I know what I said last night.
And I know it was harsh, writing about the guilt and anger I feel towards my parents over the abuse that took place at my friend’s house when I was 16.
But, I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.
Because I do still love my parents.
My parents are good people. They’re”salt-of-the-earth” kind of people. The ones who would take in unwanted dogs for friends and family, and find them new, loving homes. They’ve done that many times in the past.
Hell, they’ve taken in other family member’s children, when their parents were having a tough time, or the kids needed more attention or discipline, and they weren’t listening to those at home. Two of my cousins lived with us at different times, both for different reasons, and were sent home with a different outlook on life.
Not that my parents were hard-asses, not at all. They were, and are, hardworking, honest, and deeply moral people. They always want what’s best for those around them, and I can honestly say that, while I might never have had everything I wanted as a kid, I always had everything I needed.
Well, except for that incident. But I’m trying to make a point, here.
My parents helped me in many ways, for many years. Especially when I was a single mom, struggling to make ends meet. They were always willing to lend a hand, and babysat for me when I really needed a night off. (1 weekend a month, or 2 separate nights a month, my choice)
I was never spoiled, but was taught how to be a responsible, independent human being. They taught me to think outside the box, how to care for animals as much as people, and that, as my Dad always says… “Shit washes off.”
They’re irreverent and funny.
My mom once rode a horse into a bar, because she was looking for Dad after he got done mowing some yards in town for folks who couldn’t do it themselves, and a friend dared her while holding the door open. She rode in, all the way to the table he was at with his friend, said “David, meet me outside”, and rode back out. It’s just a good thing she was riding the Arabian gelding we had…he was much calmer than her super-tall Saddlebred mare.
And my dad once had a man (who he couldn’t stand) convinced that Dad had an imaginary friend with him for lunch. He carried on a one-way conversation for about 5 minutes, before the other man gave up and went to sit elsewhere in the cafe’, which was what my dad wanted in the first place.
My parents have both been emt’s, at separate times, they’ve helped care for elderly folks in their town, who just needed a little help from time to time, Mom helping them get to the store for groceries, mowing their lawns, cleaning their houses, etc. Dad doing plumbing for them, for nothing more than the cost of whatever parts they needed.
Dad got paid in pies, homemade egg noodles, honeycomb…all kinds of food goodies these elderly folk could, and would, press on him, because they knew he wouldn’t ask for anything else.
They are good people.
And I love them, down to the DNA they gave me.
That’s why I struggle so hard with the guilt and anger.
It’s all twisted up in love.
Goddess. That explains so much about the rest of my relationships…