Introduction
Over the past 3+ years it has been the memoir on-and-on-a-thon. I have written and meticulously re-written my childhood memoirs. Each one from a slightly different angle or perspective, and each one missing something.
I newly realize the negative effects of intense and dysfunctional isolation (Lost Child Role). And, I have unearthed the blinding and powerful forces (Pseudo Hero Role) contained in my epic heritage, that prior to endless writings, did not receive the just closure they deserved. So unknowingly, those forces were more than invited into my childhood home. We naively hung yellow streamers, banners, and put out the welcome mat for them. Some forces are now openly blasted; others I prefer to not mention in this sequel.
Show Me The Way
One of the challenges to writing a memoir with clarity was meager communication in our family. A door in the home could be damaged overnight, or Mom's wrist broken, or she disappeared overnight, with little or no explanation. Imagine a bomb exploding in your childhood home with nothing being said about it. Things just happened and life went on.
Back in dinosaur days, every long-distance phone call cost money. I was quiet. So, telephone or otherwise chats with long-distance relatives like my grandmother were nil. My siblings quietly experienced the same chaos as I. We knew nothing else. We were asked to keep the "family secret," and obeyed to a fault. Even keeping the secret from each other. That is the expected way of a child-of-an-alcoholic.
I had little meaningful connection. One of my roles in the family was as I said, The Lost Child. That is why finally, in my mid-50's (better late than never) I took on The Hero or Sherlock Holmes role of the family. I needed to figure out the sequence of what happened. To interpret the why. To prayerfully surmise the "because." To persuade me to still love my parents, and Dad in particular.
Learning the "because" of Dad's torn ways in no way makes me affirm his thorny choices. "Because" makes Dad vulnerable, and I can't help but love him. Understanding his fear convinces me to respond opposite of grudges and skewed denial. "Because" is actually persuading me to feel softer. I need God so much. Through the need, I unwrap the treasured gifts of deep trust and joy. And similar to bankrupt and endearing George Bailey on "It's a Wonderful Life" (one can't help but admire Bailey) I pray: Show me the way.
And so, drum roll, please, for another memoir attempt. For personal final closure, and hopefully so my family's story can benefit another. The next few paragraphs are titled and subtitled: "The WORST.THORNY.CHOICE.EVER (it is contained in the paragraph with the same name, and some might be surprised what it is)... Its lasting effect on progeny."
The Force Awakens: The Critical Missing Piece
My research, hot off the presses 1/24/2016
A 26-year-old Iva Cordelia Long was married June 19, 1922 to 23-year-old George Henry Larson. George Henry didn't go to war, maybe because of a medical issue. Iva's youthful clock was ticking, and after the war there were fewer men from which to choose. She became a bit desperate for a husband. Especially in Podunk Nevada Iowa USA. She reminds me of Downton Abbey's Edith in Season 3.
Iva and George were my Grandparents, and the 20-somethings had a big problem. I've done the math, know history, and understand the shame of Dad's pregnant Mother Iva's 1922 quiet courthouse ceremony. Their first child, a baby girl, was born on December 31, 1922 (6 months after their vows). It may have emphasized their wrong-side-of-the-tracks stigma that Dad briefly mentioned a time or two. Some cultures or church groups in those days ostracized young women like her, with hushed whispers.
Swoosh and bing, bing, bing to Denial 201 and overcompensating for shame. An overshadowing and underlying Mother-compulsion grew. To push her three intelligent children to achieve goals that she set for them, including the grandiose one she bestowed upon Craig. Dad was going to be President. No doubt about it.
Dad never shared my Grandmother's secret with us nor its most understandable 'because.' World War I negatively effected many 20-somethings in the early 1920's. When did Dad learn of it? "Because" I grew up with two of his family-of-origin unspoken mottos: It stinks to be poor, and ignore the huge pink elephant in the room, I finally "get" the underlying layers involved with it.
The closure ray of hope (or "Rey" of hope) has arrived. With a deeper understanding of what made fearful yet in a way heroic Dad tick, urged on by his Mother's shame (or sham) notion: Overcomers work their butts off (true) and they deny reality (hmmmm).
 |
| We couldn't ignore the huge pink Tab carton in the room "The Grands" minus-3 toast with the only years-favorite bubbly they ever saw Fun Grandpa drink hours after his 2006 funeral |
The force awakens to: Lightsaber 101 shattering the darkness, to another family memoir...
Historical Yada Yada, Again
A long time ago in a city far away, Dad did share very briefly with me one or two childhood memories
of his strict Seventh Day Adventist home. He grew up on the "wrong-side-of-the-tracks," in tight shared living quarters with his grandparents. Mother Iva’s orders on Saturday afternoons were clear: “No
talking. Your Grandpa Long is reading the Bible in the living
room, so being a child is not allowed!”
Fast-forward to 1944 when Dad’s bricklayer father died of skin cancer. Twenty-year-old Dad graduated 2 years early from high school and had to grow up fast. For a short time, he was there to support
struggling Widow Iva and attend college.
World War II broke out in 1945, and Dad broke out too. He enlisted in the Air Force for the eventual need of free Drake University Law School tuition. He led reconnaissance
missions. Praying Mother Iva was in the States. Not until years later did he admit, “I led those missions never realizing until now how dangerous they actually were.”
During those invincible military years, rather than turning to God and saying, “God, show me the way” Craig’s worldly response was: “God, thanks but I know the way!” So Craig began living the “torn” life. By torn I mean he left the ways of his childhood. He took full control of the reigns. He did not humble himself before God. He did not mature in God's ways. Instead, he followed his own logic.
During those invincible military years, rather than turning to God and saying, “God, show me the way” Craig’s worldly response was: “God, thanks but I know the way!” So Craig began living the “torn” life. By torn I mean he left the ways of his childhood. He took full control of the reigns. He did not humble himself before God. He did not mature in God's ways. Instead, he followed his own logic.
In 1947 came the study of law. As a child Craig would study the encyclopedia at the library. He
was an intelligent and hard-working student who loved everything about learning
and graduate school. Especially the pretty 5’2” girl he met at a school dance. Bohemian-souled Donna
appreciated art, the beach, photography, and horses and was the stylish daughter of a once successful business
owner.
Widow Iva wanted to know everything-Donna, but Craig initially left out two critical pieces of information: Just 3 years earlier, her socialite Father Frank overnight abandoned his family to marry the maid. And, both of Donna’s parents were unyielding non-believers. In fact, after meeting Iva, Donna drew the line with Craig. She would not follow Iva’s strict religion, and Craig whole-heartedly agreed to downplay church rigidity: “God, thanks, but we know the way!”
Widow Iva wanted to know everything-Donna, but Craig initially left out two critical pieces of information: Just 3 years earlier, her socialite Father Frank overnight abandoned his family to marry the maid. And, both of Donna’s parents were unyielding non-believers. In fact, after meeting Iva, Donna drew the line with Craig. She would not follow Iva’s strict religion, and Craig whole-heartedly agreed to downplay church rigidity: “God, thanks, but we know the way!”
Their August 1948 wedding ceremony
was not performed in a church. Rather, it was held in the backyard of Donna’s upscale
Wilmette home without Father Frank present. Donna’s divorced Mother, Perfectionist Hazel, firmly refused to say,
“God, show me the way.” Like new son-in-law Craig, she proudly held to worldly logic.
Both were treading on unwise territory. Budding Realtor Hazel convinced New Lawyer Craig to team up to make things right. By filing a lawsuit against an enemy Dad had never met: Father Frank. They together agreed,
“God, thanks but we know the way. The courts and we will make things right.”
Hazel felt that she was due the divorce settlement's full proceeds of entrepreneur Frank’s downtown business building when it was sold. Frank said the building's value had considerably increased after a destructive fire and recent re-build. Understandably, he disagreed.
Wise Frank studied up on the law; fought Craig in court; and it was one of the few times Craig lost a court case. What was the consequence that their logic had not considered? Despite continued faithful financial support of his family, Frank eventually removed Daughter Donna from his considerable Will and forever from his new life in Florida (except for his visit during a family tragedy). Her cherished father-figure attachment was deeply and forever scarred. And over the years, the more Hazel attempted to resolve her daughter-relationship, the more Donna's resentment grew.
Wise Frank studied up on the law; fought Craig in court; and it was one of the few times Craig lost a court case. What was the consequence that their logic had not considered? Despite continued faithful financial support of his family, Frank eventually removed Daughter Donna from his considerable Will and forever from his new life in Florida (except for his visit during a family tragedy). Her cherished father-figure attachment was deeply and forever scarred. And over the years, the more Hazel attempted to resolve her daughter-relationship, the more Donna's resentment grew.
For some reason it took 3 long years for
baby #1 to arrive. And then the babies kept coming, in stair-step fashion. After fathering 6 children, Craig many times joked, “It was hard to start the babies
coming, and once they started, it was hard to stop them!”
But underneath Joking Craig’s charming and light-hearted demeanor, there was a dark side. Six children were a huge financial responsibility, and he was a highly responsible person with no hope of family inheritance. Because of Widow Iva’s
pushy and nagging ways, Donna’s charm to him was the opposite characteristic: her quiet spirit. But that
spirit contained a double-edged sword. Faithful Donna was beautiful, but in daily life she rarely expressed or initiated affection to Craig. That caused Craig to doubt her
faithfulness to him (like Father Frank unfaithfulness, like daughter? Logical.) He became
jealously suspicious of friends in his social group. Rather than humbly saying:
“God, show me the way. I will be extra thoughtful to Donna,” proud Craig said: “God, thanks, but I know the way! Hard work and distracting alcohol will fix all of my worries.”
When a man arrogantly runs from
God, life can become rocky. Fear, distrust, and bullies make certain of that. Over
the next 12 years, the more Craig worked, the harder he needed to work, and the
more he relied on episodes of binge-drinking. Many times to the point of blackout. Those episodes rattled the home and especially negatively affected his middle 3 children's connectedness, focus, trust, and school capabilities. Sadly, I think my elementary and middle school attitude and progress reports were a disappointment to him, but he never said it to me verbally.
Worst.Thorny.Choice.Ever
An early 1970s Billy Graham Crusade
finally convinced Donna to turn her life over to God. In other words, she began
to earnestly plead, “God, show me the way!”
Sometime after Dad's Mother Iva died (January
1973), Donna, with the advice of an attorney-friend, believed the time was ripe for firm leverage. They had previously separated twice, where Dad was forced to leave the home. But Mom naively caved-in too soon, believing his fruitless promises. This time would be different. Only the serious threat of divorce would provide the motivation Dad needed for permanent sobriety, and meddling Iva was out of the picture. Mom's pre-planned, daring escape from Craig would be a secret. He
would not know her hours-away whereabouts. For a time anyway (lawyers can find out any information given time).
Donna decided her 6 children should be divided: The 2 oldest children already lived away from home; the 2 youngest daughters escaped with her; middle daughter lived with a friend the last half of her Senior year High school; and younger brother continued to live at home. The courts would still believe Mom’s accusations, even if a son was left in the home.
Finally, Craig accepted Jesus as his Savior. We were relieved to be set free from all of those years of warring. Our estranged family was re-united after 6 months of separation. One daughter graduated from high school during that estrangement, without family present. Life moved on, and logic said, "All seems rosy."
Donna decided her 6 children should be divided: The 2 oldest children already lived away from home; the 2 youngest daughters escaped with her; middle daughter lived with a friend the last half of her Senior year High school; and younger brother continued to live at home. The courts would still believe Mom’s accusations, even if a son was left in the home.
We appeared to be the perfect newly-reborn family. Yet, we were all at a pivotal crossroad. People have multiple dynamic layers rather than one single stagnant layer. We were on the heels of facing change, and stresses, and life in our 20s. We were about to experience adulthood unprepared, without receiving the tiniest bit of closure for upcoming disappointments.
It was then that we made the worst.thorny.choice.ever, and it was not necessarily Dad's years of drinking. In retrospect, it was like the blind leading the blind. Dad and Mom followed the example of the erred generations before them. And so, my idealistic belief is that the biggest mistake made was during that summer 1973, soon after our separated family re-united: To never meet as an entire group to admit, “We are an alcoholic family and always will be. How do we move on from here?” That fertilized the ground for the Graduate Course Denial 301. **The Force Awakens. See BEST.MEETING.EVER. below.
It was then that we made the worst.thorny.choice.ever, and it was not necessarily Dad's years of drinking. In retrospect, it was like the blind leading the blind. Dad and Mom followed the example of the erred generations before them. And so, my idealistic belief is that the biggest mistake made was during that summer 1973, soon after our separated family re-united: To never meet as an entire group to admit, “We are an alcoholic family and always will be. How do we move on from here?” That fertilized the ground for the Graduate Course Denial 301. **The Force Awakens. See BEST.MEETING.EVER. below.
Dysfunction quietly compounded, and 12 years of turmoil were downplayed, only cautiously hinted at by Mom lest Dad become flustered. His public testimonies (typed by yours truly) safely touted the woes of work-a-holism rather than embarrassing alcoholism. We could never figure out why the slightest thing would set off Dad's high blood pressure. Now I realize that Dad's huge pink elephant in the room was still there, growing even larger. Bursting at the seams. Youthful defensive tactics could no longer hold the line. His emotional computer file storage had reached its max. We again became the protectors rather than he.
I guess we didn't see Dad as an alcoholic, because his work ethic was the opposite of a bum on skid row. He was not a deadbeat Dad. Like many Dads in the 60s, he was absent, working. This was the skewed or biased denial I embraced for years. But our family had all of the classic symptoms. Sadly, even after becoming a follower of Jesus, regarding alcoholism, Dad did not lead the way asking, “God, show us the way. We need Your help.” He was a fun Grandpa to our children, and he earnestly tried in so many ways. But he took to his grave denial as well as our closure.
Physical and emotional wounds both need closure. Emotional closure is like yoda yoda. By that I mean it is the dirty bathroom that requires sanitizer; the cracked and dry skin that yearns for lotion. Closure is the shampooed hair that requires conditioner lest it become brittle. It is the car that needs windshield wipers for safety on rainy days. Closure arranges memories in logical order. It is the Fitbit that is enveloped with welcoming gift wrap; the confusing road trip with a helpful GPS; the utility room sink's useful stopper. It is like the warm thaw after an overly lengthy arctic blast. Closure reaches into the foggy soul and turns the aha lamp on. It is like being able to lock the front door and feel safe after returning from a long trip. For Star Wars fans, it is "The Force Awakens" and its vintage lightsaber that snuffs out the darkness.
That is the varied closure, with God's help, I have received. It has saved my sanity. I have tangibly needed God's help for many things, including physical health. He daily shows me the way. Mom died in a tragic car wreck when I was merely 35, so receiving indirect closure through her came too late because of my denial. To state it mildly... we tried our hardest without God, and with God. But passage of a healthy heritage baton sucked. Additionally, through my invincible 20s and 30s, I refused to listen.
I loved my sensitive and hard-working Dad, and I want his story and my family's story to help other hard-working families. Dad did his best, but our family dynamics, both drunk and sober, were highly dysfunctional. They deeply scarred us with festering wounds. Wounds that needed supernatural diagnosis, healing, and did I say... closure?
Finally, through Lightsaber 101, I'm goin' free. Free indeed. He threw my shackles into the sea. It was one of my earnest reasons for battling breast cancer. Taking extra "insurance" measures. Blasting it with chemo; power-walking like a fool; bombarding the foggy mind with writings; and, all the while, opening myself to stare-downs with the blackest inVader and eVader of my life (and others' lives, too): Dearth Disappointment. Those trembling stare-downs were the only way to attain my purpose and story. To Find my Found. To communicate crystal clear closure. For me, and now becomes my parents' gift, for family legacy.
Closure is more than the ideas listed in Paragraph "Yoda Yoda" above. I know it sounds grandiose, but for me it felt supernatural. Coincidental things happened. For example, just recently an interesting twist of fate occurred that opened my eyes more clearly to a deeper Craig (Dad) and Donna (Mom). Last year, Christmas 2014, I was highly annoyed with Martyr George in "It's a Wonderful Life." I vowed to never watch the stupid movie again. But just one year later, through blind-sided Holiday 2015 stresses, I was magnetically drawn to the movie, over and over again. I initially identified with a despondent plea in the tavern: God, show me the way!!! And then I experienced a 360-degree turn-around, seeing a compelling and lovable George and Mary at 320 Sycamore. And now I feel humbly privileged to compare them to my courageous loved ones at 200 East.
My parents were sensitive, like caring George and Mary Bailey. Mindful and Rescuing Dad was at times reactive, during private decompression times at home. And Dad's dreams were denied (not every lawyer can be U.S. President), like George's dreams of leaving Bedford Falls. Dad faced bully Potter Politics. Dad saved his brother, too. George hit rock-bottom, and so did Dad. My parents, unfortunately, responded to rock-bottom differently. They repeatedly failed to effectively communicate their deep emotions. Dad stuffed them. He saved them for his seemingly safest bubbly friend. Drinking numbed Dad to deny the profound hurt his drinking brought to the family.
And so this writing concludes with the BEST.MEETING.EVER. It is my imagined summer 1973 family encounter. All 8 of us are uncomfortably squirming. Tension is so thick, it can be cut with a knife. Strained apologies are given, and then vital glimpses into the past, the exact ones contained in this blog, are provided in writing that I uncomfortably read, down-play in my mind, but then save. Like I did good ol' Uncle Bub's old-timey typewriter, typed sheet with family tree health information. "Why do I need this !?!"
I get denial. And those Invincible and busy 20s and 30s. In my 50s, I learned to appreciate Bub's golden-yellow sheet, more valuable than gold. After cancer. It was vital for health insight.
And this heritage information? It was almost too late for my benefit. But it is not too late for others. After inordinate amounts of navel-meditating and soul-searching, I now embrace the facts which my parents never shared. Control issues along with overly-biased denial walls are being whooshed. I admit to being THE most Needy.Person.Ever. balanced with THE most Grateful.Believer.Ever. I am whole. My heart is safe to feel safety.
Post-traumatic stress surfaces in victims LATER (an intentional redundant phrase). Experiencing God's 24/7 grace, mercy, and unconditional love is the only way I have survived detrimental emotions these past many years. I am sensitive and over-reactive and addictive. Just like Dad. With more than a touch of what I call post-traumatic trust disorder, PTTD.
Just imagine an unyielding tick comfortably burrowed deep into the skin. When you try to remove that tick, it holds on for dear life. The intense need to control runs in my veins. Really, really deep. But, I have reluctantly learned it must let go. Even though it hurts, I must trust. Kingdom Course Trust 401, like anything Statistics, is most scary. I registered for #401 about 3+ years ago.
As the "Star Wars" theme song begins, trumpets powerfully resound. I symbolically pass the lightsaber heritage baton back to the Father. That symbolism might be understood only by fanatics of "The Force Awakens." So, to accommodate non-Force fanatics, the following verses in the Bible communicate well my manic joy...
I guess we didn't see Dad as an alcoholic, because his work ethic was the opposite of a bum on skid row. He was not a deadbeat Dad. Like many Dads in the 60s, he was absent, working. This was the skewed or biased denial I embraced for years. But our family had all of the classic symptoms. Sadly, even after becoming a follower of Jesus, regarding alcoholism, Dad did not lead the way asking, “God, show us the way. We need Your help.” He was a fun Grandpa to our children, and he earnestly tried in so many ways. But he took to his grave denial as well as our closure.
Yoda Yoda, The Meaning Meaning of
Physical and emotional wounds both need closure. Emotional closure is like yoda yoda. By that I mean it is the dirty bathroom that requires sanitizer; the cracked and dry skin that yearns for lotion. Closure is the shampooed hair that requires conditioner lest it become brittle. It is the car that needs windshield wipers for safety on rainy days. Closure arranges memories in logical order. It is the Fitbit that is enveloped with welcoming gift wrap; the confusing road trip with a helpful GPS; the utility room sink's useful stopper. It is like the warm thaw after an overly lengthy arctic blast. Closure reaches into the foggy soul and turns the aha lamp on. It is like being able to lock the front door and feel safe after returning from a long trip. For Star Wars fans, it is "The Force Awakens" and its vintage lightsaber that snuffs out the darkness.
That is the varied closure, with God's help, I have received. It has saved my sanity. I have tangibly needed God's help for many things, including physical health. He daily shows me the way. Mom died in a tragic car wreck when I was merely 35, so receiving indirect closure through her came too late because of my denial. To state it mildly... we tried our hardest without God, and with God. But passage of a healthy heritage baton sucked. Additionally, through my invincible 20s and 30s, I refused to listen.
I loved my sensitive and hard-working Dad, and I want his story and my family's story to help other hard-working families. Dad did his best, but our family dynamics, both drunk and sober, were highly dysfunctional. They deeply scarred us with festering wounds. Wounds that needed supernatural diagnosis, healing, and did I say... closure?
Ahhhh. Closure
Finally, through Lightsaber 101, I'm goin' free. Free indeed. He threw my shackles into the sea. It was one of my earnest reasons for battling breast cancer. Taking extra "insurance" measures. Blasting it with chemo; power-walking like a fool; bombarding the foggy mind with writings; and, all the while, opening myself to stare-downs with the blackest inVader and eVader of my life (and others' lives, too): Dearth Disappointment. Those trembling stare-downs were the only way to attain my purpose and story. To Find my Found. To communicate crystal clear closure. For me, and now becomes my parents' gift, for family legacy.
Closure is more than the ideas listed in Paragraph "Yoda Yoda" above. I know it sounds grandiose, but for me it felt supernatural. Coincidental things happened. For example, just recently an interesting twist of fate occurred that opened my eyes more clearly to a deeper Craig (Dad) and Donna (Mom). Last year, Christmas 2014, I was highly annoyed with Martyr George in "It's a Wonderful Life." I vowed to never watch the stupid movie again. But just one year later, through blind-sided Holiday 2015 stresses, I was magnetically drawn to the movie, over and over again. I initially identified with a despondent plea in the tavern: God, show me the way!!! And then I experienced a 360-degree turn-around, seeing a compelling and lovable George and Mary at 320 Sycamore. And now I feel humbly privileged to compare them to my courageous loved ones at 200 East.
My parents were sensitive, like caring George and Mary Bailey. Mindful and Rescuing Dad was at times reactive, during private decompression times at home. And Dad's dreams were denied (not every lawyer can be U.S. President), like George's dreams of leaving Bedford Falls. Dad faced bully Potter Politics. Dad saved his brother, too. George hit rock-bottom, and so did Dad. My parents, unfortunately, responded to rock-bottom differently. They repeatedly failed to effectively communicate their deep emotions. Dad stuffed them. He saved them for his seemingly safest bubbly friend. Drinking numbed Dad to deny the profound hurt his drinking brought to the family.
BEST.MEETING.EVER
I get denial. And those Invincible and busy 20s and 30s. In my 50s, I learned to appreciate Bub's golden-yellow sheet, more valuable than gold. After cancer. It was vital for health insight.
And this heritage information? It was almost too late for my benefit. But it is not too late for others. After inordinate amounts of navel-meditating and soul-searching, I now embrace the facts which my parents never shared. Control issues along with overly-biased denial walls are being whooshed. I admit to being THE most Needy.Person.Ever. balanced with THE most Grateful.Believer.Ever. I am whole. My heart is safe to feel safety.
Post-traumatic stress surfaces in victims LATER (an intentional redundant phrase). Experiencing God's 24/7 grace, mercy, and unconditional love is the only way I have survived detrimental emotions these past many years. I am sensitive and over-reactive and addictive. Just like Dad. With more than a touch of what I call post-traumatic trust disorder, PTTD.
Just imagine an unyielding tick comfortably burrowed deep into the skin. When you try to remove that tick, it holds on for dear life. The intense need to control runs in my veins. Really, really deep. But, I have reluctantly learned it must let go. Even though it hurts, I must trust. Kingdom Course Trust 401, like anything Statistics, is most scary. I registered for #401 about 3+ years ago.
As the "Star Wars" theme song begins, trumpets powerfully resound. I symbolically pass the lightsaber heritage baton back to the Father. That symbolism might be understood only by fanatics of "The Force Awakens." So, to accommodate non-Force fanatics, the following verses in the Bible communicate well my manic joy...
Do you give the horse its strength
or clothe its neck with a flowing mane?
Do you make it leap like a locust,
striking terror with its proud snorting?
It paws fiercely, rejoicing in its strength,
and charges into the fray.
It laughs at fear, afraid of nothing;
it does not shy away from the sword.
The quiver rattles against its side,
along with the flashing spear and lance.
In frenzied excitement it eats up the ground;
it cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds.
(Secretariat's intro & conclusion, Job 39:19-24)
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