Turncoats
I have yet to research it in a rational state of mind, but I do believe it is safe to say that I was born into the Post WWII collapse of Small Town America and that the parade of small towns across North America which sponsored the child sex trafficking which I was raised in were a direct by-product of that Economic Collapse. My Faith that it is safe to say that is not very strong. I can still clam up with the speed of a pre-adolescant processing the after-effects of gang rape under a quaint farm light. Even here, typing alone in the dark, I feel surrounded by echoes of players telling me I am wrong. Perfect time to do historical research, huh?
Sigh. . .
This isn't about Historical Accuracy, anyway. It is about my strictly personal mental health and the unsung herstory of the small child who grew into this bat-shit crazy old broad currently typing in the dark. Many, many accurate facts of my childhood are unproveable. Just confirming which State of the Union which of my childhood traumas occurred in seems like an effort that is not likely to be worth its cost. The therapy mantra I will insert here is, "We does the best we can with the information available."
The present day stimulus for this sorting is the crisis surrounding the FIL's health decline. To Hubs, it looks sudden, but to me it looks like a contiguous evolution. The FIL is 87 years old. It is not mine to sort, but I belive Hubs has been in denial of this for a very long time. Leaving him to sort his own, I am trying to sort and make peace of my pieces of this puzzle so that I can be both honest and supportive as he navigates the crisis. It be my prayer to have a functional family at the end of it. I am braced for the Cosmic Answer to my prayer to be, "No. Family is not for you."
The FIL desperately wanted me to call him, "Dad." I am not sure enough of him left to have such Earthly preferences, but I have no reason to believe he ever gave up on that preference. No, I never made grandstands to enlighten him to what "Dad" means to a child sex trafficking survivor. I was far enough into therapy when we met that I never expected him to understand. The harder the FIL worked to enforce his preference to be called, "Dad," the more caustic the word grew to my ears. I can't remember the last time I called him anything but, "Mister Surname." Well. . . I still call him, "Grandad" when talking to my middle aged sons. Mostly. "Mister Surname" flows into the "Grandad" discussions with natural ease.
Mister Surname and his ambitious Missus were both part of that Post WWII migration from the Agricultural US to Corporate US. They couldn't escape Norman Rockwell's America fast enough. They made token efforts to maintain family ties, but by the time I came on board, there was not allot of evidence that those family ties could support anything more demanding than attending catered events. It was a hell of allot more than family strength than I had, but. . . Not even sure it is a fair comparison. Comparing silver platters to porn lights?
I have been having quite allot of flashbacks during the long, empty hours in my part of this vigil. I only believe that this is a natural time for reflection and nostalgia. I only believe. Proof counter-productive for this set of keystrokes. I am processing feelings, not facts. I remind myself, faithfully, that the difference between a flashback and nostalgia is my reaction to it. Deep breaths. Grounding exercises. Calm. . . Let it flow peacefully. Works in progress.
Giving speeches was part of Mister Surname's corporate duty. He is a California Corporate Trained orator. This easily verified fact is the root my belief that all of his humble farm boy stories were rehearsed in front of mirrors. Public Speaking 101. Hubs has memories of him rehearsing his speeches while he shaved on those rare occassions that he shaved at home. For me, listening to those humble farm boy stories has been trigger city. . . It is possible I have even suffered a psychotic break or two during his well-rehearsed performances. Here in this round of processing flashbacks, a word which keeps bubbling to the surface is, "Turncoats." I am on the verge of believing I heard the word used by the small town folks as they walked away from Corporate presentations.
Still sorting. . .
Replies
I want to say that I really love the way you write. Talking about wanting preferences with your FIL I know I have been there and it's hard to even articulate the feelings that comes along with it. Having said that I do believe that we all have this conceived notion about family and then we imagine this world around us that we will be okay in it all. Not knowing or knowing that perhaps the people in this family have their own sense of understanding which actually undermines and regulates self understanding. If that makes sense. Not to talk in riddles. I can relate to some of your experiences. It's been a long road isn't it? Wondering if we will meet at a point where we think that this journey was worth it. Thanks again for always sharing with those words which makes me believe that I'm not alone.
Turn coats, sellouts in native we just no longer look at but past them.
Arfie To be honest I feel you to be the sanest in the bunch.
Everyone wears masks at some points in their life, but knowing the difference that you wear them or believing they now have become the your reality...a fine line but once crossed? and on who it was crossed? Big difference.
I ran into a smaller but similar situation where John and his Dad were concerned, actually the majority of his family. Even though some were aged to their 50's at the time, they still wore the glasses of a child where he was concerned. Dad was still the metal forge working Farm working buck strong man payday drinking man,of their child hood. I came in much later in my 30's and met a quiet nice Hispanic man who didn't drink in his elder years, Very nice and still financially and physically independent. But lonely since all the children had moved on from when he drank but John. He was the youngest left of the boys and the girls by then.
So I met him and my glasses were of an adult not a child, also of an adult that had worked a lot with elders at different stages of decline.
I noticed John's father's decline faster when Alzheimer's started showing up in small ways. But as time went on and I tried to talk to john and others in his family...I was crazy! And of course the only thing I wanted was control. But a few more years and dangerous things happening, accidents, and they were ready to listen. His father was evaluated and the doctor told them that his decline had been ongoing for a while and would be speeding up.
I never said I told you so, but they seemed to dislike me more because of the doctor validating it. Even mad that I hadn't "ever" said anything, even though I did.
The doctor told me then it was harder to change that set of glasses that John and his siblings wore, than those of someone that hadn't had the childhood with them.
All this to say, I believe you about the length and extent of decline, Since as you have shared, he has been putting affairs in order, for awhile. Maybe even trying to make amends in areas that he in his living mask may have felt above or looked past. Reflection in the late stages is common, and so making amends too.
I gather that you never told him the reason for not saying "Dad" as i was often asked to address him. I told John's dad only enough to be allowed to address him as Pops. Because years of familiarity made MR._____ as uncomfortable as the use of " Hello John's Dad" 5-6 days a week as was in the final years of him before the nursing home.
Eventually he even forgot my name and face, which hurt. Because to me all I knew of him was the "a quiet nice Hispanic man who didn't drink in his elder years", that was my first impression and knowledge point of knowing him.
Support while you sort. J.
I tried several times to explain my discomfort with calling The FIL, "Dad." I didn't try very hard, though. I tried the first time in a professionally guided therapy process. The closure of that process included gentle acceptance that not everybody is going to understand what it means to recover from child sex trafficking. Nobody gets to understand everything. Not even an 87 year old "Turncoat."
Are you thinking that your FIL (or anyone) owes a loyalty to the culture that they were born into?
So if my atheist raised kids turned to a god...you'd think that they were turncoats too?
What does that say for the morality of any missionaries...that they're trying to create turncoats?
Do you, I, any children...owe a loyalty to the beliefs of our parents? And if so...is there ANY room in there for personal responsibility, freedom, etc?
I am discussing a suspected flashback, Patti. For certain, "Turncoat" is not a part of my personal, every day English vocabulary. Even less so in my every day Spanish vocabulary.
Emerging memories are fragile and confusing in their own rights. Please allow me to save the civil rights debate for another sitting. You, your children, the FIL or anybody else you suspect of being part of this ?? emerging memory ?? are free to make your own choices. For certain I am not living by the migrant child sex trafficking codes I was born into.