In defense of my parents…

At some point I assume that my family is going to come across this site. I’ve decided to only ever mention my mother or father because my life growing up was molded mostly by their decisions, personalities, unresolved issues they struggled with, and without a doubt, their complete and total unconditional love and protection.

In support of composing these words from a genuine place, I love them back, I always have, I can’t not love them, and having the gift of hindsight, I can also say that their own behavioral struggles left their mark on me. I’m certain everyone has a story like this because humans are chaotic, emotion driven creatures, and there’s not one of us that grew up without challenges.

You also learn as you age that your parents, and all the “adults” you ever encountered, were all just “winging it” to a certain degree. I wouldn’t expect a young 20-something couple to have the same perspective as a 40-something couple, or a 60-something couple. Priorities change, biology changes, life is lived, experience is gained (sometimes right after you needed it), and perspectives shift. You make mistakes, and you try to move forward the best you can given your circumstances.

I was born in the early 80’s. My parents were both in their early 20’s and trying to carve out a life for themselves, which mostly meant that my dad worked and my mom took care of me. The first place they lived was across the street from an untreated, probably psychotic, man who would shout at the top of his lungs, “It’s Halloween! I got my diamonds!” at random intervals during all hours. Not long after moving in, my parents were caught in a flash flood and lost many of their possessions. My father had to carry me as an infant through waist high rushing water in order to save me. That evening they took shelter in a donut shop and waited for the flood to pass.

Later they moved into a duplex that I have a few memories of, but only bits and pieces really. They had their share of struggles at this location too, but ultimately decided to move again a few years later when the neighbors they shared the duplex with were murdered by a new boyfriend that was brought home by a family member.

At that point we moved to a safer, stabler, neighborhood. They probably did this with help from my grandfather on my mother’s side. I suspect that my grandfather stepped in several times across the next 15 years or so to help them with major financial struggles, but I’ll never really know. Either way, I hold that assumption as a warm memory of my grandparents.

I can remember my father volunteering to be a chaperone on a school trip in the sixth grade. The trip was to a challenge course where we would do a lot of team building exercises. It was a bad day for a fat kid. There was a lot of physical activity, and we were supposed to do things like zip-line and rappel, which as an adult sounds fun, but as a fat kid, it was just another opportunity for me to fall on my ass while everyone laughed at me, not to mention my crippling fear of heights. The teachers didn’t put me in my father’s group for whatever reason, but I can remember coming back at the end of the embarrassing day with everyone saying my dad was so cool. I was shocked. I shouldn’t have been, my father was garrulous, funny, and effusive with most people. He was easy to like. It’s what made him a good salesman.

I can remember my mother redesigning my room as I was away on a senior trip. After two weeks in Cancun with my friends I came back home shocked. The furniture had been rearranged, and the walls now looked like rock, finished with texture you could run your fingers across. It looked great. She’s actually quite talented with interior design and artistry. That talent came in handy in the kitchen, and across all the seasons. The house was always adorned with seasonally festive accoutrements that she put genuine effort and love into, especially around the holidays.

I can remember my mother and father coming together to buy me “Tae-Bo” VHS tapes so I would be encouraged to work out more. They were worried about my weight when I was a kid, but they didn’t know how to handle it beyond maybe the “food pyramid”. My mother tried to get me to work out to Richard Simmons tapes with her, something any straight 15 year old boy in the 90’s would have immediately shot down, as I did, every time. They didn’t know how to attack my obesity issues by any modern means. Remember, they only got their information from the news, newspapers, and the city library. The internet had only just started moving into people’s homes, you paid by the minute, mostly chatted with other people, and you couldn’t receive phone calls while using it. They were on their own with me.

I say all that so everyone reading this knows, I don’t hate my parents, nor do I place blame on them for my growing into an obese adult. My parents were always concerned, and they always wanted to help, but they didn’t know how to do it effectively because they didn’t know how to go about diagnosing and treating their own unresolved issues.

My father loved me very deeply, as does my mother, and I love them deeply back, so take it easy on them, ok? And maybe take it easy on your own parents too, they probably didn’t mean to do the thing you’re so upset at them over.

As I like to say, “they would have ran face-first into a cactus to find a solution”.