Visit
****** and I had a good visit with ******. Actually, it was the best visit with him, ever. I had been apprehensive, as he and I often clash after a couple of days, him thinking that we are equals, now that he is an “adult,” and loosing his temper when he thinks he isn’t being treated with the respect he purportedly deserves. Sometimes he can be rather rude and inconsiderate, which kind of comes with the territory when you are the mother of a 19-year old boy like him. I don’t tolerate rudeness or disrespect, especially in my own home, but as a general rule, as well. In any event, this time around he was a) taking his anti-depressant, which makes all of the difference in the world as far as his abilities to control his temper are concerned; and, b) feeling pretty laid back and happy after the Harmony Festival. So we had a nice visit. There were a couple of rough spots, but nothing unusual or particularly stressful, and what minor conflicts there were were of the normal sibling variety.
The night that he got here from the festival, he was rather under the influence. Now, on the one hand I am glad that I know of his partying ways, in that, if anything ever happens, I will at least know what’s going on in that respect. But, sometimes, I wish to God I wasn’t the “one Mom out of all of his friends’ parents,” whose child feels comfortable enough to tell the truth. In some respects, I would rather be happily oblivious than aware of the lad’s partying ways. I didn’t say anything on Monday night when ****** got here, but I spoke to him about it, or sort of, on Tuesday when we was sober. I told him that I don’t drink or do drugs, and that I don’t like people doing so around me, and that I won’t tolerate such behaviors, especially on his part, in my home. He kind of balked at what I said, in that he was surprised that I could tell how high he was, or that he was high at all.
I didn’t get into it with him, just told him like it is. I think he was so taken aback by my awareness (though the kid couldn’t have been more obviously high) that he only made a half-hearted attempt to save face, saying “what do you mean?,” and the like. When I simply repeated what I will and will not put up with in my house and around ******, he said, okay, and didn’t try any arguments or debate. For that, I was happy and relieved.
Sometimes it can be a tad difficult to live according to my value system and to guide my children in accordance therewith when other people drink so much, around my son, and sometimes with him, when they’re in France, and when his own father not only drinks with the boy, but also smokes with the kid!! But I am rather stubborn in nature, and I continue to insist that people treat me with respect and that they behave in a certain manner when they are in my home.
Fortunately, that was the only difficult conversation we had to have, except for the “don’t talk like that to your sister” kind of thing. I wound up letting him take both my best suitcase and one of my computer bags along with him to*********. I love the suitcase, but it is a bit big and on the heavy side as far as suitcases go for shorter trips. I got it when I was going back and forth to********* every month to spend time with my Mom while she was sick and dying. Often enough, I would bring ****** with me, or would stay for a week at a time, so the bigger suitcase came in handy then. Nowadays, when I have to travel for work, I don’t care to encumber myself with large suitcases, and I don’t have any long involved trips in the planning right now. Actually, I got that suitcase at Christmas, 2004, and I want to get another one in the same line, only smaller.
Since ****** is leaving for a year in France within 2 or 3 weeks, for a year, I figured he could make good use of the suitcase. Plus, my Dad, who ****** is with most of the time he isn’t at school, or whose house he is in, anyway, is an interestingly odd sort of guy, and that’s being VERY kind, who hates to pay full price for anything, ever, so who insists on buying suitcases at garage sales, many of which aren’t the greatest suitcases in the world, or are well past their prime. My Dad is a funny one in things like that. He was born in April of 1944, in rural Brittany, which was never very modern to begin with, and still isn’t, and that, at the time, was still significantly under the influence of World War II and its devastation and restrictions. “Still,” of course, is relative, when you consider that the war wasn’t over yet! Anyway, when he was a young boy, he, and his brother, *****, would literally each be given an orange for *****tmas, and that was their only *****tmas gift. They didn’t have electricity or indoor plumbing. Brittany is an area that is much like Ireland in its history and geography, it rains and rains for months on end; it is relatively far north, and so, in the wintertime, the sun only comes out from about 9 or 10 until sometime between 3 and 4. That makes for an interesting place to live, as far as depression is concerned, and I am certain that that is why Brittany has such a high rate of alcoholism. Nowadays, they have electricity and indoor-plumbing, and the like, but that doesn’t change how long the sun is out. So my Dad’s childhood memories were literally memories of darkness and hunger, much like the conditions described in Angela’s Ashes, by Frank McCourt.
On an aside, the cool thing about living at that latitude is that, in the summertime, the sun is up between 4 and 4:30, and doesn’t set until well after 11 at night. It is so much fun to go to the summertime folk festivals, and to have it be light out that late. I have such wonderful memories of summer in Brittany, and I am sure that he probably does, too.
So, anyway, because of the austere conditions of his early life, I think that ‘having things’ makes my Dad feel secure. He will buy things at the store, just because they’re on sale, and buy pretty much anything he sees at a garage sale if he thinks it may come in handy someday. He then puts all that stuff away, and never touches it or uses it, again, except maybe the suitcases. I remember him owning will over two dozen garage-sale toasters a few years ago. I think that my Dad’s girlfriend sold a lot of his stuff at a garage sale when he was in Europe for the summer a couple of years ago. If you don’t do it in front of him, he doesn’t really notice when his stuff disappears.
I can’t believe I have just spent almost a full two pages' worth of blog space writing about suitcases!
The night that he got here from the festival, he was rather under the influence. Now, on the one hand I am glad that I know of his partying ways, in that, if anything ever happens, I will at least know what’s going on in that respect. But, sometimes, I wish to God I wasn’t the “one Mom out of all of his friends’ parents,” whose child feels comfortable enough to tell the truth. In some respects, I would rather be happily oblivious than aware of the lad’s partying ways. I didn’t say anything on Monday night when ****** got here, but I spoke to him about it, or sort of, on Tuesday when we was sober. I told him that I don’t drink or do drugs, and that I don’t like people doing so around me, and that I won’t tolerate such behaviors, especially on his part, in my home. He kind of balked at what I said, in that he was surprised that I could tell how high he was, or that he was high at all.
I didn’t get into it with him, just told him like it is. I think he was so taken aback by my awareness (though the kid couldn’t have been more obviously high) that he only made a half-hearted attempt to save face, saying “what do you mean?,” and the like. When I simply repeated what I will and will not put up with in my house and around ******, he said, okay, and didn’t try any arguments or debate. For that, I was happy and relieved.
Sometimes it can be a tad difficult to live according to my value system and to guide my children in accordance therewith when other people drink so much, around my son, and sometimes with him, when they’re in France, and when his own father not only drinks with the boy, but also smokes with the kid!! But I am rather stubborn in nature, and I continue to insist that people treat me with respect and that they behave in a certain manner when they are in my home.
Fortunately, that was the only difficult conversation we had to have, except for the “don’t talk like that to your sister” kind of thing. I wound up letting him take both my best suitcase and one of my computer bags along with him to*********. I love the suitcase, but it is a bit big and on the heavy side as far as suitcases go for shorter trips. I got it when I was going back and forth to********* every month to spend time with my Mom while she was sick and dying. Often enough, I would bring ****** with me, or would stay for a week at a time, so the bigger suitcase came in handy then. Nowadays, when I have to travel for work, I don’t care to encumber myself with large suitcases, and I don’t have any long involved trips in the planning right now. Actually, I got that suitcase at Christmas, 2004, and I want to get another one in the same line, only smaller.
Since ****** is leaving for a year in France within 2 or 3 weeks, for a year, I figured he could make good use of the suitcase. Plus, my Dad, who ****** is with most of the time he isn’t at school, or whose house he is in, anyway, is an interestingly odd sort of guy, and that’s being VERY kind, who hates to pay full price for anything, ever, so who insists on buying suitcases at garage sales, many of which aren’t the greatest suitcases in the world, or are well past their prime. My Dad is a funny one in things like that. He was born in April of 1944, in rural Brittany, which was never very modern to begin with, and still isn’t, and that, at the time, was still significantly under the influence of World War II and its devastation and restrictions. “Still,” of course, is relative, when you consider that the war wasn’t over yet! Anyway, when he was a young boy, he, and his brother, *****, would literally each be given an orange for *****tmas, and that was their only *****tmas gift. They didn’t have electricity or indoor plumbing. Brittany is an area that is much like Ireland in its history and geography, it rains and rains for months on end; it is relatively far north, and so, in the wintertime, the sun only comes out from about 9 or 10 until sometime between 3 and 4. That makes for an interesting place to live, as far as depression is concerned, and I am certain that that is why Brittany has such a high rate of alcoholism. Nowadays, they have electricity and indoor-plumbing, and the like, but that doesn’t change how long the sun is out. So my Dad’s childhood memories were literally memories of darkness and hunger, much like the conditions described in Angela’s Ashes, by Frank McCourt.
On an aside, the cool thing about living at that latitude is that, in the summertime, the sun is up between 4 and 4:30, and doesn’t set until well after 11 at night. It is so much fun to go to the summertime folk festivals, and to have it be light out that late. I have such wonderful memories of summer in Brittany, and I am sure that he probably does, too.
So, anyway, because of the austere conditions of his early life, I think that ‘having things’ makes my Dad feel secure. He will buy things at the store, just because they’re on sale, and buy pretty much anything he sees at a garage sale if he thinks it may come in handy someday. He then puts all that stuff away, and never touches it or uses it, again, except maybe the suitcases. I remember him owning will over two dozen garage-sale toasters a few years ago. I think that my Dad’s girlfriend sold a lot of his stuff at a garage sale when he was in Europe for the summer a couple of years ago. If you don’t do it in front of him, he doesn’t really notice when his stuff disappears.
I can’t believe I have just spent almost a full two pages' worth of blog space writing about suitcases!
posted by Nana @ 22:36
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