It's not uncommon for most of us to think we possess an accurate picture of our childhood. We reason that we WERE there and, even during those years when we may not have been cognizant enough to understand much, we still had the capability to sense things, to know subconsciously without actually knowing. When we later learn that we may not have had all the facts about a given circumstance or situation, it can genuinely alter our perspective to a great extent. Here's an example of what I write of, ripped from my own life.
My parents were ill-matched. I'm not sure why they were attracted to each other and decided that wedded bliss was the way for them to go. As long as I can remember back, they argued. I don't mean little nitpicking, here and there; I mean screaming and screeching matches. By the time I reached about 12 years of age, I increasingly became the unofficial referee between these two combatants.
Their verbal donnybrooks reached their zenith during my junior high and early high school years. The impetus for my parents to raise the bar (well, mainly my mom) was when my father confessed to having an affair. From that point forward, the arguments became more emotionally-charged and, sometimes, seemed to teeter towards violence.
Needless to say, I was aghast at my father's admission. Though I can honestly say that I never hated the man, I can just as frankly admit that he wasn't on my top 1,000 favored people list either!
While my mother had several psychological issues, she had been fully committed to their relationship since Day 1. She worked to help put my father through law school. When the money was good, she was a stay-at-home mom who looked after her partially-disabled eldest son -- me. (I was born without a fully-formed left hip -- the very same one that one day soon will be taken out -- that necessitated me wearing unsightly metal braces until my third year.) When the money wasn't so good, she worked as a teacher.
So, as the unofficial referee, I sided more often with my poor brokenhearted mother who had been taken advantage of by my lecherous father. Yes, he was a reprobate who deserved to be screamed at...except for one small fact that was unbeknownst to me at that time.
That one itsy bitsy fact was that my saintly mother had been involved in her own affair when I was not quite 3 years old and her indiscretion had a far greater impact on my life than I ever would have imagined in a million years!
It turns out that my dear mama got her jollies off one day with a carpenter who was doing some work on our house in Joplin, MO. Because she decided to give in to her lust for carnal pleasure, she wasn't keeping tabs on her little boy in braces. Said little boy -- again, that's yours truly -- discovered the carpenter's toolbox and the bottle of chewable children's aspirin he carried around with him. Thinking I had found some delectable orange candy, I happily chewed up AND swallowed almost every pill in the full bottle.
Once the bedroom frolic had been consummated, mommy dear decided she should check up on her little darling. Of course, she went into full panic mode when she realized what her little UNSUPERVISED darling had done. I was rushed to the hospital where I had my stomach pumped and, I believe, this is the impetus for my lifelong swallowing difficulties -- vague memories of a large hose being shoved down my throat against my will!
My daddy wanted to know HOW on earth this could happen. He knew that mother doted on me and I rarely left her sight. After much hemming and hawing, mother fessed up. While my father was none too happy with her admission, they worked through it and it was NEVER mentioned again during my mother's lifetime.
How I wish I had known this tale during my early adolescence! While my mother's earlier indiscretion didn't excuse my father's later one, it DID provide context that was missing. To my father's credit, he never once threw my mother's affair back in her face -- once he moved beyond the hurt and sense of betrayal, it was over and done with for him.
Still, my mother's holier-than-thou, self-righteous indignation would not have seemed as compelling had I known ALL the facts. Maybe it wouldn't have taken over a decade for my father and I too repair our relationship.
My parents were ill-matched. I'm not sure why they were attracted to each other and decided that wedded bliss was the way for them to go. As long as I can remember back, they argued. I don't mean little nitpicking, here and there; I mean screaming and screeching matches. By the time I reached about 12 years of age, I increasingly became the unofficial referee between these two combatants.
Their verbal donnybrooks reached their zenith during my junior high and early high school years. The impetus for my parents to raise the bar (well, mainly my mom) was when my father confessed to having an affair. From that point forward, the arguments became more emotionally-charged and, sometimes, seemed to teeter towards violence.
Needless to say, I was aghast at my father's admission. Though I can honestly say that I never hated the man, I can just as frankly admit that he wasn't on my top 1,000 favored people list either!
While my mother had several psychological issues, she had been fully committed to their relationship since Day 1. She worked to help put my father through law school. When the money was good, she was a stay-at-home mom who looked after her partially-disabled eldest son -- me. (I was born without a fully-formed left hip -- the very same one that one day soon will be taken out -- that necessitated me wearing unsightly metal braces until my third year.) When the money wasn't so good, she worked as a teacher.
So, as the unofficial referee, I sided more often with my poor brokenhearted mother who had been taken advantage of by my lecherous father. Yes, he was a reprobate who deserved to be screamed at...except for one small fact that was unbeknownst to me at that time.
That one itsy bitsy fact was that my saintly mother had been involved in her own affair when I was not quite 3 years old and her indiscretion had a far greater impact on my life than I ever would have imagined in a million years!
It turns out that my dear mama got her jollies off one day with a carpenter who was doing some work on our house in Joplin, MO. Because she decided to give in to her lust for carnal pleasure, she wasn't keeping tabs on her little boy in braces. Said little boy -- again, that's yours truly -- discovered the carpenter's toolbox and the bottle of chewable children's aspirin he carried around with him. Thinking I had found some delectable orange candy, I happily chewed up AND swallowed almost every pill in the full bottle.
Once the bedroom frolic had been consummated, mommy dear decided she should check up on her little darling. Of course, she went into full panic mode when she realized what her little UNSUPERVISED darling had done. I was rushed to the hospital where I had my stomach pumped and, I believe, this is the impetus for my lifelong swallowing difficulties -- vague memories of a large hose being shoved down my throat against my will!
My daddy wanted to know HOW on earth this could happen. He knew that mother doted on me and I rarely left her sight. After much hemming and hawing, mother fessed up. While my father was none too happy with her admission, they worked through it and it was NEVER mentioned again during my mother's lifetime.
How I wish I had known this tale during my early adolescence! While my mother's earlier indiscretion didn't excuse my father's later one, it DID provide context that was missing. To my father's credit, he never once threw my mother's affair back in her face -- once he moved beyond the hurt and sense of betrayal, it was over and done with for him.
Still, my mother's holier-than-thou, self-righteous indignation would not have seemed as compelling had I known ALL the facts. Maybe it wouldn't have taken over a decade for my father and I too repair our relationship.
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