I’m in Saltillo today, visiting. Seeing my sister’s new house. It’s nice! They’ve got a lot of work left to do — putting in kitchen countertops and door frames and trim and paint touchups, and whatnot, but it’s a home and it’s cozy and I am so happy they’re settling into a routine again.
I had an interesting “discussion” with my dad and my brother today. And by “discussion,” I mean period of time during which I was so horrified by their opinions that I ended up crying. But it’s all to the good. I always cry when I realize that the people I love unconditionally are racist, sexist assholes.
That said, I shouldn’t have called my dad “bitter.” It was a cheap shot, aimed to put him down for being so surly (when we all know that surly is kinda what we do in this family). I’ll probably write him an apology note and leave it for him to find when he gets home from work tomorrow morning. I will not, however, be apologizing for standing my ground on the issue at hand. Which I won’t get into here because I love my dad too much to share his horrible opinions with you people.
I hope the photo up there gives you an idea of what I’m talking about. (Incidentally, that photo was taken with my dad’s rad new Canon Digital Rebel XTi, which I am currently lusting after … hard).
I wish your family didn’t make you cry all the time. That sucks. I usually laugh my family’s ingrained racism off with an ‘oh, you racist racsals!’ It really helps because they’re expecting to get under my skin. I also tell my grandmother that I’m dating a woman…a black woman named Shequita. This is mostly just to piss her off. Maybe you should tell your father that you’re dating a black man named Tyrone. In closing, I wish your family didn’t make you cry. Jesus cries when Lindsey Turner cries.
It’s my own fault. For one, I can’t just laugh it off. There are some things they think and believe that are so awful that I have to rebuke, if for no other reason than to prove to the universe that not all people think that shit. For two, something very deep within me is fucked up when it comes to confrontation and standing my ground. I just can’t do it. I’ve been conditioned to be a coward, a silent sucker who just lives with what the loudest decree. I’ll probably write about this some time.
I have often wondered what would happen if I ever started dating a person of color or — heaven forbid! — a woman, and how my family would react. But it’s never seemed plausible because I’ve never been unattached and looking before.
Part of me feels like they’d be OK with it at arms’ length, and then part of me feels like I’d become the black sheep of the family. I actually have no clue how it’d play out. All I know is it kills me to see them agonize over something so unimaginably minute as race.
I am rambling because I’ve had a lot to drink tonight. Thank God they had some wine in the fridge that I brought in for Thanksgiving that never got drunk.
I don’t think you’re a coward. You’ve told women-hating misogynists to fuck off recently.
Hey Lindsey, first of all, I absolutely LOVE that picture. I can see a lot in there.
Secondly, and most important..you ain’t no coward (read Joey’s last comment AGAIN!). When we are with our family, we are alternatingly overwhelmed with love and incedulity and then anger and then something else, but, as the bible says, the greatest of these is love. I don’t know anyone who can successfully confront those kind of demons face to face without really hurting or hurting them. Maybe my ‘i’m not going to change and they’re not going to change’ mantra is an avoidance mechanism, but I can sure enjoy my family visits a lot more, and hell, I’m 54. It took me a long time to get to that point.
The truth is, unless they do something unspeakably horrid, you are going to love them, and they you. Hang on to that, and the ride, though bumpy, comes out back where it should, or, drink heavily!
I guess the particular type of cowardice I’ve got going is totally relegated to meatspace. I can’t do confrontation. Especially with my father. I am broken thay way. I’m working on being stronger in his presence, but it’s hard. When you grew up as Daddy’s Little Girl ™ and you suddenly have to stare down his Piercing Gaze of Disapproval because you hold an opinion that is, to you, so obviously right and obviously moral, it can totally throw your world into turmoil. I hate that someone so good can feel things — genuinely feel things — so awful about people.
It scares me. To my core.
Which is why I get emotional. I’ve not yet been able to engage my steamroller — where I can just out-yell his opinion — or my laughter — where I can just laugh derisively at what he thinks.
I want to help fix him. I think he’d be happier if he toned down the hatred a bit.
Anyway, thanks for the encouragement. You both deal with similar stuff, so I know you feel my pain.
“thay” is the new “that”