Monday, March 10, 2008

ten random things about me:

still want to be when I grow up: a rock star and an actor and an architect, too
favorite breakfast: fish
current object of my fandom: Diablo Cody
favorite drink: a Hemingway martini. or a latte. can't decide
my favorite Japanese film: Tampopo (no surprise there, eh?)
destination if I could go anywhere on a trip today: Africa (surprise!)
game I miss playing most: Nertz
language I miss studying most: three-way tie between Spanish, Italian, and French
"celebrity" I would most like to have over to my house for dinner: Michael Franti
most fervent desire: for compassion and peace

Friday, December 14, 2007

An open letter to my father

You have said I am holding some kind of "grudge" against you, like I have nursed some old hurt that I am stubbornly refusing to relent. You have also said that "through no fault of my own, only one out of my five children are speaking to me."

And I admit that perhaps there is an element of the principle of commitment, discussed in that excellent book about persuasion you once gave me, in my feelings on this topic. I've committed to my conclusion ("I don't believe my father likes or respects women"); now, all the evidence I see before me appears to support my position. Your words and actions ("She's getting away from me," about my daughter growing up without your influence), hearing from others about how you treat your current "partner," and your stinginess all these years toward us and everyone around you -- all of these things only confirm my conclusions.

Here's why I am writing this down. My daughter is seven, and full of the spark and fire of the newly minted individual in the world. Yet she needs us so badly in some critical ways. She's come to enjoy playing on a pair of crutches that her daddy made for her and it strikes me that it's a good metaphor. She wants some extra help to get around. The great thing is that we are here to give it. On top of that, I'm incredibly grateful for who I am and where I am, and privileged to be this girl's hand to hold and shoulder to lean on, her guide and helper. I felt that from you from time to time when you and I were still young, but you made a lot of choices then that didn't put me first. Since I turned about 13, more of what has come my way from you has been a kind of unrelenting judgment and assessment that always seems to come out a little short in my column.

My kid talks about one of the girls in her class at school, who I think might live in a family more like we were when I was seven, given the things she reports back. (Both of these girls are a little bit on the fringes, and this probably unites them.) I think back to when I was seven, and it occurs to me to let my daughter know that her friend might not come to school as much or on time because of reasons outside her own control. If her friend does not have her whole family's support for her mission, she's not going to be as successful. And I hope my daughter won't judge her friend for being late or absent often (because the teacher does give my kid's friend a hard time about her lateness and absences, something that also reminds me of when I was in elementary school). I am sensitive to this not only because of my own history, but also because of who my daughter is. I remember making my own egg and catching the bus by myself at six, but my kid could not get herself to school on time nor do her homework without our help. Even at seven, she's still very dependent. Yet with her sometimes exhausting demands and needs, she absolutely comes first for both me and her father. I talk about how I'm struggling along with my writing, and I love my husband more than anyone else on this planet, but I will do anything for my daughter, and I try to act with the conviction that this is why I'm here right now.

I have rarely felt that from you, and it's been a long time since I have. If it was there, sorry I missed it, but you seemed more the stern, silent type who always had a criticism or an improvement to recommend about any situation. (What is it about all of us that we always want to be the smartest ones in the room, anyway?) I rarely got the sense from you in your actions that I was your first priority. It seemed like a priority for us children to be smart and reflect well on your intelligence, but as for your supporting our intellectual development in any other way than the Socratic dinner-table or road-trip dissection of issues, which was great, I don't remember it. I don't remember you beaming after my school musicals even though I had bit parts, or staying up late to help me with my science projects -- those things tended to fall to the women. You were usually too busy "working late" or being the life of the party, the smartest guy in the room. Too busy to tell your kid to go to sleep early so she could have the energy to go to school the next day.

It's been hard to be a good parent to my daughter sometimes because I don't always remember what to model for her. Sometimes my first instinct has been to say no, or "I can't right now." I don't like being that parent to my child, and I try hard not to be, yet sometimes that's the only voice in there, and that makes me sad.

I hope you can let go of the notion that this is my personal "grudge," some ancient chip on my shoulder, or the poison of other people's opinions that has leached into my groundwater supply and polluted my mind. If I spent years cowering in the shadow of your resentment that I existed, with the conviction that I and the other females in the family were somehow dragging you down or holding you back, please forgive me for not choosing to keep you closest to me, when I have others around me who have always loved me absolutely unconditionally, for exactly who I am. I am still freeing myself from some heavy, early shackles, and I am only just now breaking up those scars and feeling the lightness of that freedom. And the amazing thing about this feeling is that it only affords me more energy and love for everything that's good: the people whom I love most and who love me most, the space I live in, my involvement in the world. When I don't have that energy, it's often because it's going into healing those ancient, deep, existential wounds. I certainly didn't feel this kind of energy and reciprocating love in my early adulthood, when I was still worried about whether I deserved to even exist, a big question mark in my world throughout my childhood. Now that I know what it feels like to believe I have a place here in this world, I'll do everything in my power to prevent my actions from making my daughter question her worth.

I only hope for the best for you, but I also hope you can comprehend why I am making these choices for me and my family. As my daughter's made-up song goes, "I love ya but I wouldn't take ya to the Gondolier."

Peace out.

Sincerely,
Your daughter

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Sunday, December 10, 2006

I need an avatar for the holidays

Any ideas? All I can think of is Frosty and Rudolph (both are suitably nondenominational in my book, which I would guess looks very Christian from my Jewish pals' and extended family's standpoints). Do write if you think of a good avatar, though.

Happy wassailing to you!

fv

Saturday, December 09, 2006

Boundaries: A good thing

I was waiting to write back to my friend until I knew what it was I wanted to say, and I'm finally getting it. She really helped me sort out what was her and what was me.

My mother and I were talking about boundaries because of this very alarming film I saw, The Forest for the Trees, which turned out to be a German film student's senior thesis film. A young woman moves to a new city to start her job in her chosen profession and gets off to a terrible start, and in the end it is quite disturbing because she looks like anyone you'd run into on the street, articulate, poised, having some manners. But she makes two mistakes: she never says what she truly needs, nor does she listen when people give her the cold shoulder; she keeps coming back, watching, listening, following to find an opening in the other person's life with no regard for what the other wants from her, which is less and less of her neurotic clinginess over time. It was a terribly uncomfortable film to watch, but effectively sketched the shape of a life in which its central character did not know how to get her basic needs for love and connection met.

And I would like to think I've learned a lot about boundaries. I said something to my friend that I needed to say recently about this and felt better for having brought it out into the open.

She helped me see that some of what I had projected was about me and my situation and not her true intent. Talking through everything brought good lessons and more trust for both of us. Phew.

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Friday, October 13, 2006

I'm making myself giggle out loud tonight. Heh heh.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Wait -- Who's The Queen?

At the wedding this weekend I reported a cute thing my daughter said to one of the cousins.

"I'm going to marry the Queen! I'm going to marry the Queen! I'm going to marry the Queen! Wait -- who's the Queen?"

I thought that was so funny.

The cousin said, "King! You mean King! And preferably a wealthy one!"

I just looked at her. We both shook our heads.

It's so sad that she can't see anything sweet or funny about that. As it happens, I have a feeling our daughter will pick someone of the opposite sex, whether Prince or puppeteer. She's more curious that way. But who am I to say what she should do? Who is my cousin to say that people who choose people of the same sex are doing something wrong? I have seen otherwise. Perhaps she never has.

Monday, September 11, 2006

"Hot Rock-And-Roll Chick Totally Married"

That is one of my favorite headlines of all time from The Onion.

My t-shirt slogan of the day

Wouldn't it be great if you could just make a t-shirt for the day? Today's would be, "I am my parents' worst nightmare." Mostly for airing my family's dirty laundry on my blog.

My mother would probably not agree. She likes it that I'm finally telling my side of the story -- and standing up for my own feelings and perspectives, especially to the other side of the family. She always lets me know when these entries hurt her feelings, but at least we talk about how we are and how we feel about everything. That's why we're still friends and my father and I are not.