dor, engolir a labuta
Mesmo calada a boca, resta o peito
Silêncio na cidade não se escuta
De que me vale ser filho da santa
Melhor seria ser filho da outra
Outra realidade menos morta
Tanta mentira, tanta força bruta
(refrão)
Como é difícil acordar calado
Se na calada da noite eu me dano
Quero lançar um grito desumano
Que é uma maneira de ser escutado
Esse silêncio todo me atordoa
Atordoado eu permaneço atento
Na arquibancada pra a qualquer momento
Ver emergir o monstro da lagoa
(refrão)
De muito gorda a porca já não anda
De muito usada a faca já não corta
Como é difícil, pai, abrir a porta
Essa palavra presa na garganta
Esse pileque homérico no mundo
De que adianta ter boa vontade
Mesmo calado o peito, resta a cuca
Dos bêbados do centro da cidade
(refrão)
Talvez o mundo não seja pequeno
Nem seja a vida um fato consumado
Quero inventar o meu próprio pecado
Quero morrer do meu próprio veneno
Quero perder de vez tua cabeça
Minha cabeça perder teu juízo
Quero cheirar fumaça de óleo diesel
Me embriagar até que alguem me esqueça
I don't want to be responsible for an unhappy or incomplete child, and so I let her be away from me, despite her wailing that she can't bear to be away from her mommy, despite my loneliness in her absence (though we spent the afternoon swimming and biking and for a few brief moments I felt really, deeply content with the world, looking out at the mountains under a blue sky). It is amazing what a mysterious bond we have with our children. I only hope that I am doing the right thing for her, if for nothing else.
posted by ilana at 7:36 p.m.
2 Comments:
Funny you should write about this for around these very days I have been giving the subject a great deal of thought... I, like you, received too much love(if there is such a thing) from my mom and dad and yet sometimes love feels like a stranger to me.
I too pray a lot for me to be doing at least a decent job in raising my child, 'cause I have been a first hand witness of screwed-up-by-their-parents kids, and it is really sad.
Flor... I know, my heart hurts so much for them, and I wish that I could wrap my arms around the world and make it hurt less. But I can only do that for my baby. I hope.
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