Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Family Dysfunction
Okay. Let's start things off with a bang, shall we?
I come from a highly dysfunctional family. We are all damaged to some degree. Mother, father, sisters, brothers, self. That's the dysfunction domino effect, you know. Dysfunction is the gift that keeps on giving.
There's no reason to point fingers or place blame. Dysfunction is just a byproduct of being imperfect. My parents' parents weren't perfect. My parents weren't perfect. I'm not a perfect parent, nor will my children or their children be perfect parents. So a little slack is definitely in order.
That's not to say that everyone - including myself - is off the hook. No. We all have a moral and ethical obligation to be the best we can be. The best humans, the best people, the best sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, friends. And we all fall short from time to time, but as long as we are striving to be good and honest stewards of the lives around us, then we will probably be okay. And our kids will be okay and won't have to spend all their hard-earned discretionary cash in therapy.
I do take issue with parents who are self serving and pejorative. My parents were of that particular variety. We had a fairly miserable childhood by most standards, but my parents weren't technical child abusers. Oh, we were routinely spanked (sometimes with wooden spoons, sometimes with belts) and were disciplined harshly - but that was back in the day where corporal punishment was in vogue. We still turned out reasonably well. At least our parents didn't torture us. So that's good. Right?
There is no excuse for any living being to bring a another life into the world only to neglect it. Or abandon it. To objectify, demoralize, reduce, use, abuse, ridicule, disparage, or exploit it.
It tears my heart to shreds imagining the torture some children have endured at the hands of their parents. Dave Pelzer is one of the most famous to come to mind. In his book, A Child Called "It," Dave recounts the unimaginable horror of his childhood and the ongoing abuse he suffered from his mother, Catherine. If you're interested, you can read an excerpt here.
So by comparison, we had Parents-of-the-Year champions. Kinda sorta.
I could go on and on about the kind of parents I had or didn't have and maybe you'd be interested in some of the seamier anecdotes, but this isn't the time or place. Maybe later.
For now, with Christmas looming, I want to concentrate on loving and forgiving my parents in spite of what they were or were not. And I ask my own children and other family members for their love and forgiveness. We all have our rows to hoe. Our reaping what we sow. We all have our own miles and moccasins in which to walk them. If God has granted us enough years on earth, we are all dysfunctional in one way or another - and that's okay. Dysfunction - it's the American Way. If not for dysfunction, there would be millions and millions of psychiatrists and therapists and social workers on street corners with tin cups. And the economy is bad enough already, isn't it?
I come from a highly dysfunctional family. We are all damaged to some degree. Mother, father, sisters, brothers, self. That's the dysfunction domino effect, you know. Dysfunction is the gift that keeps on giving.
There's no reason to point fingers or place blame. Dysfunction is just a byproduct of being imperfect. My parents' parents weren't perfect. My parents weren't perfect. I'm not a perfect parent, nor will my children or their children be perfect parents. So a little slack is definitely in order.
That's not to say that everyone - including myself - is off the hook. No. We all have a moral and ethical obligation to be the best we can be. The best humans, the best people, the best sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, friends. And we all fall short from time to time, but as long as we are striving to be good and honest stewards of the lives around us, then we will probably be okay. And our kids will be okay and won't have to spend all their hard-earned discretionary cash in therapy.
I do take issue with parents who are self serving and pejorative. My parents were of that particular variety. We had a fairly miserable childhood by most standards, but my parents weren't technical child abusers. Oh, we were routinely spanked (sometimes with wooden spoons, sometimes with belts) and were disciplined harshly - but that was back in the day where corporal punishment was in vogue. We still turned out reasonably well. At least our parents didn't torture us. So that's good. Right?
There is no excuse for any living being to bring a another life into the world only to neglect it. Or abandon it. To objectify, demoralize, reduce, use, abuse, ridicule, disparage, or exploit it.
It tears my heart to shreds imagining the torture some children have endured at the hands of their parents. Dave Pelzer is one of the most famous to come to mind. In his book, A Child Called "It," Dave recounts the unimaginable horror of his childhood and the ongoing abuse he suffered from his mother, Catherine. If you're interested, you can read an excerpt here.
So by comparison, we had Parents-of-the-Year champions. Kinda sorta.
I could go on and on about the kind of parents I had or didn't have and maybe you'd be interested in some of the seamier anecdotes, but this isn't the time or place. Maybe later.
For now, with Christmas looming, I want to concentrate on loving and forgiving my parents in spite of what they were or were not. And I ask my own children and other family members for their love and forgiveness. We all have our rows to hoe. Our reaping what we sow. We all have our own miles and moccasins in which to walk them. If God has granted us enough years on earth, we are all dysfunctional in one way or another - and that's okay. Dysfunction - it's the American Way. If not for dysfunction, there would be millions and millions of psychiatrists and therapists and social workers on street corners with tin cups. And the economy is bad enough already, isn't it?
On Being Authentic
I've been blogging forever - just not here.
Suzy Manhattan is a brand new spanking clean virgin space where I intend to settle in and share myself, my thoughts, and my life as honestly and genuinely as possible because being authentic is important to me. Unfortunately, when you blog openly and publish real names and faces and truth along with all that authenticity ~ people sometimes object. (Can you believe that?) Therefore, I have gone underground, into the bowels of the subway rails, where shadows fall across my face and real names have no value.
I will not decorate my page with gadgets or graphics or photos or auto-cued music or bells or whistles. I have no desire to be flashy. My goal is not to seek Followers or comments, but neither am I against them. I have come here to express one thing and one thing only... truth.
If you recognize yourself in any of my posts... it is pure coincidence. All identifying names, places and details have been carefully adjusted to protect the innocent ~ me!
I may be prolific - or not. I'll write if and when the mood strikes and only then. I will not be a slave to blogging.
But I WILL have interesting things to share. That is my personal guarantee because you never have to make good stuff up when you are being authentic. It just happens.
Suzy Manhattan is a brand new spanking clean virgin space where I intend to settle in and share myself, my thoughts, and my life as honestly and genuinely as possible because being authentic is important to me. Unfortunately, when you blog openly and publish real names and faces and truth along with all that authenticity ~ people sometimes object. (Can you believe that?) Therefore, I have gone underground, into the bowels of the subway rails, where shadows fall across my face and real names have no value.
I will not decorate my page with gadgets or graphics or photos or auto-cued music or bells or whistles. I have no desire to be flashy. My goal is not to seek Followers or comments, but neither am I against them. I have come here to express one thing and one thing only... truth.
If you recognize yourself in any of my posts... it is pure coincidence. All identifying names, places and details have been carefully adjusted to protect the innocent ~ me!
I may be prolific - or not. I'll write if and when the mood strikes and only then. I will not be a slave to blogging.
But I WILL have interesting things to share. That is my personal guarantee because you never have to make good stuff up when you are being authentic. It just happens.
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