Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Law School Graduation
(aka How my mother tries to make everything about her and her needs and can't stand not being the center of attention)
You know when kids are young and they act out at school, sometimes we say that they want any kind of attention, good or bad? That's my mother. She wants everything focused on her. her needs. her wants. To the detriment of everyone else. The woman just can't suck it up and grin and bear it for anyone else.
You know when kids are young and they act out at school, sometimes we say that they want any kind of attention, good or bad? That's my mother. She wants everything focused on her. her needs. her wants. To the detriment of everyone else. The woman just can't suck it up and grin and bear it for anyone else.
And then there was that time when my mom didn't show up for...FILL IN THE BLANK
My mother the no-show. Frankly, I preferred her not showing up to the antics when she did show up. She always made me feel so guilty when she finally did grace us with her presence. High school graduation was too hot. College graduation she had to have some kind of special seating for her "back problem". Law school graduation...well, that deserves its own posting.
It became so often that my dad and grandma would show up and my mom wouldn't that peope began to assume that my father had married a much older woman.
1. Ring Ceremony, Senior Year, September 1995
2. Softball games
3. moving into college freshman year
4. never visited me in D.C. (grandma and dad did)
It became so often that my dad and grandma would show up and my mom wouldn't that peope began to assume that my father had married a much older woman.
1. Ring Ceremony, Senior Year, September 1995
2. Softball games
3. moving into college freshman year
4. never visited me in D.C. (grandma and dad did)
My Earliest Childhood Memory
My mom's foot going through a glass window.
My mom is clutzy, but she did not trip. My mom, in one of her drug induced rages, decided to put her foot through a window. It was the big window in my parents bedroom that looked out into the backyard. I remember her putting it through, and I remember there being the tan thin plasticky type of 2 inch wide masking tape over the window for a while after, but I don't really remember the parts in between.
When I was a teenager I told my mom I remembered it and she was shocked. She then tried to fill me in on some details, she and dad were fighting, and as she tried to rationalize it, she thought putting her foot through a glass window was the right way to solve the problem.
My mom is clutzy, but she did not trip. My mom, in one of her drug induced rages, decided to put her foot through a window. It was the big window in my parents bedroom that looked out into the backyard. I remember her putting it through, and I remember there being the tan thin plasticky type of 2 inch wide masking tape over the window for a while after, but I don't really remember the parts in between.
When I was a teenager I told my mom I remembered it and she was shocked. She then tried to fill me in on some details, she and dad were fighting, and as she tried to rationalize it, she thought putting her foot through a glass window was the right way to solve the problem.
My First Word
My first word was the word exit. I may have said mama or dada or some amalgamation of the sort beforehand, but as far as everyone tells it, EXIT was my first word. I have always found that a bit omniscient. As if, from the word go, I was ready to leave. As soon as I could communicate, I made my will known. No one in my family has ever seen the odd humor in the fact that EXIT was my first word. To hear them tell it, it was as if I had done something stupendous in the scheme of child development. "You just looked up, and there was an EXIT sign over the door. You looked up, saw it, and said, EXIT." But when I think of it, I think of it as an early warning sign. I am a contemplative person. Perhaps I had the ability to speak months before, but yet had nothing prescient to say. Perhaps I finally saw my "out" and was indicating to my captors that I wanted to leave.
One of my other early childhood "memories" is similar. I put "memories" in quotes because I was about one and have no direct memory of this. It has been implanted in my head by the repeated telling of the story. Apparently, my uncle Allan was over at the house and for some reason I was standing in my crib screaming, "Get Me Out Of Here!". Again, my family thinks this is hilarious, whereas I think of this as my early cry for help. Imploring to my uncle to take me away. No dice.
One of my other early childhood "memories" is similar. I put "memories" in quotes because I was about one and have no direct memory of this. It has been implanted in my head by the repeated telling of the story. Apparently, my uncle Allan was over at the house and for some reason I was standing in my crib screaming, "Get Me Out Of Here!". Again, my family thinks this is hilarious, whereas I think of this as my early cry for help. Imploring to my uncle to take me away. No dice.
Softball
All the popular girls played softball. All the girls in my 5th grade class at my jewish elementary school played at Encino Girls Softball League. So, of course, I had to as well. So, my father decided he finally was getting a chance at a son or at least an athlete (sorry dad, not so much) and was excited to take me out into the street and teach me the game. My father ended up coaching me and my teams for the next 7 or 8 years and coming to a lot of my high school softball games. My mother never came. She came to a few, here and there. It was never like everyone else's moms who would bring snacks and drinks and stuff. She would do that occasionally, when it was her turn on the roster, but it wasn't like she wanted to. It felt more obligatory. She never wore those tacky buttons with my softball picture like the other moms did.
Her excuse to stop coming to the games was that whenever she came, we lost. She claimed that she was a jinx and would therefore not come to the games. I told her I wanted her to come, that I didn't think she was a jinx but too bad. My mother had found the perfect excuse. Not only did she not have to make an effort to be a part of her child's life, but now she found a way to do it and still play her favorite role, that of the victim. This is a theme that you will see repeated in this blog often.
Her excuse to stop coming to the games was that whenever she came, we lost. She claimed that she was a jinx and would therefore not come to the games. I told her I wanted her to come, that I didn't think she was a jinx but too bad. My mother had found the perfect excuse. Not only did she not have to make an effort to be a part of her child's life, but now she found a way to do it and still play her favorite role, that of the victim. This is a theme that you will see repeated in this blog often.
Birthdays
My mother has a habit of ruining special days. This is abundantly clear when you look at my birthdays.
On my 14th birthday she and my father got into a fight. Over what, I have no idea. All I can remember is her pulling out a 8 inch kitchen knife at him right by the doorway of their bedroom.
On my 18th birthday she pitched a fit because she wasn't sent a formal invitation like my friends were. This was a party I paid for and organized. She, my father, and my grandmother, were clearly invited, but I just didn't hand them formal invitations. She screamed at me, made my father feel like he couldn't go, and made my grandmother feel so uncomfortable that she drove all the way from the valley to the westside and stayed about 5 minutes. But it didn't stop there. My mother then called me at the restaurant, DURING the party, to yell at me and berate me more. My friend Jen's mother felt so bad for me that she threw me a small after-party at their house.
I think this was my 25th or 26th birthday. I found out about an event called "Yappy Hour." it was a fundriaser for the Amanda Foundation which benefits animals. It was a happy hour with food for animals, dog pet-i-cures (pedicures), dog massage, and of course, a dog fashion show hosted by a pre-sex tape Paris Hilton. This was not my idea of fun. This was not how I wanted to spend my birthday. But, my mom wanted to go, she said she'd pay for me and a friend to go (I think it was $35 apiece) and it was for charity. Since my mom NEVER leaves the house, I acquiesced. Well, first of all, my mother ends up acting totally weird because her friend's dog had died that day. I think she was pissed that I wasn't more upset about it, even though I barely knew the person and never met her dog. And my mom of course, "forgets" her checkbook, and so I have to pay for my friend and I. I still, have not been paid back. Then she acts weird the whole time and makes my birthday into a big pile of poo.
My 30th birthday was awesome. All my friends did nice things for me, got me special, meaningful gifts. My dad planned a whole huge thing for me and got me an amazing, personal, special gift. My mother did not ask me what I wanted, did not ask me what I wanted to do, nor did she plan anything. She came to dinner with my friend and my grandmother and I. She sat down and began reading the menu, then remarked, "Wow! This place is expensive." dampening the mood and making everyone at the table feel uncomfortable. Then, my grandmother reached into her purse and withdrew a card from her neighbors, family friends. My mother says, "Oh, I forgot." and snatches the card from my grandmother, takes out her wallet, writes a check for $400 and jams it into the gift from my grandmother's friends. They had picked out a $100 gift card to my favorite store and written me a lovely card. Card from my mom? Nope, not so much.
On my 14th birthday she and my father got into a fight. Over what, I have no idea. All I can remember is her pulling out a 8 inch kitchen knife at him right by the doorway of their bedroom.
On my 18th birthday she pitched a fit because she wasn't sent a formal invitation like my friends were. This was a party I paid for and organized. She, my father, and my grandmother, were clearly invited, but I just didn't hand them formal invitations. She screamed at me, made my father feel like he couldn't go, and made my grandmother feel so uncomfortable that she drove all the way from the valley to the westside and stayed about 5 minutes. But it didn't stop there. My mother then called me at the restaurant, DURING the party, to yell at me and berate me more. My friend Jen's mother felt so bad for me that she threw me a small after-party at their house.
I think this was my 25th or 26th birthday. I found out about an event called "Yappy Hour." it was a fundriaser for the Amanda Foundation which benefits animals. It was a happy hour with food for animals, dog pet-i-cures (pedicures), dog massage, and of course, a dog fashion show hosted by a pre-sex tape Paris Hilton. This was not my idea of fun. This was not how I wanted to spend my birthday. But, my mom wanted to go, she said she'd pay for me and a friend to go (I think it was $35 apiece) and it was for charity. Since my mom NEVER leaves the house, I acquiesced. Well, first of all, my mother ends up acting totally weird because her friend's dog had died that day. I think she was pissed that I wasn't more upset about it, even though I barely knew the person and never met her dog. And my mom of course, "forgets" her checkbook, and so I have to pay for my friend and I. I still, have not been paid back. Then she acts weird the whole time and makes my birthday into a big pile of poo.
My 30th birthday was awesome. All my friends did nice things for me, got me special, meaningful gifts. My dad planned a whole huge thing for me and got me an amazing, personal, special gift. My mother did not ask me what I wanted, did not ask me what I wanted to do, nor did she plan anything. She came to dinner with my friend and my grandmother and I. She sat down and began reading the menu, then remarked, "Wow! This place is expensive." dampening the mood and making everyone at the table feel uncomfortable. Then, my grandmother reached into her purse and withdrew a card from her neighbors, family friends. My mother says, "Oh, I forgot." and snatches the card from my grandmother, takes out her wallet, writes a check for $400 and jams it into the gift from my grandmother's friends. They had picked out a $100 gift card to my favorite store and written me a lovely card. Card from my mom? Nope, not so much.
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