My parents met in a dance class at BYU in their early twenties. They got married a while later and endured the poverty of being students; they didn't have a phone at all or a t.v. They had a little radio (they still have it) for entertainment and that's it. My dad was a statistics major and my mom became an elementary school teacher. I'll stop there to let you know how they got to that point.
My mother grew up in Utah. Her dad worked on the railroad and her mom had some kind of office job. As a result, my mother was responsible for her 3 little sisters at an early age. Her dad wasn't very happy. He'd go into rages and yell and yell at everyone around him. Being over six feet tall added to his intimidating nature. When the kids would be disobedient, he cut a switch off the tree as was custom of the time and hit their legs and behinds with hit. The first time she made bread the top burned and he yelled at her. She grew up terrified to do something wrong, always afraid. She talks about her mom's routine day to day, then and now. My grandparents had been through the depression. They kept rubber bands on every doorknob. Newspapers were saved in spare containers around the house. My grandfather kept spare wood and metal packed into the shed in the back. When people have faced financial devastation and been tinged by starvation they are never the same. They hold onto everything because they'd lost everything. If the bank lost my savings I'd feel the same way. These things shaped my mother into who she is. What strikes me the most is that she's been a mom since childhood; that's what she knows. I love her and I love my grandparents, even though they've hurt each other and hurt me. I don't care. I can't forget the safety of my mom's lap, the way Grandma always made me feel so special, and Grandpa's little smile that never showed teeth with his little hum of a laugh.
My dad was raised in Idaho in a farming community. He had an inquisitive mind -- he heard that "cats always land on their feet" so he experimented by tossing the barn cats out the window (they lived, btw). He concluded it was usually true. I suddenly saw my father outside of the box of father I'd put him in when he told me a little about his childhood. His father had asked him to take care of the cows. There was a radio show my dad was excited to listen to, so he wanted to hurry. He spread the hay out like he'd been taught - if you don't, the cows will eat too fast and get sick - and rushed in to listen to the radio show. My grandfather asked him if he'd taken care of the cows. My dad said he had. "Did you do it right?" Grandpa asked. "I think so," my father replied. Because of the slight uncertainty, my grandpa pushed my dad outside and kicked him down and every time my dad stood up and took a few steps he'd kick him back down again all the way to the barn. When they got there, the cows had messed the hay up a little and my grandpa had my dad fix it. That was all. I'm sure Grandpa was trying to teach him to be thorough, but my dad is a very sensitive person (like me). My dad never listened to that radio show again. Then I understood my dad. He has so many walls and barriers up all over the place because inside he's beautiful, precious crystal that's been broken so many times and glued back together. He doesn't know that the cracks make it more beautiful. My dad and I have hurt each other a lot through life. His eyes stand out in my mind - so scary when he's mad, but damn can they sparkle when he's happy. And when you're a little girl and he's your hero and he looks down and winks at you... it's golden. My grandma was a sweet, smart woman; she was quiet and sensible and my dad is just like her. I don't remember my grandpa very well. I remember his booming voice and how it scared me. Pictures of him with his band - he played bass fiddle. He always looks jolly in those pictures. The way his kids look up to him speaks for itself.
So my two tender, fortressed parents somehow let each other in and pushed each other out and are somehow still together, needing each other more than they even realize. And they raised me. I've inherited their fear, true. The distrust of people -- people hurt you, people let you down, and people never change. I know that philosophy is not always true from experience, but I still fall back on it when I'm vulnerable. I got some of my dad's brains -- his mind works like a clock and I am in awe of it. I got the creativity of my mother and her mother. Art was lost on me, though. They're both painters. And then there's this jumble of stuff that's just me, that came with the little pink package 26 years ago that I'm learning more about all the time.
All in all, I love my parents. I've had issues that aren't their fault. And any issues I have about them are just that -- my issues that I need to deal with myself. Cause when they're gone those problems will still be there, still just mine to deal with. So, for now, I just want to see the different sides of them that sparkle, whether it's crystal or a blade ready to strike. Both are beautiful.
My mother grew up in Utah. Her dad worked on the railroad and her mom had some kind of office job. As a result, my mother was responsible for her 3 little sisters at an early age. Her dad wasn't very happy. He'd go into rages and yell and yell at everyone around him. Being over six feet tall added to his intimidating nature. When the kids would be disobedient, he cut a switch off the tree as was custom of the time and hit their legs and behinds with hit. The first time she made bread the top burned and he yelled at her. She grew up terrified to do something wrong, always afraid. She talks about her mom's routine day to day, then and now. My grandparents had been through the depression. They kept rubber bands on every doorknob. Newspapers were saved in spare containers around the house. My grandfather kept spare wood and metal packed into the shed in the back. When people have faced financial devastation and been tinged by starvation they are never the same. They hold onto everything because they'd lost everything. If the bank lost my savings I'd feel the same way. These things shaped my mother into who she is. What strikes me the most is that she's been a mom since childhood; that's what she knows. I love her and I love my grandparents, even though they've hurt each other and hurt me. I don't care. I can't forget the safety of my mom's lap, the way Grandma always made me feel so special, and Grandpa's little smile that never showed teeth with his little hum of a laugh.
My dad was raised in Idaho in a farming community. He had an inquisitive mind -- he heard that "cats always land on their feet" so he experimented by tossing the barn cats out the window (they lived, btw). He concluded it was usually true. I suddenly saw my father outside of the box of father I'd put him in when he told me a little about his childhood. His father had asked him to take care of the cows. There was a radio show my dad was excited to listen to, so he wanted to hurry. He spread the hay out like he'd been taught - if you don't, the cows will eat too fast and get sick - and rushed in to listen to the radio show. My grandfather asked him if he'd taken care of the cows. My dad said he had. "Did you do it right?" Grandpa asked. "I think so," my father replied. Because of the slight uncertainty, my grandpa pushed my dad outside and kicked him down and every time my dad stood up and took a few steps he'd kick him back down again all the way to the barn. When they got there, the cows had messed the hay up a little and my grandpa had my dad fix it. That was all. I'm sure Grandpa was trying to teach him to be thorough, but my dad is a very sensitive person (like me). My dad never listened to that radio show again. Then I understood my dad. He has so many walls and barriers up all over the place because inside he's beautiful, precious crystal that's been broken so many times and glued back together. He doesn't know that the cracks make it more beautiful. My dad and I have hurt each other a lot through life. His eyes stand out in my mind - so scary when he's mad, but damn can they sparkle when he's happy. And when you're a little girl and he's your hero and he looks down and winks at you... it's golden. My grandma was a sweet, smart woman; she was quiet and sensible and my dad is just like her. I don't remember my grandpa very well. I remember his booming voice and how it scared me. Pictures of him with his band - he played bass fiddle. He always looks jolly in those pictures. The way his kids look up to him speaks for itself.
So my two tender, fortressed parents somehow let each other in and pushed each other out and are somehow still together, needing each other more than they even realize. And they raised me. I've inherited their fear, true. The distrust of people -- people hurt you, people let you down, and people never change. I know that philosophy is not always true from experience, but I still fall back on it when I'm vulnerable. I got some of my dad's brains -- his mind works like a clock and I am in awe of it. I got the creativity of my mother and her mother. Art was lost on me, though. They're both painters. And then there's this jumble of stuff that's just me, that came with the little pink package 26 years ago that I'm learning more about all the time.
All in all, I love my parents. I've had issues that aren't their fault. And any issues I have about them are just that -- my issues that I need to deal with myself. Cause when they're gone those problems will still be there, still just mine to deal with. So, for now, I just want to see the different sides of them that sparkle, whether it's crystal or a blade ready to strike. Both are beautiful.
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